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. 

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 ¾ 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. 

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. 

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.