The last time I posted reader mail, I was starting to believe that most members of the population have a story that somehow relates to Vince Neil's constant intoxication. We can now add the Mustachioed Drummer to this long list of people. I got a report from MD the day after he saw the triple bill of Vince Neil, Skid Row, and Poison.
I didn't attend the event because I had seen all of those acts within the past two years. More accurately, I skipped it because Poison ruined my life last year by playing the crappiest show that was ever crappy and just generally sucking. (Here is where LCG likes to point out that he had a good time at the Poison concert.)
Anyway, I didn't go to the most recent horror show, but as soon as I found out that MD had, I asked the only necessary question. How drunk was Vince?
Item One: The Mustachioed Drummer's answer.
Vince was not as messed up as I would have liked. He got to take a couple of long breaks during his set during guitar solos. He also did not sing chunks of the songs and tried to pass it off as sing-along time.
Business as usual for Vince, I see. Then we went on to discuss Poison. He wanted to know if there had been a "fifth Poison" when I saw them. (Keyboard player partially hidden from view.) I'm pretty sure there had been. That made me even more bitter about Poison, but then he sent me a happy story about Bret Michaels shopping at a clothing store that I frequent. The shop features new and used clothes and has locations all over the state.
Item Two: The Mustachioed Drummer's third-hand story.
Oh -- you will like this Miss Dragon -- I know for a fact that Bret Michaels wears girl pants. A friend of a friend was working at the Duluth store when Poison was playing up there. My friend's friend helped Bret buy some stage wear. He did all of his shopping in the ladies' section.
This explains many, many things. That particular store is one of the only places I buy clothes, but I usually stick to buying used pants because none of the new pants fit. (As if I would pay $19.99 for a pair of new trousers when I could spend $5 on a used pair, but I digress in a very stingy manner.) Point being, the legs on new pants are always too long. And now I know why. Those pants aren't designed for me, they are designed for Bret Michaels.
Speaking of fashions that people should not be wearing, I got a very special email from CEB a couple of weeks ago.
Item Three: The email from CEB, subject line: From Pollstar's Main Page.
Still oozing boyish charm, Chubby Checker keeps the crowd on its feet during the Twist King's show at Mountaineer Race Track & Gaming Resort in Chester, W.Va., September 4, 2003.
Was this brief but choice item from Pollstar all that CEB sent? Oh, no. He is far too generous to include just the text. He also made sure to send me a copy of the horrifying photo that accompanied the snippet. Denim. Lots of denim. Fortunately for me, the resolution wasn't crystal clear, but it did look as if the pants that Mr. Checker had on were way too tight. And he oozes something. I don't know if I would call it charm.
Item Four: A single line email from Aaaahj.
Ugh, apparently Geoff Tate has started writing for his 2nd (groans) solo album. Tentatively due late 2004.
I dislike the message, but the messenger's minimalist commentary made me laugh.
Item Five: Helpful email from a reader received this past Sunday, October 5.
Extreme History With Roger Daltrey...
...is the name of a new TV show on the History Channel, beginning tonight at 9:30 Central Time. Just thought you might like to know.
This is exactly the sort of thing that I like to know! Actually, I had known about the show and was very excited about it, because I thought it would give me the chance to review a television show. Um, no. I made it through about three minutes of the show before my mind became completely numb and I had to switch stations. Always willing to give Mr. Daltrey the benefit of the doubt, I will just assume that I tuned in during a dull part of the program, and will try it again another time.
Last but not least, it would seem that Geoff Tate's approval rating is dropping. Within six days, I received not one, but two emails supporting my views on solo Geoff Tate.
Item Six: A portion of the first email that confused and delighted me.
I think I will print out the Geoff Tate open letter & CD review & frame them.
These articles are suitable for hanging above the stereo, or maybe in the kitchen next to the Bless This Mess plaque.
Item Seven: A portion of the equally confusing and delightful second email, from a reader who is a self-described, "dyed in the wool Queensrÿche fan (minus the last 3 albums)."
...you may have permanently damaged my sinus cavity. Every time I read your review of Geoff Tate's solo album I laugh so hard I snort. MOST attractive!
I finally got around to reading your review of his live show. Thanks to you I've been strung out on Aleve trying to battle the migraine that ensued from laughing my ass off with regards to the Hawaiian shirt and sandals.
Every time I read the solo album review, I remember that bleak car ride in the middle of the night. I remember staring out the windshield, willing the album to get better, and the misery that descended as it got worse. But now I will also remember that even though it took well over a year, two Queensrÿche fans finally thought the review was funny.