Well, since this IS my homepage, I think I should put up something I wrote--especially since I'm partly an English major. So I decided to write my own review/experience of my first Lep concert. The date July 5, 1996. The place, the New World Music Theater in Tinley Park, Il. The concert ROCKED! But that goes without saying, doesn't it? Without further ado...
Of course, I have to start from the very beginning. May 4, 1996. Do you remember what you were doing that day? I remember what I was doing-- trying to get the best possible tickets and hoping to be somewhere near Joe Elliot. Tickets went on sale at 12:00pm. So, unexperienced with buying concert tickets, I made sure I was there just a bit early. I should have gotten there even earlier, but I didn't know that there was a lotto for ticket buying. Well, I was very anxious to get up to the counter and declare that I needed four tickets for the Leps. That is, until my friend Dorothy pointed out a sign that said credit cards and checks were not accepted on the first day that tickets went on sale for any concert. I was planning to charge them! As you can imagine, I became very upset about this. One of the ladies that worked there told me that she'd hold my place in line for a half hour while I went to the bank to get the money. I raced out of the store, sped home, got my bank book, sped to the bank (which was closing in half an hour), took out the cash and sped back to the Ticketmaster at Carson's. Of course, it took me over a half hour, so I had to wait in line again. But, when I finally got my tickets, I was so relieved. Yes, they were not the best, but as I told myself, they were still pretty close, and at least I was going.
The hardest part then was the wait. July 5 seemed like it would never come. Two whole months until I could see the Leps live! I looked forward to it immensely. And I prayed that nothing would happen to make them cancel my concert. This was around the time that charges were being brought up against Rick Allen again for beating his wife the year before. I had the worst feeling of dread that they were going to put him in jail and therefore cancel the rest of the tour. Thank God that didn't happen.
July 5 rolled around and I couldn't have been happier. The concert was scheduled to begin at 7:30. Of course, I wanted to be there early. The Leps were playing at the World Music Theater in Tinley Park, Il. For any of those who live in the Chicagoland area, you know that that is way south of Chicago and quite a trip. I told my friends that we had to leave my house by 5:00, and I meant it. I was not going to risk missing anything. Well, as it turned out, we got there faster than I thought we would. By 6:00, I was at the World Music Theater and already trying to decide which t-shirt to buy! Once I got my shirt and tour book, we headed up to our seats where I waited anxiously for the concert to begin. Three friends had gone with me- Dorothy, Michele and yet another Kathy. But none of them were as into the band as I was. To say that I was excited would be an understatement.
The specifics are a little hazy, but I think that the opening band started a little after 7:30. It was Tripping Daisy. The review from the Tribune favored them, but from the point of view of the fans, they sucked! All we wanted was for them to get off the stage and make way for the Leps. I think I've blocked them out, but the main things I can remember are that the lead singer had blue hair, and they played two songs I knew- Pirhanna and I Got A Girl. The rest is a blur of people telling them they suck and chanting for the Leps. I think they played for about forty-five minutes, ending at around 8:15. I was all ready to see my favorite band walk out on stage. But, there was more of a wait. They had to set-up the stage and since it was an outdoor theater- the guys waited for it to get dark.
At 9:00, all lights went out and we could hear Queen singing "We will, we will, rock you!" I can remember screaming when I first saw the guys come out on stage and shooting out of my seat. I did not sit down again for the remainder of the concert. Song after song, I listened to Joe, my excitement never fading, and sang along as well. I strained to get a better look at all of the guys as if by merely squinting a different way I could see them clearer. Once in a while I used my uncle's binoculars. But the thrill of actually being there and hearing them play live was all I needed. I'm not sure about the order, but from memory, I made a list of the songs they played when I got home. These included: Let It Go, Rock Rock (Till You Drop), All I Want Is Everything, Animal, Bringin' On The Heartbreak, Switch 625, Two Steps Behind, Work It Out, Deliver Me, Rocket, Armageddon It, Foolin', Photograph, Where Does Love Go When It Dies, Hysteria, Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad, and of course, Pour Some Sugar On Me.
