Pissing off Scenesters Since 1995
The Lounge Puppets
Chicago, House of Blues 1/26/07
photos courtesy of The Lounge Puppets
by Michael McNichols
“Fuck you, Pete! Fuck you, Pete!”
The crowd of older rock fans desperately trying to relive their glory days at the downtown Chicago House of Blues repeatedly chanted this at Pete’s joyful insistence. Pete Greco, lead singer for “˜80s hair metal tribute band the Lounge Puppets, bragged readily up on stage about how he’d come here tonight to get loaded. He must have already been looking like that.
With long, tousled black hair, Greco had obviously fallen asleep and missed the last 17 years. He bravely wore shiny leather pants the likes of which only aging male porn stars own.
Where exactly does one purchase pants like that and is there a time other than at an ’80s hair band tribute show to wear them? Did Greco change into another pair after the show since those shiny leather ones would get his ass kicked in most Chicago neighborhoods? I can’t answer any of these questions. However, I do know if Greco walked past me outside wearing those, I’d have to hit him with a brick.
His bandmates looked similarly laughable in ultra-tight, whitewashed jeans and long, long weepy hair. Apparently, this marked that one night of the year they dug out their old clothes from twenty years ago and tried them on to see if they still fit. They did, but not well.
Shockingly enough, I enjoyed the music.
At 11:30 pm, the Lounge Puppets took the stage without introduction and dove right into it, though it took them a few songs to really hit their stride. A pair of Miller Lights at the outrageous price of $4.50 each tided me over until they covered Bon Jovi.
What is an “˜80s hair band tribute without Bon Jovi? What is a man without a soul? Life without light? A family dinner without a bottle of wine to make your uncle’s stories about his Canadian vacation interesting?
Greco suddenly screeched “Shot Through the Heart!” And we all joined in. While I wasn’t experiencing a mid-life crisis like most of the attendees, I still somehow knew all the words despite not even really liking the song.
Truly, the “˜80s touched us all. Or maybe it was my low tolerance for alcohol. Take your pick.
The crowd contained a decent mix of different people, though we all sat in the back. The older ’80s hair band fans largely gathered together in front of the stage, dancing and singing along.
It disturbed me watching these 40 or 50-year old women gyrating up against each other and groping young men half their age, though thankfully none victimized me. I realize the music made them feel young and they came out to have a good time. But did they have to wear tight, revealing dresses Paris Hilton would find slutty? I saw the stretch marks from when they lost their pregnancy weight! These women were mothers!
The men didn’t look much better. I even saw a few mullets. That damn haircut just refuses to go away. However, most had graduated from the long hair, black t-shirt, and whitewashed jeans of the ’80s rock fan to the ’80s cheap gigolo look.
Greasy, slicked back hair? Check! Open collar showing off chest hair! Check! Obnoxious gold chains dangling around their necks? Double check! Did these guys think they were auditioning to play a drug lord on Miami Vice or something?
On stage, the Lounge Puppets ran the full gambit of ’80s music covering the bands you’d expect like Poison, Journey, Van Halen, and Motley Crue. Greco always remained enthusiastic, commendably never seeming to tire despite wearing those leather pants. You ever try running around in a pair of those? There’s no mobility! And, God, do you sweat!
But did Greco really have to make the obligatory cheap “BEARS SUPERBOWL!” reference? Of course the entire CHICAGO crowd cheered. Man, that’s not even trying!
Music-wise, his bandmates complemented him well, never drowning him out with their sound. They almost perfectly blended into the background, never attempting to show him up, which was probably a good thing.
It’d have amused me if the drummer had been liquored up enough to beat Greco down with the mic while belting out Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It!” However, it’s not funny if only I laugh. Actually, it is, but there’s nothing wrong with just playing great music. Not everyone can be an out of control rock star up on stage.
Bass Guitarist Jim Dixon, however, got his turn when they played Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” Naturally, he quickly fell into a poor, growling James Hetfield impression. Who among us hasn’t after a few shots of Yaeger?
Well, other than the money, fame, and mind-numbing amounts of easy, anonymous sex he must get, I admit to having no interest in being James Hetfield at all.
Anyway, the Lounge Puppets obviously should have told Dixon to shut up when he told them about his childhood dream of joining Metallica and just Greco do his thing. He was obviously the drunkest band member and therefore the most entertaining.
However, despite how well the band played for the most part, something still seemed off. I couldn’t explain it at first, but usually during an “˜80s tribute show, a mad energy crackles through the air. It sweeps everyone up even if, like myself, Transformers interested them more during the 80s than the music.
The Lounge Puppets had all the ingredients for a wildly memorable show. A band that doesn’t know any better? Fans who all want to forget about their dull, wasted lives? Free tickets given out to anyone to guarantee a big crowd? I’m serious about that last one. You really think I’d have gone if I had to pay $15 to get in? These aren’t the damn Transformers offering to take me back to Cybertron!
Finally, I overheard someone say, “I’m not as drunk as I’d thought I’d be.” It all made sense then.
Well-lit and clean, the House of Blues remains one of the more upscale Chicago music venues. Many metal bands play there, but it’s not the typical dive with the urine-stained bathroom stall doors hanging off their hinges. They didn’t even allow smoking!
I considered the expensive drink prices the biggest crime though. Paying about twice as much for a drink as I normally would have discouraged me from getting extraordinarily tanked. And I’m a young, cynical man! This air of restriction obviously kept the older fans from acting out like they were 20 years younger and hadn’t discovered Viagra or menopause.
Alcohol makes the world a brighter, bolder place. It helps rock show take the step from “awesome” to “so obscene we can’t talk about it the next day.” Yes, many people, including the band, showed up already intoxicated, but it wasn’t enough! These people were still able to drive home! This was a rock show! That’s insane!
’80s tribute bands are ultimately about people reliving their youths or others kicking back and getting into the spirit of what many remember as a wilder time. You’re right. The ’80s really weren’t that great, but, like me thinking I’m bulletproof, beer helps us pretend!
A far seedier venue would have done wonders for the show. Serve cheaper beer and anything would have gone! Don’t you want to sit on a dirty toilet in the women’s bathroom while your best friend of 20 years gets so drunk she begs you to go down on her? Never fear! You’re not lesbians because your hair reminds her of David Lee Roth’s! Now that’s the ’80s I want to remember.
Hello.
I find you incredibly pathetic commenting on a guy’s pants and hair style. You obviously don’t listen to music but only go to shows to check out the guys around you. Why do you care what kind of pants he wears? What do you wear, huh? You probably look disgusting yourself. Judge the book by it’s cover again. Sad.