When I think of Motley Crue, I generally think of one thing: people sporting ripped jeans, unfortunate t-shirts, and long, scraggily hair in need of some serious conditioning treatment. (Well, 2 thoughts…but the other involves their drummer and a certain Baywatch broad).� I don’t think of the music, when I think of the Crue.� I don’t know much about their rocking ways, and from what I do know, I’m okay with that.�

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I looked at Wednesday night’s concert as more of a cultural experiment than anything else.� I knew these aged rockers probably still had a couple tricks up their � sleeves, but I really came to see the spectacle of debauchery – come to think of it, that’s what they should have named their tour.� After receiving a very complimentary and confident pat down, I was ready to enter the rodeo.� There was a very distinct must in the air – but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.� After calculating for a time, I figured it out.� It was the smell of adrenaline and good times – it was a holiday for some. Now, it might not be the type of good times all people would choose, but a very good time for some; almost too good of a time.� There were no rules Jan. 27 at Rexall.� People just didn’t fucking care.� Not about fashion (or clothing at all); not about walking straight; not about screaming ‘Rock and Rollllll’ at the top of their lungs for no ascertainable reason. Parents didn’t give a shit that their children as young as six were sitting feet away from bra-less women who, too, did not give a shit.�Take your idea of a carnival –the carnies, the drunks, the toothless wonders, the ‘cold beer here’s’ – and you’re pretty close to the In the Dead of Winter tour.�

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Even if it felt like my chest exploded when Motley Crue opened with ‘Kick Start My Heart’, the best part of the show – without question – was when we decided to not put ourselves through one more minute of Joe Perry’s Project, and simply wall-leaned and watched the events unfold.� You saw everything: the couple wearing their retro-Crue shirts that maybe fit a bit better in the 80’s, dragging their children who were likely conceived at a Crue show during the 80’s; the old man holding the young girls hand – no…wait, that’s not his daughter, is it?; the screaming frat boys who probably didn’t see this kind of concert in Innisfail; and lastly, the whores.� There were so many.� Now, I can’t claim to know their sexual history or how particularly promiscuous they are, but they sure dressed the part well.� Diseases were in the air, and I was scared. I felt like wearing a sheath of armor – a condom encasing my entire body – to fend off virulent enemies of the night…..just in case.�

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Regardless, more than Dane Cook, this was comedy.� Sure, maybe I left early because the bass was way too much in my face, and I couldn’t make out a thing Nikki Sixx was saying – except that I, amongst the thousands of other fans, were now ‘Motherfuckers of the Year’, which I have to admit was cute.� I enjoyed the concert for what it was worth – which happens to be $4.25 after tickets were basically given away days before the show.� It wasn’t about the show, it was about the fans.� They made my night.