I'll never forget the encore. Joe came back out on stage wearing a Bulls championship t-shirt. That was cool enough. Then the Leps did Rock of Ages and Love Bites--two of my all time favs! During Rock of Ages, someone behind me and to my right set off a firecracker that scared me to death. But hey, it worked it's way into the song. And I lived to tell about it-- that's all that matters.
The concert ended around 10:45. The Leps played for an hour and forty-five minutes, but when it was over, I didn't want to see it end. By the time I walked out of the theater, my voice was gone from all the screaming I'd done, my hands were sore from all the clapping, and my ears, well, let's just say I didn't hear very clearly until the next day. But it was definitely worth it. I can't wait to go to my next Def Leppard concert! :)
This next article was taken from the January 1997 issue of Hit Parader. It's another year in review type issue. And as we all know, Def Leppard was definitely alive and kicking in 1996, even if not as many people as we would like knew about them. Here's what Hit Parader had to say...
"The fans have always been so great to us," Collen said as he stopped in the late afternoon heat to place his signature upon yet another Def Leppard item. "They're so patient to wait for us, and they seem so happy when they finally do get the chance to say hello. All they ask from us is to stop and sign something for them or take a picture. I don't really think that's asking for very much."
Despite the incredible success they've enjoyed over the last 15 years- with their total album sales passing the 30 million level- the members of Def Leppard have had no problem in maintaining their down-to-earth perspectives. In sharp contrast to so many of today's pampered, spoiled, self-possessed Rock Gods, the Leps still often come across as just a bunch of English lads out to have some fun. That good-time attitude permeates their lives as easily as it does their music, and in many ways has become their calling card to the band's millions of faithful followers. While they may no longer be the multi-platinum princes of the hard rock empire- as they were during the mid-'80s when such albums as Pyromania and Hysteria first catapulted them to fame-Def Leppard certainly remain the British gentlemen they've always been.
"Every time an album comes out or a tour begins you wonder if the fans still remember you," Elliot said. "When you find out that they do it often comes as an incredible relief. That's a feeling we've had since our very first album came out, and it's a feeling we still have today. Each night, when we walk into an arena and find out that the people have actually shown up, it still comes as a very pleasant surprise."
On their latest road outting, which occurs in the wake of their current disc, Slang, the Leps have never looked or sounded better. Mixing a wide selection of the group's classic material, ranging from Photograph and Pour Some Sugar On Me to Rock Of Ages and Bringin' On The Heartbreak, with a healthy dose of their latest sounds, the group has constructed a two hour rock riot that is a veritable non-stop thrill ride from first note to last. With Collen and Campbell laying down guitar thunder, Allen adding real drum rhythms (as compared to the computer-generated sounds of the band's last two tours), and Elliot prowling the stage as only he can, the 1996/97 version of Def Leppard is a lean, mean rockin' machine-and that's just the way the band likes it.
"Sometimes people ask me why we just don't kick back and enjoy everything that we've achieved over the years," Elliot said. "They wonder why we work so hard. Well, that is what we do for enjoyment. You can only lay out in the sun for so long before your brain begins to turn to mush. We want to avoid that if we can. Getting out on the road and playing rock and roll every night is what turns us on. More and more we've come to realize it's the most important thing in our lives."
This article is a tad bit old, but still worth reading. If it was written about Def Leppard, it deserves to be seen, especially with the lack of coverage that the guys are receiving today. This article, taken from the April 1992 issue of Musician is special to me for another reason though--my boyfriend bought me the magazine. I saw this magazine framed and hanging in a record store in downtown Chicago one day last summer but couldn't afford to buy it at the time. I told him about it that night and he bought it for me the next day--what a sweetie, huh? :) I've finally taken it out of its frame to bring you the article in full. Check out the pictures on my Lep Pics page.
From the table of contents..."Who is the best selling rock band in the world? Here's a hint--they live in Dublin. Here's another--it ain't U2. Def Leppard have overcome one member's loss to alcohol, another's loss of a limb and a third's death to build music of joy and abandon--and just a little regret."
It was the third time someone had asked me about that movie since my arrival from Los Angeles 20 hours earlier. Dublin may be the capital city of the grand emerald isle, but it is also a homey place that revels in its insularity. A film that purports to represent even a sliver of its culture is no trifling event.
