Last Rocklahoma Entry. Glory be to God, this will be the last and horribly overdue Rocklahoma blog entry, only 7 short months after returning from the event.
Much of my delay in writing this blog was that I had hoped to back-up the claim that “Winger is better than Rush.” Crazy, right? Well, in all truth, Winger’s set at Rocklahoma was really damned impressive. I was as impressed as I was the first time I saw Rush live.
[letting the laughter die down]
If you choose to mock Winger and you’re not familiar with Reb Beach‘s mad guitar skillz or Rod Morgenstein‘s percussive past, then you’re really mocking them out of ignorance. I decided to ditch the idea of saying they were “better” than Rush, though, because they’re really apples and oranges. People like Rush for vastly different reasons than people like Winger. The audiences generally have vastly different intellectual and musical demographics. For instance, there are girls who like Winger. [rimshot!] Considering this and other such differences, I’ve abandoned my original claim.
Some pics from the Winger show:
I will wind-up my Winger talk by saying that in addition to Winger playing really, really well, they also appeared to be rather healthy, in positive spirits, and seemed to enjoy their show. Kip’s chuckle after slipping “she’s only 35” into a “17” chorus was evidence of this demeanor. It seemed to me like they’re beyond being offended by the mockery made of them via Stewart, the loser/dork on Beavis and Butthead and they’re just happy playing music.
On the flipside, there was Don Dokken. Good Lord, Don, what happened to you, man? Remember how hot Kathleen Turner was in Romancing The Stone, then she turned up a number of years later looking…uh…different? Well, take a look at the frightening comparison:
Shocking, right?
Dokken’s set rocked, though, despite his haggard appearance. I’m happy to announce that the Rokkin’ like Dokken mantra was proven to hold water. “Wild” Mick Brown’s drumming wasn’t really wild, though, as the moniker applies more to his 80’s partying than his drumming style. Bassist Jeff Pilson, however, did deserve an energetic nickname–the dude brought it!
Dokken, rocking like…well, like themselves:
And further evidence that we were indeed rocking with Dokking…er, you know what I mean:
Finally, rounding out our Rocklahoma experience (we didn’t stay through Sunday’s bands) was Vince Neil. Much debate was made about what to expect by fans around us. Several folks said Vince’s performances over the past few years had been weak, abbreviated, and his voice sounded terrible. A few people said they’d heard he’d really stepped up his act and they expected a good show.
Well, we got a little of both.
Vince looked healthy and happy enough (I keep pointing out these performers’ health because a number of them seemed to lack it). His voice started solid and his energy was way-up. His drummer was a Tommy Lee 2.0–taking showmanship to another level. Really, the most flamboyant drummer I’ve ever seen…by far. Drum beats were played but somehow amidst them it seemed as though one drumstick was always airborne and his head and arms flailed relentlessly.
What was a great show for about 30 minutes, however, was soon to change. Vince left. Yep, he left. He walked off the stage as if he were getting a drink or taking a breather, and the next 45 minutes or so turned into an extended jam session by his band. They did AC/DC, some Zeppelin…they played pretty well, too, except that it wasn’t the Vince Neil performance we were hoping to see.
Eventually we lost interest and began walking back to camp. Lasers shown and Vince eventually came back out to close out the show. But much like the anti-climactic feel of this final Rocklahoma blog post, Rocklahoma, for us, was over.
Sunday morning we awoke and began cleaning up camp. We hit the road and had a number of adventures along the way back, to be told in another forum, if ever at all. I was left with one special token of Rocklahoma remembrance, however, that will likely remain with my family for generations to come. Something so massive, so important, so hydrating and heavy that, when told “Son, here’s your new milk cup,” the HuMUGous struck fear into the young lad:
Sayonara,
El Coyote
