John Corabi, Live at the Rockbar Theater
Today's post is from our good pal HIM. Photos presented by HIMII.
BEST OF THE BEST: John Corabi, Live at the Rockbar Theater, San Jose, Calif., July 5, 2015.
For the most part, I will save the provocation for later. No need for deep digging when the real story is “above the crease” (in news-speak).
Simply put: this was the real deal in a real way. Fanboy attacks aside, Corabi reminds people—time and again—why Motley Crue is the overlooked gem in the Crue catalog. Not entirely canonical? Yep. Not Neilesque? Yep. Better for all of it? Yep.
Tonight was no exception. Corabi is a bit more haggard, and a lot lower on the touring rung than the Crue. He is touring with some dudes—please see below—that could be my kids. But he shines. And he deserves a chance to remind fans why this album—a bomb of the most obvious sorts when it was released—warrants a fair and new hearing. If tonight’s performance is any indication, Corabi isn’t going out yet. Sadly, he never got to the top. But he is doing laps around the guys that decided to check pluck and vigor for plug and play theatrics. Good for Corabi. Good for fans. This version of the Crue deserves to be heard, deserves much better treatment than as a throwaway snippet in a video collage.
Viewed through a prism not entirely warped by nostalgia, this show was classic “shoulda, coulda, woulda . . . not worked even if fans wanted it to.” This was the Crue as it might have been, before dollars signs, contracts, and calculations factored into the mix. This was Corabi as he has always been. Don’t skip Angora. Don’t miss Union. Give the Dead Daisies a chance. Just note: Mars, and now even Lee, say this was the best Crue album. Corabi? He played the show with passion and professionalism. He let the music do the talking.
Corabi played the album in order, but let me meander a touch. “Uncle Jack” sounded as wrenchingly-rocking as it did on the album, the sludgy compliment to the single that should have been a (bigger) hit, “Hooligan’s Holiday.” The one song he originally said he wouldn’t play on tour because it was too complicated, “Welcome to the Numb,” sounded well-adapted to a live performance. Even the lesser songs, like “Loveshine” and “Driftaway,” were better in a live venue than on the album. The performance standouts were two ends of the album’s spectrum: “Poison Apples” was a rabid rocker, with Corabi spitting out the lyrics; “Misunderstood” seemed less slight and more poignant, with Corabi joining the band on guitar (not for the last time either). Throughout it all, he sounded fantastic. This style of delivery can’t be easy on a guy his age (he is 57). Corabi likely doesn’t spend all of his free time doing vocal exercises while sipping tea and honey. But he still brings it, working the front of the stage with a focus many younger singers—and several of his contemporaries—would envy.
The band also deserves mention . . . and not just on account of their youth. They were able to add to, and not merely replicate, the sound of Motley Crue. Topher Nolen on bass proved a suitable replacement for Sixx. Josh Dutoit on guitar largely kept out of the spotlight (sometimes quite literally), even while entertaining several groups of women stage right. The other guitarist, Jeremy Asbrock, sported a dead-on Randy Rhodes look: feathered hair, vest, and all. It is a testament to the sound the band created on Motley Crue that they needed two (and sometimes three) gifted guitarists to produce the sound live. This band is also a family affair: Corabi’s son Ian more than competently replicated the aggressive drumming style that Lee brought the album. They all performed brilliantly, making sure that the fans heard the songs they wanted to hear the way they needed to be heard. If there is one small complaint, it would be this: Asbrock and Nolen supplied backing vocals and they tended to be a bit thin, and high. But that is a quibble really, when you consider this was a show that was live through and through.
The other thing? Corabi acted like an artist who appreciated his fans. Go figure?!!? There is no need for full disclosure when I have already accounted for how Corabi treated one fan (in this case, me) several years ago. But I wouldn’t spare him criticism if his performance was flat, or his backing band was lame, or his attitude was boastful. So here it is: it wasn’t, they weren’t, and he wasn’t. He mixed a mesmerizing stage presence with well-timed impromptu comments and humorous asides. He added context to the development of the album and particular songs. He had ample opportunities to slag his former bandmates. He didn’t. Instead, he invited fans to sit with him after the show at the bar while he had a drink.
So let me provoke: Motley Crue is the most consistent album that they ever released. It stands behind Too Fast for Love and Shout at the Devil in terms of raw (immature, in a good way) force. But it is more held together than either of them. Motley Crue feels hungry, like TFFL did. And it doesn’t feel forced like a lot of the stuff that came after (and before?) Dr. Feelgood. The Crue were always about changing their focus (“Come On and Dance” to “City Boy Blues”) and/or supporting excursions into uncharted territory (“Nona,” anyone?). Motley Crue pushed them to do all those things big time. It was the solidly constructed compliment to Quaternary’s “fire it at the wall” KISS strategy (though there are nuggets of greatness therein). The myriad complaints that some fans have about this album—that Neil is the only true Crue singer, that they should have called themselves something else, that Neil’s return righted the ship—are so obviously and easily paper tigers.
On this night, Corabi didn’t need me to wave rhetorical pom-poms for him. He did the album justice by letting the album stand on its own, supported by a tightly focused band. To be honest, he didn’t need the other guys in that other band either. Corabi has nothing to fear and nothing to tarnish if he continues to show fans and foes alike that this could have been the trajectory of the Crue. Nostalgia for a small group of fans? Yep. Badly capped, sucked-in-Spanx, synced and sourced to play to the original tapes while failing to play the real stuff live? Nope. On the edge of grunge and just past the promise of “Primal Scream,” Motley Crue augured a continuation and a rebirth. Corabi showed what never was even as he made a strong case for what should have been. Primal scream, indeed.
Epilogue: Corabi played a venue that also deserves a chance. Rockbar Theater looks like Dio’s living room. Low light, gargoyles, and sconces. Repeat that three times and a slightly balding gnome will show up and yell: “Look out! Rainbows!” It features an oddly left-of-center stage (likely a load-bearing issue), a large middle seating/restaurant area, and a vodka bar that no true metal fan would ever step foot in . . . without a voucher. No matter though. The vodka bar was closed. They ran out of the “t” in a T&T. They seemed to be shorter on staff than they were months back for a Metallica cover band (Damage Inc., playing the Burton-era hits better than ‘tallica can now). However, it features good sound, great staff, a solid pour, and enough space for any fan of this era’s music. I wish Rockbar well. But it is facing an uphill climb. Housed in a former steak/prime rib/card house venue, the owners have a long row to hoe when it comes to sustaining a space for people like Corabi (or Pearcy, or Bach, or . . . well, you get it . . . this is Dio’s living room filled with bands and artists that draw crowds to the same). I have to assume that margins are razor-thin. And crowds in the Silicon Valley don’t really trend towards this genre. Tonight was no exception. There were, at best, one hundred people here. Dedicated and engaged, though not enough to sustain a venue of this size for the long term. I hope metal fans prove me wrong.