"I thought it was great!" the cabbie boomed, in a way that left small room for counterpoint. "The kids could sing, couldn't they? Though the town looked a little drab," he noted defensively. "But I guess that's what the movie wanted."
A few minutes later we arrived at the address of the converted warehouse called The Factory. It was a gray, damp afternoon, and the surrounding area looked, well, a little drab. I began to sense deja vu. Up a couple of flights of stairs--and there they were, another Dublin band paying their "commitments" to some classic sounds that had once set souls afire. There stood the young, intent keyboard player, the three good-looking backup singers, the wild-eyed drummer, the star singer who'd had a few drops too many the night before...
There was only one catch. They were playing the music of Slade.
"Momma, Momma we're all crazy now..."
The reverberation in the room of the sweet-singing chorale and those perfect rock chords created a happy din. Joe Elliot, his blond tresses flowing over the top of a well-worn Ziggy Stardust T-shirt, directed the arrangement and chopped out the rhythm on an old Guild electric, not too badly either. His voice was shot, however--"I can't even get up to the low notes," he admitted good-naturedly. The previous night, he'd been up celebrating the completion of his contributions to the new record by his other band, Def Leppard. The Leppard album, as usual, had taken four years.
"Momma, Momma, we're all crazy now..."
This band, by contrast, had been together approximately two weeks. Their first and only show, headlining an annual charity concert at Dublin's Olympia Theatre to benefit the local children's hospital, would take place in 48 hours. Joe had come up with the name-- "Glam Slam"--and the repertoire--Slade, Mott the Hoople, Ziggy-era David Bowie, Gary Glitter, the Sweet, T-Rex. It was the stuff he'd loved as a kid, the songs he's often knock out on piano at the end of Def Leppard rehearsals--a sure signal to everyone else that it was time to go home.
But fellow Lepp Rick Savage was game to sit in on bass and help Joe put together his dream gig, which otherwise comprised players from local groups (including singer Maria Doyle, who really was in The Commitments). One-off or no, some of Def Leppard's compulsive perfectionism was beginning to seep into their rehearsals. The band sounded tight, and Elliot was already getting worried about his lungs.
"I guess I'll have to rest 'em the next couple of days," he said. "I know it's just a gig to have fun, but I can't help it. This voice, it's a little bit like [football quarterback] Jim McMahon's arm," he added dryly. "It can still do the job. But if I was 19, you might not want to give it that chance."
Elliot was younger than that when he and Rick Savage and drummer Rick Allen and guitarists Steve Clark and Pete Willis embarked on the unlikely success story of Def Leppard. They'd grown up in Sheffield, England, a working-class city of musical unrenown. Their first album, released in the flush of England's punk/new wave explosion, was either panned or ignored by the press. But the followup, High'n'Dry, sold over two million copies in the U.S., and 1983's Pyromania was a huge hit, eclipsed that year only by the mega-event of Michael Jackson's Thriller.
Still the group's identity remained elusive. Their music suggested an ingenious pop/metal hybrid, but without the visual gimmickry of metal bands of the cult personality that surrounded video pop icons. Def Leppard's hooks were really hooks--tuneful vocal harmonies, well-crafted song structures, crunchy guitar riffs. Mostly, it was music that made you feel good. Casual fans might not even have noticed when, following the release of Pyromania, but before the tour, guitarist Phil Collen replaced Pete Willis, whose alleged problems with alcohol forced his departure from the band. It would be a harbinger of troubles to come.
On New Year's Eve, 1984, drummer Rick Allen smashed up his car and nearly lost his life; his left arm was amputated. His career seemed over, but Allen had other ideas. With encouragement from his bandmates, he developed a style of drumming to compensate for his physical misfortune. His metamorphosis was one delay among many that resulted in a four-year wait between records, but the result, 1987's Hysteria, sold 14 million and catapulted the band into a triumphant world tour that lasted nearly two years.
Within weeks after the tour's end, Def Leppard was back in the studio working on a new record. Then, in January 1991, Savage, Collen, Elliot and Allen received the phone call each had been dreading for years; Steve Clark was dead, a victim of chronic alcoholism. It took another year to complete the record, but that was the least of it. For better or ill, the band whose music reveled in the joys of being "deep and meaningless" as Joe Elliot put it, had been forced to confront the considerably deeper realities of their lives.
