Reviews

Rock 'n' roll has always encompassed a significant chowderhead coefficient: After all, it explains the mullets, the trucker wallets, the Camaros and Night Ranger.

It also explains Thursday night's Crüe Fest, which took stalwart, formerly debauched hair rockers and umlaut enthusiasts Mötley Crüe and put them at the top of a hard-rockin' bill that also included Papa Roach and Buckcherry.

Approximately 11,000 fans (including substantial walk-up traffic) gathered to marvel at a lineup in which Papa Roach was the most interesting band.

Papa Roach is typical of a trend in which a group makes its name with rap influences, then gradually drops them (Helloooo, Uncle Kracker! Now go away.), but its blues-based chops are still thick and greasy enough to deliver something approaching soul.

Not so the penultimate act, Buckcherry. Combining the intellectual subtlety of Sammy Hagar with the emotional finesse of Motorhead's Lemmy (or, for that matter, Laverne and Shirley's Lenny), the band featured rants that ranged from alternative sexual practices to, um, alternative sexual practices, and played not only a song whose title cannot be mentioned here (supposedly inspired by a currently ubiquitous celebutard) but also "Too Drunk," a recent release celebrating – oh, never mind.

Although the members of Buckcherry were apparently still alive at the end of their set, the evening wasn't a complete loss.

Mötley Crüe, a band that was ridiculous at what passed for the height of its powers, still brings the rock 'n' roll pain to audiences with a blinding array of perfectly timed pyrotechnics and a dazzling, fit-inspiring light show.

Now that band members have stopped injecting cigarette butts and ground-up baboon skulls directly into their brains (the band biography The Dirt is still – depending on your point of view – a high or low point of published personal rock history), their timing has gotten better.

Actually, it has waxed magnificent. With a backdrop of backward, decayed-looking letters spelling "LOS ANGELES," the group's set started with an intro that featured silhouettes of an angel and a demon operatically playing against each other.

Whether it was the title cut from their new album, Saints of Los Angeles, or an old classic such as 1983's "Shout at the Devil," these guys delivered their package well past the point of all expectation.

It may not have been rock 'n' roll Valhalla – heck, it might not even have been rock 'n' roll Pittsburgh – but Thursday at Superpages.com Center, it was certainly rock 'n' roll Dallas.

Matt Weitz is a Dallas freelance writer.

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