Just another Monday night.
We step off the bus and onto the curb next to an empty building.
As we walk down Sunset Boulevard on Oct. 2, I teeter along behind
my friends, belatedly beginning to question the wisdom of wearing
five-inch stilettos to a concert. But they’re silver, and
therefore worth the pain.
PREVIEW Metal Skool Every Monday, 9 p.m. Key Club, $15
We get to the Key Club, the screen above the door glowing with
flashing images of the approaching show. No one is around so we go
past the barriers to the security guard holding a clipboard and
tell him the name of the band that put us on the list, flashing
IDs.
He checks us off the list and stamps my hand, nodding toward the
box office window where everyone under 21 has to buy a drink ticket
before passing through the black double doors into the club.
As we walk in the other security guard gives me a sideways
glance.
“How old are you?”
Just another Monday night at Metal Skool, which happens every
Monday at the Key Club.
We go inside but it’s still too early. There are a few
people standing around, mostly at the bar ““ almost no one is
on the floor. One of the opening acts is playing, though not
particularly well.
We go back outside and walk around to the side of the building.
This is where the cool kids hang out. There’s the band that
opened at the Whisky the night before, the guy who looks like
he’s from that ’80s band, the guy who is from that
’80s band, and the guy who always tells you about the session
work he did with that ’80s band. Pretty much everyone who
ever hangs out on the Strip turns up outside the Key Club on Monday
nights, even if they don’t go inside.
FLASH SLIDESHOW
See more photos from the Metal Skool concert.
When we go back inside, the energy has completely changed as
people start shoving to get to the front for Metal Skool. After
some stealthy maneuvering, we end up front and center, where
everyone is dancing and singing along to random songs played to try
to cover the obscene length of set changes. That and the boob
cam.
The lights turn red. The first chord of the Scorpions’
“Rock You Like a Hurricane” blasts from behind the
curtain and the crowd goes wild as the band tears onstage. Wearing
what would appear to be the result of a small hurricane spinning
through Van Halen, Bon Jovi and Motley Crue’s dressing rooms,
Metal Skool is as glammy as any of the bands it covers ““
spandex, hair and all.
Singer Michael Star is alternately a fat David Lee Roth or a
skinny Vince Neil; bassist Lexxi Foxxx opportunistically uses any
second he’s not playing to look in the mirror and reapply his
makeup; guitarist Satchel prances, jumps and kicks as he shreds;
and Stix Zadinia, appropriately the drummer, basically sits behind
his drum kit and hits things.
The songs don’t really change from week to week ““
Skool veterans joke that you can see version one or version two,
though this set appears to be a hybrid version 1.5 ““ but that
doesn’t bother anyone. Though some people are there because
it has become trendy, most people come because they love the music,
and even if it’s not the original band, they’re still
hearing their favorite songs live.
Sometimes, however, it becomes more than a cover band.
Celebrities frequent Metal Skool, especially members of the bands
whose songs they play ““ and they’re always conned into
getting onstage and playing with the band.
First Scott Ian of Anthrax jams with Satchel on guitar, churning
out Skid Row’s “Youth Gone Wild.” Only a few
minutes after Ian has left the stage, Star announces that Jani Lane
of Warrant is in the audience. After some prodding and spotlights
in his face, he gets on stage ““ joined by Bobby Blotzer of
Ratt taking Stix’s sticks and John Corabi of Motley Crue on
guitar ““ to do Ratt’s “Round and
Round.”
As though the songs aren’t enough, the band also functions
as a three-man comedy act (Stix doesn’t say much). Usually
these jokes revolve around certain anatomical features and the
various places they can be put, or shoved.
The band slows down for the obligatory power ballad, “Home
Sweet Home” by Motley Crue, in this case dedicated to the
security guard. The lighter moment over, the crowd jumps with the
bass line of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On a
Prayer,” arms in the air, everyone singing every word along
with Star (which is actually the case with every song).
I keep waiting for Star to say, “You guys deserve some
Twisted Sister.” Maybe I just feel entitled, but I always
think we deserve some Twisted Sister. He never says it though, but
we get something better: AC/DC.
As usual, girls begin crawling onstage for “Sweet Child
O’ Mine.” And as usual, some who don’t hold their
alcohol well show the audience probably more than they intended and
get led offstage by security, only to try to shove their way to the
front again.
One such shrinking violet, in making her way back to the front,
encountered a group of what are known as “metal
chicks,” the girls who know all the Bon Jovi songs but
don’t let that stop them from listening to Pantera, and who
certainly aren’t going to let some groupie-type get between
them and their music. In this particular case, one of the metal
chicks turned around just long enough to clock the aforementioned
dancer in the jaw, much to the approval of every other girl in the
vicinity.
Shoving, dirty looks and drunken insults ensued as the
girl’s friends tried to defend her honor and the rest of us
elbowed them out of our way.
No guys interfered, though. They stood watching, probably with
one thing on their minds: “They’re fighting ““
maybe they’ll make out.”
The scuffle is quickly forgotten, however, as the drums begin
pounding the rhythm of the Metal Skool staple “Welcome to the
Jungle.” Even the metal chicks get onstage for this one. A
chosen few get pulled up by Star himself.
In true Metal Skool style, it was complete madness: girls
dancing with each other, Foxxx, Satchel and Corabi back onstage for
the finale, Star running circles around the girls, confetti flying,
fists in the air, and every voice in the building singing
“When you’re high you never / Ever want to come
down.”
When the song ends the band goes backstage but the crowd
lingers. Even when everyone filters outside, we just move to the
side of the building, getting blitzed by local bands handing out
their flyers, only interested in the ones with a free list for next
week’s Metal Skool. Eventually the security guys tell
everyone to clear out, so we do ““ slowly.
The drive back from the Strip is always a little bit sad. The
high of the show wears off; classes and homework loom ahead. But
there’s always a little bit of hope.
Monday’s only seven days away.