Leaving The Factory in the twilight of late afternoon, Rick Savage appeared refreshed. "I've not had this much fun in months," he declared. "Reminds me why I got into this business." With his amiable good looks and thick shock of blond hair, Savage was the guy in the band who really looked like a rock star. He's the one you'd figure would feel at home on a stage, which is true to a point; making records for years on end, he explained while navigating the city's knots of rush-hour traffic, was never his idea of a good time. He expressed admiration that sounded like envy for bands like Guns N' Roses or Nirvana, who still let it hang every night.
"The great thing about that stuff is that it has the energy you can only get at a certain age," he said. "We were doing it in our own little way 10 years ago. But if we tried to do stuff like that now it would be contrived. I mean, it might sound good," he allowed. "But it wouldn't be Guns N' Roses."
The city fell away into the greenery and steon fences of rural Ireland. We arrived at Joe Elliot's house, a modern affair on a hill with a widescreen view of the countryside, and entered the adjoining home studio, where the band had done most of their recording.
It was a comfortable place, with a 32-track board, modern gear and leather-cushioned couches. A small kitchen and loo around the corner were more boy's club, with a red felt marker by the toilet stall for graffiti. The doggerel was mildly vulgar, much of it regarding Australians. A photo of the band, circa 1988, had been ornamented by the marker in ways unflattering to everyone in the picture--all except Steve Clark, adorned simply by a fragile halo.
Savage put on a tape of the new album, Adrenalize--"the mixes are still rough," he cautioned, and commented on the songs as they came up. The leadoff track, a Bart Simpson-inspired raver called "Let's Get Rocked," had been written more or less on deadline, which meant it had been worked on for "only" three months. Other songs went back further--the group had been tinkering with the romantic plaint "Tonight," for instance, since 1984.
"You get the idea that McCartney and Lennon sat down in a room and half an hour later they had 'Yesterday' or something," Savage said. "Well, for us mere mortals it takes a lot more work. We tend to do our best work on our own, but nobody comes in with something that turns out to be finished. You build it bit by bit.
"We always have to multi-track the vocals 'cause that's where we get our sound. Whenever we thought we didn't need so many tracks, it never sounded quite right. Other people think 'cause you've moved on you've progressed, but I don't think it's a question of getting better in the 'art' sense of the word. You do learn more, but how you adapt to what you've learned is what's important. You can start to think you are Lennon and McCartney, you know, and you're not really--you're still the same person who wrote some really awful songs on the first album," he laughed. "So it's best to keep that in mind."
Such humility from rock stars is best observed with one eyebrow raised, but with Def Leppard the sentiments feel genuine. One could argue that, in the absence of genius, their work ethic--"we're slaves to the song," as Savage put it--has been the crucial element to their success.
Ironically, most of the songs on Adrenalize were so tightly crafted they felt effortless. Where Hysteria had presented an often complicated mesh of bridges and choruses--AOR rock structures with a keyboard-heavy pop sound--Adrenalize was tuneful, crisp and immediate--pop structures with a more crackling guitar sound.
The record, produced by Mike Shipley, was the first Leppard album in over a decade that hadn't been produced by the band's co-songwriter and mentor, Mutt Lange. Over the years Lange's meticulous approach to record-making had rubbed off on them, Savage figured; at the same time, his absence was one more psychological hurdle.
"We always want to have that commercial aspect that's pleasing on the ear, while 17-year-olds can still get off on the power of it," he went on. "It's a fine line. They say the younger fan is fickle, but I still get a bigger buzz entertaining someone who's 16 than one who's 32--because that's when I was really a fan." He smiled. "I guess I'd still rather appeal to the mindless idiot than the bank manager with a gold credit card."
There were some surprises on the record, like "Personal Property"--whose chunky rhythm, Savage said, had been inspired by the B-52's' "Love Shack"--but the overall sound was decidedly upbeat, romantic rock'n'roll. That is, until the final track "White Lightning," a guitar-frenzied rush whose lyrics about suicidal pain suggested a dark commentary on the life and death of Steve Clark. After all that sonic sugar, the effect was not unlike a sock to the jaw.
