Glam Metal, 80s Metal, Hair Metal or, as I love to call it, Cock Rock – whatever you want to call it, you’ve heard me ramble about cock rock before with the local lust of Montreal’s Sleazy Way Out. It’s dirty, simple, and painfully stupid, but it makes you wanna fuck everything that moves including yourself. If you wanna know the mecca of all things cock rock, look no further than Steel Panther. I’m going to warn you dudes now, if you thought my previous reviews were ridiculous and borderline-mentally-handicapped, you were right, and this one is no different. The night was Sunday the 17th of May, the “Lord’s” day. The place is the church I’ve grown to love called Metropolis, right here in merry ol’ Montreal. I sincerely hope you brought a condom and some penicillin.
The soiree started out with a surprisingly impressive bang from L.A., California’s very own Future Villains. Still rocking a little bit of cock rock, but with a slight New Age tinge to it; crunchier, cleaner, douchier, and most of all screamier. (I’m making that a word. Fuck you.) Not much can be said about these cats as they spin a simplistic, sleazy style like most cock rock, but most notable about this set was their excitement and a bitching cover of “Highway Star.” I don’t typically condone covers from touring acts whom have material of their own, but on occasion somebody kills it; singer “Dusty Bones” has got the pipes to give you a fucking concussion.
Don’t you just love when you don’t have to hear me ramble about 17 opening acts in row? Yeah so do I, and if you caught that word play, then you know the time is night. It’s Steel Fucking Panther time! Also hailing from the AIDS infested hole known as Los Angeles, Cock Rock was seemingly born from their buttholes and continually abused for all of its life. If you haven’t caught on yet, Steel Panther‘s entire schtick is a parody – AND ITS FUCKING AWESOME. I’m not kidding, we’re talking about world class musicians (and I’m still not fucking around, these dudes kill it at what they do) MAKING FUCKING FUN OF A GENRE OF MUSIC THAT DOMINATED MUSIC CHARTS FOR A FUCKING DECADE! Alright, I’ll stop freaking out. From Vocalist Michael Starr (who’s actual birthday it was) ripping that high note in “Gloryhole” to Guitarist Satchel and his five-minute bitchin’ solo, these dudes all had their shit down pat. This was not my first Steel Panther show, and I’ve never been disappointed. From “Party Like Tomorrow is the End of the World” right down to “Community Property,” nothing has ever made you wanna fuck all night and party all day like forgetting all the fucks you used to give at a Panther Show. No, I won’t stop my word play.
There’s one quintessential thing about this band, this genre, and this night that made it all happen. You’ll find yourself lying awake at night wondering what the fuck, how the fuck, WHY THE FUCK, do these cats rule so hard. One thing. One thing only. Well, technically two things, but really it’s just the one thing pluralized. Boobs. Boobs made it all happen. Yes it’s sexist, narcissistic, and fucking wrong, BUT FUCKING BOOBS, DUDE! It’s all about the boobs, and it will always be about the boobs. Congratulations, ladies. You are the reason Steel Panther are famous, your boobs make the world go round and you should feel fucking amazing about it. This act has accomplished the impossible. They’ve bridged the gap between music and comedy that gives them the almighty power to point at a lady and say, “Show us your boobs!” And they do it! Doesn’t matter if they’re rocking “Asian Hooker” or if they decide to accomplish the impossible and rip into a riff from Rush’s “Limelight,” which actually happened, the tits in the audience will be known to the world. To that, my cock and I salute you with all our terrible intentions. Three cheers for FUCKING BOOBS.
Written by Jason Greenberg
Photography by Eric Brisson Eric Brisson Photography