The decision to pit Sheffield rockers Def Leppard against Motley Crüe seemed a strange one from the offing. The election to put the latter on first seemed downright ludicrous.
Why was it ludicrous? We’ll get to that in a little bit. As for why it seemed strange, it shouldn’t be too difficult to fathom. Though Leppard are veterans of the rock game, their live set is crucially devoid of the bombast, energy or attitude their counterparts so readily disseminate.
Preconceptions aside, a loud pyrotechnic explosion brings the Queen music filtering out of Hall 4’s speakers to an abrupt halt, and the red curtain descends as the Stateside hellraisers bound onto the stage. Larger than life and still deriving their style from Sunset Strip lowlifes and 80s bikers, they kickstart the crowd with ‘Wild Side’, a favourite from their massive 1987 breakout album ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’. ‘Wild Side’ is the kind of barnstorming set-opener that makes it easy to see why it has rarely left the band’s setlist in a quarter-century. Compact, absorbing, and accompanied by a hail of explosions, it’s akin to a particularly badass WWE wrestler’s theme tune.
Vince Neil, looking a little plumper these days than his cat-like countenance in the band’s 80s heyday, sprints to the front of the stage, wielding his mic like a sword. Every time the ‘Wild side!’ chant goes up, Neil thrusts his mic into the air like Rafael Nadal after a particularly vicious cross-court forehand. An ode to their rough living early days, Neil encourages the Glasgow crowd to ‘take a ride on the wild side’ as Nikki Sixx, resembling a strung-out Jack Sparrow in a red bandana and platform boots, lurches to his left thundering on his bass.
The crowd greets the song with hysteria long familiar to the quartet, and the bloody word ‘SIN’ bedaubed in the background seems entirely appropriate. Anyone who has read the band’s self-penned autobiography The Dirt – and there’s probably a fair few in attendance tonight – can barely believe the rockers are still alive. The Dirt will surely never be surpassed as a modern fable of rockstar decadence; one feels burned out just reading about their hard partying and copious drug use across a panoply of monster tours during their peak years.
That’s all in the past now, though the music is very much kicking ass in the present. ‘Saints of Los Angeles’ is up next, and the new material cosies up to the back catalogue so familiarly you’d think they were old pals. ‘We are…we are the saints, we signed our life away/ Doesn’t matter what you think, we’re gonna do it anyway!’ the crowd chant along, happy to feel like motherfuckers for a change. Motley has been doing it for years. With all hands in the air, the set continues in a decidedly feel good manner, with frequent loud bangs and the front row being hit in the face by the warmth from the pyros. ‘Live Wire’ goes over well, from 1981’s ‘Too Fast for Love’, while ‘Shout at the Devil’ (‘Shout! Shout! Shout! Shout at the devil!’) and ‘Same Ol’ Situation’ deliver a vicious one-two punch of classics.
The great thing about Motley is they look like they’re having a ball on stage. Tommy Lee beats the crap out of his drums with vigour, gusto and a smile on his face; Vince Neil sprints about the stage, his lank hair flailing in his wake, his chicken wing arm shooting into the air like the definition of a cocky rockstar; and Nikki Sixx struts around in a similar manner to Gene Simmons; eyeing the crowd, grinning like a gregarious drug dealer, at one point goodnaturedly pretending to cuff a front row reveler on the head with his titanic bass.
These guys do hard living and hard rock; ‘nuff said. Not really, as the set’s not even half over. The band put the switchblades and Jack Daniel’s bottles away to show a softer side on ‘Home Sweet Home’, a grand piano being lumbered onto the stage for Lee, and it’s just as much of a singalong; don’t worry though, the flames and amps soon kick back in for ‘Looks That Kill’, followed by Tommy Lee’s inimitable drum solo.
While many rock bands defer to their drummer for an obligatory moment in the sun, Motley don’t do anything at half-pace; cue Lee to be whisked 360 degrees in the air on a circular rig as turbulent electronica (Red Hot Chili Peppers doing ‘Love Rollercoaster’, to be precise) booms out of the speakers and lurid images (a drunk Jackson Pollok canvas, it looks like) blur across the big screen. Lee pounds on his bass, snare and cymbals even whilst suspending upside down, and before long he’s invited a lucky fan along for the ride; a punter is plucked from the crowd and strapped into the contraption, Lee asking him: ‘Hey man, you like to fuckin’ drink?’ Though it’s difficulent to hear what the guy’s response is, Lee’s subsequent whoop of approval tells you it’s a definite affirmative.
Suffice to say, Motley don’t let up through to the end, and anthems like ‘Dr. Feelgood’ and ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ – not to mention to ballsy new track ‘Motherfucker of the Year’ – make you fear for Def Lep in the same way you would a Mike Tyson opponent fearfully warming up in the dressing-room. Everyone’s thinking it; how are the Americanised Englishmen, with their mirror balls and FM metal sound, going to follow this?
Brownsville Station cover ‘Smokin’ in the Boys’ Room’ precludes storming set-closer (could it be anything else?) ‘Kickstart My Heart‘ – for those who aren’t familiar with the band, bassist Sixx OD’d and was pronounced dead in early 1987 after an especially voracious heroin binge. It has the desired effect as Glasgow goes along for the ride one last time. Soon Lee and Sixx are tossing buckets of ‘blood’ into the audience. Lee then boisterously proffers several bottles of champagne and passes them along the front row.
Poor Def Leppard. The veterans come onto stage playing ‘Undefeated’, which you think for a second might be ironic since you expect them to be slain, though mega-hit ‘Rocket’ comes at the right moment as some members of the crowd are returning from the bar having topped up post-Motley. Though Def Leppard are excellent musicians, it’s fair to say most of their fans are in the stands tonight, seated, tempered, silently appreciative; and a good portion of their acolytes in the bullpen are happy to take in the action from far back, away from the wash of maniacs still buzzing from the previous act.
The Brits are demure in comparison tonight, and string through a trail of bare-chested hits without pausing for much stage banter (or blood throwing). The crowd depletes in size somewhere near the halfway mark, though they plough on, Joe Elliott even finding time for an absurd strop after a punter throws a plastic pint cup at him. ‘His mother probably only lets him out once a month,’ he storms after the song’s conclusion, patting down the Tennent’s on his arm. ‘Dorito boy! Someone always has to ruin it for the rest of them, eh?’
For a veteran of the game, Elliott seemed strangely ruffled by a single tossed beer cup. If the crowd thought tossing projectiles could bring Motley back to the stage, they’d have fired a veritable enfilade. Elliott subsequently restores his rock credentials, though; after ‘Two Steps Behind’ he apologises to the crowd for his vocals not being up to par because of a ‘winter cold.’ Whatever your thoughts on either band, there’s no denying one stole the show tonight.
In fact, it was a mismatch – like putting on an animal exhibit whereby a lamb was deposited inside a bullpen with a particularly voracious lion.
Motley Crue and Def Leppard were supported in Glasgow by Steel Panther. The band will embark on their own headline tour in March 2012. Full details can be found on their official Facebook page.