"Well, people can read into it what they want," Savage began cautiously. "We don't want to give people the wrong idea...but there were certain things in there that mirrored his life. That deep down, he was a lonely guy. And it had nothing to do with not having friends or anything. It was that inside himself he was never happy. That's the angle we tried to get in there. Only anyone that's lived with an alcoholic in their family can begin to understand what it's like to be in that situation. Because no matter what you do to help, it does not in the end make any difference."
Because it's a symptom as well as a disease?
"That's right. It's some craving for something not being satisfied. And to see it in someone you've known and loved for years..." he paused for a moment. "The whole aspect is so confusing in a sense, because you think, this guy is so talented in his way, it seems such a shame and a waste. We sat down with him many times, initially out of pure concern. Then we said, 'Steve, you're kind of letting us down,' you know, tried that angle. We talked to counselors and went to see him in clinics--nothing seemed to make a difference. He was in one clinic for three weeks, and the first thing he did when he came out was go straight to a pub. What do you do?"
Was it hard to continue as a band after his death?
"We spoke about it. But it would have been a shame to just knock it on the head and call it quits. We're still gonna go out live and play songs he co-wrote, and that's the best tribute we could do for him. So he'll be remembered that way, rather than people talking about the end of the band. We're still here to tell his story.
"But the bottom line is, we wanted to carry on. We're happy with the record. And it's taken us a long time to be happy."
Two weeks before Christmas there was a holiday spirit on the streets, along with the more desperate air of deadline shopping as Phil Collen strolled over to his favorite Dublin restaurant, a vegetarian cafe. With his wiry physique and easy laugh, Collen seemed almost elfin in appearance, a man witout pretense, especially considering his stature as guitarist in what is perhaps the world's best-selling guitar band. As he entered the cafe, a waitress began chiding him for forgetting the name of a local band she's been pressing him to check out. "I'll get you a napkin," she said as we bought our food, then wrote the name of the group on it.
"There's something like 1200 bands in Dublin," Collen explained as he settled in at one counter. "But it's still like a small town here. Everyone knows each other."
He said it in a pleasant way, but for Collen the effect could be claustrophobic. Over the last several years he's put considerable distance, physical and psychological, between himself and his roots, not to mention the legacies of Def Leppard's other guitarists. He'd become a vegetarian and a teetotaler. Two years ago he got married and moved to Southern California; now he's the proud papa of a son, Rory.
"It's so much more work to live in Europe," he said. "Just things you take for granted in the States, like 24-hour supermarkets or the size of the roads. I'm really happy out there, I love the weather. I loved getting married, it really changed my life in a positive way. Rory will be two in January and I just miss him terribly when I'm away. Well," he figured, "it's incentive to work harder and get back on the plane."
Collen grew up in London's East End, another glam rock fan and admirer of Queen's "overproduction--our whole vocal style is based on them, you know"--though his early moment of truth came at a Deep Purple show when he "reached out and touched" Ritchie Blackmore. A self-taught player who modeled his style on jazz fusioneers like Al Di Meola along with the usual rock gods, Collen first drew attention in a punk-era glam band called Girl ("we got spit on and all that") but found his natural niche in Def Leppard.
"The punk thing happened because rock bands became like dinosaurs, they stopped caring. We felt that way too, but we didn't want to conform to punk 'cause we could already play our instruments."
Once in the band, his style was further influenced by Steve Clark and by the Lepps' "invisible" sixth member, Mutt Lange. "Steve had classical training and his stuff was very delicate and involved, so I learned a lot from that. And Mutt totally changed the way I play by making me listen to the other instruments and hear how important it was to make the vocal stand out; to not get in its way. Stuff like timing, grooves, feel. He'd hum things in his head that you physically couldn't play. He'd be very demanding but also a great guy, so it never felt like a chore."
With Clark's death, and Lange unavailable to produce, Collen took an assertive role on Adrenalize, a more guitar-oriented record than its predecessors. "But if Steve had been around it would have been the same way," he said. "On the intro to 'Personal Property,' for instance, I couldn't believe how much like Steve it sounded. It gave me goosebumps. It's kind of a conscious effort though, because that's the sound of the band. It's a nice thing, too."
