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Jul 21, 2009 By Frank Valish

Where am I and why am I here? This was how I was feeling as I was walking the much-longer-than-anticipated distance between my car and the Toyota Pavilion at Montage Mountain in Scranton, PA. Add to this hike the fact that it was raining and unseasonably cold for June, and I was second-guessing myself already.

Before I begin, I should say that I've always had a strange fascination with the music of my youth. Granted, most of what was popular as I was coming of age in the mid- to late-'80s was music that, by any discerning standard today, would be judged as schlock. And perhaps the strangest part of my being at this place on this night is that I recall having a particular distaste for this music even then. Pre gangster-era rap, hair metal, synth-pop: these were things I remember having a distinct aversion to even when I was 11.

But back to Scranton. My slightly embarrassing, somewhat ill-conceived reason for being here was the big summer triple bill of music from my younger days—Cheap Trick, Poison, and those gods of metal crap, Def Leppard. It bears repeating—and I'm not just trying to explain away a musical sin that would be unforgivable in the indie-rock world, although that is undoubtedly part of it—that I was never a fan of this music, Cheap Trick aside. I clearly remember being put off by "Pour Some Sugar on Me" in the sixth grade, the band's peculiar double entendre striking an off-putting chord even then. And apart from a couple tracks from the band's first two albums, which could be described as guilty pleasures, the music still pretty much rubs me the wrong way. And Poison?! These guys were utterly ridiculous then, and their only redemption now is the fun, albeit probably unintentional, sense of camp that surrounds them. So, clearly, my reasons for making the trek through the rain for this disaster-fest were suspect. But, a morbid fascination compelled me.

I should mention here, before I continue, that Cheap Trick was, and still is, in my mind one of the quintessential power-pop bands, and one that has remained consistent in its greatness throughout the decades. In fact, their presence on the bill was one of, if not the main reason for my being here at all. The band's new album, unimaginatively titled The Latest, is actually quite solid by any standard, especially given it's from a band whose heyday was nearly 30 years ago.

Of course, all this Cheap Trick love went out the window as I spent 30 minutes (again, in the rain) at the will-call counter waiting for tickets as I heard the only band I truly wanted to see belting out classics like "I Want You To Want Me" and "Dream Police" in the background. When I finally got to my seat, the band, featuring a dapper Robin Zander in black pants, white shirt, black vest, and white top hat, and a lunatic suave Rick Nielsen in iridescent pink suit and bow tie, running through their '80s ballad "The Flame," to date my least favorite Cheap Trick song. "Surrender" followed, including Neilson's ceremonial tossing out of the guitar pick-festooned Kiss album cover during the choice lyric. This was set to be the final redemption for my 30-minute wait until Zander flubbed the second verse (seemed like he simply forgot it), which took the wind out of my sails. Then, alas, the set was over. Forty minutes for Cheap Trick was, by any reasonable person's estimation, an insult, but I bucked up and steeled myself to "rock-rock-til-I-dropped," as a famous bard once put it.

Regarding the next band on the bill, Poison: What is there to say? These guys were silly back in the '80s and they are silly now. But there is no doubt that they know their constituency and play to it. To answer the first obvious question: Yes, Poison does still have a constituency. To answer the second: mid-30s and YIKES. A couple visuals: 1) a man two rows in front of me in a #1 Dad shirt rocking furiously to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," 2) a woman, probably mid-30s but looking like mid-50s, with frizzed hair and a beer in each hand, and 3) let's just say, overweight and underdressed. Still—and I'll probably lose my Under the Radar writing gig for saying this—Poison is fun. Sure, they came out to the sounds of AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" and lead guitarist (and overall caricature) CC DeVille played Van Halen's "Eruption" as part of his guitar solo, but there was something strangely engaging about the spectacle. Maybe it was the fact that the woman next to me kept grabbing me and shaking me excitedly with her recognition of each successive "hit," or maybe it was just the explosions, but this could definitely have been worse.

Finally, the piece-de-resistance: Def Leppard. If there is a more smug, earnest bunch of guys with their musical resumes, I can't think of one. Here is a band that recorded a couple decent rock and roll albums in the early '80s, then got HUGE off a ridiculous single about sugar and sex, and rode a deluge of musical crap right into the present. Now, these guys have a fan base these days too, but Def Leppard think they are true rock and roll greats. Granted, you expect musicians to think what they do is good, but, for directly juxtaposed comparison, Poison harbors no illusions as to the philosophical importance of "Nothin' But a Good Time." Not so with Def Leppard. A couple cases in point: Joe Elliott continuing to strike all the most audacious rock and roll poses despite not really being able to hit those high notes anymore, and guitarist Phil Collen choosing to spend the damp, rainy, and unseasonably cold night in the mountains shirtless because, you know, he's been working out.

Now, I could go on and on about how disastrous Def Leppard's 90-minute set was and how stupid their fans are for holding onto this mess of a band after all these years. But I won't do that. Fans love these guys, no matter now absurd their lyrics, ridiculous their poses, or egocentric their postures. Heck, when they finished up a lazy four-man acoustic version of their stalker anthem "Two Steps Behind," the round of applause they received made me, who had seemingly dozed off for a moment, think that Led Zeppelin had just jumped out from the wings for a 10-minute version of "Stairway to Heaven."

So, as I FINALLY was able to walk to my car after a long, long night, one thing was clear. As someone famous once said: You can never go home again. Perhaps my fascination with the music of my youth is more a desire for the idyllic, the want for a more innocent time, the longing to recapture the past and actually learn something this time around. But there should be no rose-colored glasses in this case. [And keep Cheap Trick out of this—they don't count. They were a mismatch on this musical bill as it was. If this were a Cheap Trick headlining show, you'd likely be reading a different review.]

I guess I was right about something all those years ago. This music is as bad now as it was then. At least Poison has sense enough to camp it up a bit. (http://www.cheaptrick.com)