Las Vegas Weekly

February 8, 2009 · 11:58 AM

Snuffing out The Joint with Motley Crue

By John Katsilometes

Vince Neil reeling in the euphoria on the last night of The Joint.

Photo: Erik Kabik/Retna/www.erikkabikphoto.com

Good evening, metal fans of all ages, shapes and sizes. This is Johnny Kats at the soon-to-be shuttered Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel. We're doin' it live tonight with a plucky group of grown-up musicians known as Motley Crue.

Rock on, as the kids say:

7:41: While I am waiting in the box office line, Mick Mars is escorted to the elevator bank. He is small, hunched over, stringy black hair covering his face. If not for the guitar he would more resemble a small warlock. But later he'll seem a giant. That's what's amazing about rock stars. The stage whittles away 20 pounds and adds a foot in stature. I learned this the first time I ever saw Alice Cooper on a golf course.

7:45: Tack-sharp photographer Erik Kabik is led through the side door of The Joint. He's in for a rowdy experience. Hope he brought his mace.

7:50: Guys, quit asking if I need tickets. I'm covered. Seems an uncommonly large scalper crowd.

7:53: I am standing next to a framed display of Prince's purple, Renaissance-styled stage shirts. I could use that as a hanky.

8:10: Heading to Nobu, muscular slugger Jason Giambi. Beige jacket, fedora and designer jeans are the chosen attire. Meanwhile, the monitors all through the casino are airing the report about A-Rod's positive steroid test in 2003.

8:15: I drop the point-and-shoot at the bell desk. I'm not getting away with a camera in this show. The woman next to me is dropping off her camping equipment. At least, she's dropping off a bag big enough to carry such.

8:25: Outside the doors, I can hear opening act, The Last Vegas, as clearly as if I were wearing my iPod ear buds. This is going to be another ear-splitting Vegas experience.

8:30: At least 10 scalpers have approached, requesting tickets. Supply-and-demand is siding with "supply" for this show.

8:40: You know what really sells well in the memorabilia-laden Hard Rock Store? Jeans. That's what they tell me. Impulse buying after a hot run at the tables, I guess.

8:45: Inside, just as The Last Vegas finishes off Led Zep's "Whole Lotta Love." Observation: I once saw Lynyrd Skynyrd at the Orleans Arena and was struck by Skynyrd fans. I mean, I was struck by how Skynyrd fans take on the ruddy look of the band. Same with Crue fans. Except, they look like Motley Crue, not Lynyrd Skynyrd. I have to get myself a stringy black wig and matching leather pants. I would, how you say, rock.

9:03: Reason No. 401 why I like not drinking: A can of Bud Lite goes for $5 and that's considered a pretty fair sum.

9:08: On that, WOW is that gal loaded. A little unsteady on the spindles. I'll bet you a ticket to the April 19 McCartney show at the New Joint that she doesn't go the distance tonight.

9:15: Somehow I am recalling how I saw Pat Benatar play The Joint in 1997 and she didn't play "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." She was lucky I wasn't live-blogging that night, 'cuz boy was I torqued about that.

9:17: The earth is shakin', the ground is breakin', and we're shakin' it all night long. Here comes the entertainment! We start with fireworks and "Kick Start My Heart." Yes, Vince! We are having an f-ing good time!

9:30: Ten minutes in and we've already fired more pyrotechnics than we saw on New Year's Eve. If this place doesn't burn to the ground tonight, the pure volume of this show might take 'er down.

9:35: "Shout! Shout!" Vince is employing one of my concert pet peeves, which is to thrust the mic to the crowd and have US do the singing. Hey! I work all day! You want me to carry the drum trunks, too? I call this the Bruce Springsteen Hungry Heart Syndrome, but the crowd now is REALLY into it.

9:37: Vince is not taking any F-bombs home with him tonight. He just referred to us -- all of us, collectively -- as, "you crazy em-effers."

9:40: "Something from the new album," he says. A few people around me are taking that as a cue for another trip to the bar for a C-note's worth of Bud Lite.