Back in the hotel lobby, Collen was joined by Rick Allen, another California emigrant, who'd just flown in to put on some final drum parts. Unlike most bands, who begin with bass and drum tracks and finish with guitar and vocals, Def Leppard takes the opposite tack, in part because their songs are inevitably rewritten during their epic recording process, in part to protect the primacy of the vocals. The result is that members can go for months without seeing the inside of a recording studio, and then return, as Allen has, to very different arrangements.
So what did he think?
"It seems like a happier-sounding record," Allen said. "Which might seem strange after all we've been through. But comparing it with Hysteria, which I do a lot, it seems more in your face. You don't need to sit there and ponder over it. Hysteria, I wasn't sure I even liked some of the songs at first. I think a lot of those sounds were 'fixed in the mix,' to tell you the truth. Here things are hitting you where they should."
Like Collen, Allen had refined his style within the band, learning the virtues of playing less-is-more; though in Allen's case, the impetus was considerably more dramatic. "When I had two arms everyone would say I played too busy. Now I can't help but play it simple," he said dryly. "So it gives you more room to expand on that, to make it interesting. I've always been a mid-tempo drummer anyway. That's what makes me feel good."
Allen's face still looks boyish, befitting the band's youngest member, but when he talks you can feel the weight of his character. One suspects that the courage and resourcefulness he displayed since losing his arm seven years ago, and the inspirational model he's become for others, has even surprised himself.
After the accident, Collen recalled, "Rick was the most positive person I've ever seen. Steve and I went to see him in the hospital and he was bandaged up like a mummy. Our bud had nearly died, he'd had an arm lopped off, and we thought, will this be horrible? Will we even be able to talk? And Rick was like, 'Hi guys, I'm gonna play with this foot instead of this arm!' He'd already begun practicing on the edge of the bed. We thought, 'This guy's hallucinating.' But he followed that route."
"On the last tour [handicapped] kids came out in droves," Allen recalled, "and it was quite upsetting to see them because some were in a lot worse shape than me. But at the same time, I felt a real sense of satisfaction that I could say 'You know, I have to go home too.' Try to give a sense that I'm a normal guy trying to get on with my life in other ways. Try to make it a bit more real.
"I think you get to a certain stage of life where you choose your direction. And I've been close enough myself to see how easy it is to be on the negative side. But I have changed, the way I look at myself, my thinking--being able to get to like myself. Which is really the tough one."
Allen and Collen mulled the pros and cons of adding a guitar player for the band's next tour. On the one hand, twin guitars were part of the Lepps' signature. On the other, so much had happened to their musical family in the last few years--births, deaths, marriages and the estrangement that sometimes resulted from taking years to make a record with people who lived on separate continents--that it seemed difficult to fathom how a stranger could find a way to fit in.
"Of course we make jokes about it ourselves," Collen said. "Only three and three-quarters of us left, you know. But if anyone else says anything...
"Whatever happens, I think the next tour will bring us together like we haven't really been together in a while," Allen said hopefully. "Because I don't think I've ever seen one sad face at a concert of ours. There's never really a dark side to our shows. We see little kids with these big old Def Leppard T-shirts, and standing next to them are their moms and dads, in their Def Leppard T-shirts. We were actually starting to call it family rock." Allen flashed a grin. "You know, I was also thinking of getting a prosthetic arm. So on the next tour, I could really screw around with people when they come up to ask about the accident. I'll be standing there with gloves on with a cigarette in my left hand. And I'll say to 'em, 'What accident?'"
Back at the studio, Joe Elliot had returned from a round of soccer with his mates and had heated up some chili in the microwave, garnished with rice, salad and a mug of tea. Even in a band of "normal guys," as Joe likes to describe Def Leppard, Elliot remains the archetypal rock'n'roll Everyman. A die-hard fan with an encyclopedic knowledge of rock history (he's even appeared on Irish quiz shows), he became a singer "because I couldn't play anything"; walking home from work one day because he'd missed the bus, he ran into Pete Willis, who was getting a band together and looking for a vocalist. "I was tall with long hair and I just said, 'I'll do it.' We were naive enough to think we would be big, which happens to one band in a million. And here I am," he laughed. "We're that band."
