maura's Full Review: Live! A Night on the Strip by L.A. Guns
In high school I dye my hair black (temporary dye, gets all over my clothes and washes completely out after two days) and I have Phil Lewis' picture all over my walls and he has black hair and pale skin and blue eyes and a British accent and did i mention that smile? and I know every word to every song on "L.A. Guns" and "Cocked and Loaded" and I see "Point Break" in the theatre the night it opened because I know there is an L.A. Guns song on the soundtrack.
Oh, the love. Oh, the countless hours of taped MTV watched while trying to decipher lipsync-accompanying gestures. Oh, the quoting of the Kelly Nickels aphorism "You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose but you can't wipe your friends under the couch." Oh, the heartache at hearing that I couldn't see them play at Sundance because I was 15 and you had to be 16 with ID—my birthday was two weeks after the show—to get into that club. (Oh, the statutory rape laws.) Oh, the added pain of finding out that the show was shut down 3 songs into L.A. Guns' set because the club was violating liquor laws.
I turn 16. Two years later I go to college. I listen to L.A. Guns occasionally, nothing serious though because I was too busy with Elephant 6 7-inches. I do not see them play at Jackhammer's in the western suburbs because I don't have access to a car. I graduate, move back home. "L.A. Guns" creeps into rotation more and more—I am back in the room where all the Metal Edge pinups had hung, although now the walls are blank and blue and peeling here and there. L.A. Guns is still releasing records, but with different lead singers, different bass players, I sort of am indifferent to it although I look at this one Phil Lewis fan site on Geocities from time to time.
Then I quit my job. Last September. Plane tickets are booked. Los Angeles. "I'll meet you in L.A.," Phil Lew--er, Krauth sings. Planning the trip on the phone with Maggie. Looking at the L.A. Weekly's site. Gazzari's night at some club on the Strip and who is headlining, and who am I SO THERE to see?
Yes.
I find out later that it will be the original lineup, the same one from all the pinups. I am, because it is California, stoked. So excited. I arrive in Los Angeles. Maggie has a date and so her friend Kim is entrusted with me. We drive, I babble. I am on the Strip. I look around. It looks like Motley Crue videos, if you squint. We arrive. I pay for both of us. Tickets are $18. Each. Drinks are $6. Each. C.C. DeVille has canceled; Pretty Boy Floyd is playing instead.
Rock and roll is gonna set the night on fire. Yes.
Then there is a bikini contest. Steven Adler's brother is a judge. The women look like extras from videos, which I suppose is the point. I go to the bathroom and get another drink. Merchandise is being sold. The crowd looks like it's been preserved in amber from videos and Headbanger's Ball bumpers of 10 years prior. I am wearing a black turtleneck and jeans and feel sort of uncool as a result.
And finally the announcement comes and the lights dim. "Live from Hollywood the ORIGINAL— L.—A.— GUNS!!!"
And they are good. Surprisingly good. Tight and playful and I've maneuvered myself right there in the middle of the floor, right in front of the traditional lead-singer perch and they play pretty much all the hits, plus some new songs which are bluesy and fine, and Phil has some stumbling with the lyrics here and there and Kelly takes over vocal duties on a song that I think is a cover but it's actually a song from "Vicious Circle" (released during my keeping up with the band hiatus) and all their faces are glowing from the makeup and the lighting, which is slightly blue, and the songs are still very much rocking my planet; this is the metal I loved, the songs that were rooted in the Germs and in "Too Fast For Love" with their ferocity and minor keys and general snarliness. They are tight. I am dancing, pumping my fist, singing along, even getting into the newer songs.
The show ends. Too fast. I am sweaty and hoarse. And happy. "Did you have fun?" I ask Kim.
"It was ... interesting. I saw you dancing."
Seven months later. I've just moved to Philadelphia, my walls are still bare. I'm drunk and at Tower and I stumble over to the Ls and there it is and what is this? My arm my arm my arm because this live album was recorded, yes, that night at that club and I was the only one not that tan and also wearing a 3/4 sleeve shirt. Also I was pumping my fist a lot. I got home and it was late but that was okay and and—"Live from Hollywood the ORIGINAL— L.—A.— GUNS!!!" and there are the guitars, and the stage banter, and even the missed lyrics here and there, and the horns, in the head, they are up, so up again.
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