My Steel Panther experience was probably a bit different to most concertgoers. A contingent of media folk were collected in a stretch Hummer and driven around Melbourne while Steel Panther’s brilliant new live DVD The British Invasion played on the multiple screens throughout the behemoth vehicle. We were supplied with wine, beer and – oh sweet decadence – Barbecue Shapes before making a brief pitstop at Massive Wieners on Greville Street before being deposited at the band’s hotel to party with them in a penthouse suite. Guitarist Satchel held court with a discussion about the various uses for hair conditioner while pornstar Angela White choked vocalist Michael Starr with a leash. Jager was necked. Pink marshmallows were soaked in champagne and awkwardly gummed. Starr and drummer Stix Zadinia took turns slapping a stripper’s ass to see who could make it the reddest. Y’know, a typical evening with Steel Panther. We then piled into the Hummer again to head to Festival Hall where the real party began.
I’ve seen Steel Panther on their home turf – the House of Blues in West Hollywood – several times over the years. Those sets are usually punctuated by covers and special guests (and one time a drunk Lindsay Lohan vagueing out in the audience). There’s always a healthy dose of irony and theatre at a Steel Panther show, but seeing them playing a full set of their own material pushes everything up to – well, I’m not going to say ‘eleven’ because I hate when people compare Steel Panther to Spinal Tap – but it pushes everything up to stratospheric levels. The stage gestures are bigger. The gags filthier. The guitar solos …bombasticer. Satchel is one of the finest modern-day exponents of 80s-style shred guitar and his unaccompanied spot never disappoints, as he runs through a checklist of great metal riffs from Sabbath to Priest. Sometimes he even throws a little Yngwie Malmsteen in there, and jumps behind the drumkit to provide his own accompaniment. It’s all total extravagant showmanship, in the best possible way.
Speaking of showmanship, this was a Steel Panther show so of course there were boobs aplenty (both amateur and professional) and probably a few furious boyfriends during a few tense car rides on the way home. The signs out the front read “Some language and parts of tonight’s performance may confront some people. Strong language and sexual references used.”
The setlist was split pretty evenly between cuts from Feel The Steel and Balls Out, including Fat Girl (Thar She Blows), Asian Hooker, The Shocker and Party All Day (Fuck All Night) from the former and Tomorrow Night, Just Like Tiger Woods, If You Really, Really Love Me and 17 Girls In A Row from the latter. And of course Death To All But Metal, one of their oldest originals. But what was played is almost secondary to the attitude and fun with which it was played. For all the filth and flesh, this was still a balls-out rock show dedicated to the glory of the cranked amp, spandex, melody, flash, neon, lights, smoke, chicks and the Hollywood dream.
BY PETER HODGSON
Photo credit: Peter Hodgson
LOVED: That’s What Girls Are For, the best Def Leppard song Def Leppard never wrote.
HATED: The absence of covers (apart from a bit of ZZ Top’s La Grange).
DRANK: Marshmallows drenched in champagne.