In some respects, fortune hasn't changed him much. When Elliot was 11 he'd watched T-Rex's Marc Bolan on "Top of the Pops," banging on his Les Paul guitar in women's shoes, a feather boa and a top hat, and thought, wow. "It was like, yeah, I want to be that man!" Now he's the guy who worries about servicing the fan club, who spends most of his free time on tour resting or nurturing his voice so he can give the crowd his all. Collen, Savage and Allen help provide Def Leppard's musical muscle, but Elliot personifies the dream.
"I've learned a lot over the years," he said. "I've learned what I can't do. You know your weaknesses and you learn to cover for them. Michael Bolton or Paul Rodgers can just stand there on stage because their voices are brilliant, while Mick Jagger, who's not the best singer in the world, has to play the clown. But I know who I'd rather listen to. Because Jagger had the bollocks to do what he's done."
Elliot recalled seeing the premiere of Spinal Tap in a London movie theater. "Everyone in the row in front would laugh," he said, "Then they'd turn around and look at me." He can joke about it, but it rankles that the Lepps, whose records are so precisely arranged and always in tune, whose attitude toward women is downright gentlemanly, whose musical "message" is pleasing the kids, will always be viewed by some as just another pack of heavy-metal nihlists.
"Rock has always been sort of the joke of the industry," Elliot observed, "otherwise Spinal Tap would have been made about Thomas Dolby. But you just try to turn the negative into the positive and make the best of what you've got. I've always been a positive person. If we were losing 4-1 in football, I'd be the one on the side going, 'All we gotta do is score three more goals and we're in it!' And I do it now. It would have been very easy for us to get all Leonard Cohen-ish because of what happened to Steve or Rick. It's a tough thing, you know, but life goes on. If everybody quit when somebody died, nobody'd be doing anything."
Much of what attracted Elliot to Dublin, he thought, had to do with the warmth and community feeling of the place. His wife Karla is Irish as well, "but even if we weren't married I think I'd be here. I just love the earthiness. I love the fact that you can go down to Whelan's bar and watch a band called Big Geraniums, whose backup vocalist is nine months pregnant, and all she does is stand there barefoot playing a triangle. Or we're sitting home one day and the doorbell rings and it's [U2 bassist] Adam Clayton come round for a cup of tea. That's great! Doesn't happen every day...But it wouldn't have happened at all if I was still in London."
Elliot laughed. "Or this Glam Slam show. Anywhere else you couldn't have got them together, they would have wanted contracts signed, money, or 'Sorry, I'm too busy, I've got parties to go to.' Here I can't get it done quick enough. We were supposed to be at rehearsal at noon today and Maria Doyle was down there scowling 'cause we didn't show up till half past one--like, 'Where the fuck have you been?' Here, everybody gets treated the same. I love that. It's just like The Commitments! That movie just about sums it up. The only thing about it, they make Dublin look like a drab and dreary place. It's not, you know."
The following night, the Olympia Theatre was filled to capacity for the Children's Hospital show. The program, featuring more than a dozen acts, moved along without noticeable glitches, but as the hours rolled by you could feel the energy in the hall begin to wane. It was a Sunday night, after all; people had to work the next morning.
Finally, close to midnight, Glam Show commandeered the stage to the blistering riffs of Gary Glitter's "Rock and Roll Pts. 1 and 2." Joe Elliot hadn't worn flared trousers, but the rest of his outfit--including a crimson scarf, razor-slashed jeans, gold boa and a top hat--qualified as a sight. Savage had a red scarf on as well, while the backup singers wore garish wigs. As one infectious hit followed another--"Ballroom Blitz, "Twentieth Century Boy," "All the Young Dudes," "Suffragette City"--the music roused the crowd to their feet, then into the aisles for some anything-but-serious glam dancing. The years seemed to fall away, and it was 1972, and you could see how the singer on the stage was once a boy watching "Top of the Pops" on a TV in a noplace town and how that startling vision had set him on this still unfolding journey.
In the dressing room after the show, Elliot was exultant. "If someone wants to take us on a tour of Ireland over the holidays, we're ready!" he declared.
"Joe," one of the members cautioned, "I think you're starting to take this too seriously."
Elliot smiled. "You know all those years I've spent playing with Def Leppard?" he said. "I've been trying to get this."