9:40: Guitar-solo time for Mars! Please, God, let there be a pair of violins on hand. We're diving into the Hendrix classic, "Voodoo Child." Mick is pretty pensive tonight, not too keen on initiating eye contact. I hope everything is OK at home. ...

9:50: They guy in front of me, who I might take for Nikki Sixx if not for the obvious, just asked me for a pull off his flask. He likes my style, he says, and wants to read what I am writing about him. Which appropriately leads us into ...

9:52: "Too hot! Too hot to handle! Ev'rybody! Las Vegas! Welcome to the effing show!"

9:55: Nothing to do with the concert, but I just got an e-mail update from Josh Fisher of the LV Wranglers. They are on fire, having won again tonight, 2-1 over the Victoria Salmon Kings. They are 5-0 since they lost on Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich Prison Jersey Night. Rock on!

9:57: "Do you like it loud!?" Is Vince's inquiry. The "F-yes!" crowd far outnumbers the supporters of, "Not so much!"

9:59: Tommy Lee is turning conversational. "What's up? What's up? How y'all doin'? Getting f-ed up?" Hey, I'LL ask the questions here. So, Tommy, can you tell me about that videotaped boating episode on Lake Mead several years ago? ...

10:05: Question: What's going to happen to all the guitars along the walls of The Joint when the Crue closes it down for good? Will there be a rush on such design effects, and if so, will Flask Guy lead the charge? Stay tuned!

10:13: Vince has perfectly encapsulated the Crue legacy. "We are a white trash circus!" he says. I envision a "Love"-inspired show about the Crue, "White Trash Cirque du Soleil." They are almost there now. Just pat some white pancake on Mick, hook a big bungee cord on Vince and awaaaay we go!

10:15: "It's the same old situaaaaation!!" But we're fine with that! Evr'ybody! I predict we close The Joint, forever with "Girls Girls Girls." Just a hunch. Flask Guy agrees.

10:17: Nikki's turn at the mic. "This is an effing party, people!" I think is his central point. He drops the names of legends who have graced The Joint's stage over the years. Including Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan and the Ramones. Is Dylan here? Anyone?

10:25: Vince is introducing the band. I'm setting the over-under on F-bombs during these intros at 10. We have three already. The audience just sang happy birthday to Vince (it's tomorrow, Nikki reminds) and this rendition is a little different than what you are treated to at Chili's. F-bomb count stops at seven. Under takes it.

10:31: "She's got the looks that KILL!" and yes, I am talking about YOU, girlfriend of Flask Guy.

10:34: "Girls Girls Girls!" We're wrong, but it feels so right ... Hey, women are spanking each other on the big screen! Let us not resort to tawdry violence on this historic occasion!

10:35: I am writing a live blog for the Las Vegas Sun Web site. There, I've proven it (people around me are asking questions now and are really interested in the glowing screen on my BB). I am nothing if not sensitive to the needs of the reader.

10:38: Flask guy is cracking up about the note about his girlfriend and asked me if it is possible for them to get married tonight. I tell him this is his lucky night, as I am an ordained minister from the Church of the Poison Mind and it is indeed a magic evening here at The Joint.

1040: Who's the one who makes you feel all right? Dr. Feelgood, that's who! And, he is on my list of primary care physicians!

10:43: Out of obligation, I just shouted at the devil.

10:44: Dr. Feelgood has played out. Is this it? The lights are still down. We are anticipating more music! There is general milling and chatter, a little scattered cheering. Ah! Tommy at the keyboard for, "Home Sweet Home." Everybody! Home, sweet, home! The screens are rolling through a montage of old Crue photos and concert footage. Wild stuff, all in black and white. These guys should open a camp on how to REALLY party.

10:50: That's it. The Joint is sent off with a group bow, and an impromptu rap by Tommy. "I say Vince! You say Neil! Vince! Neil! Vince! Neil!" he blares, topping the performance with a heartfelt, "G'night, f-ers!"

Couldn't have said it better myself. Rest well, little joint that could.

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