POISON

  While chatting with my daughter Rachel the other day, I casually mentioned that I had tickets to see Poison at Pine Knob ( always Pine Knob, never DTE).  She didn’t even bother to cover the phone, but snickered as she informed her future hubby that I was excited to go to a Poison show.  I could practically see her eyes rolling amid the derisive laughter (by the way, these two were on their way to see the Captain America movie, a flick inspired by a kid’s comic book...I win).

   The point is, if you are going to see Poison in concert, expect to take a bit of shit from a large segment of the population.  After all, they are a hair metal band with song titles like Unskinny Bop, I Want Action and  Nothing But A Good Time.  Their lead singer starred in a cheesy reality dating show that featured his charm, good looks and hair extensions.  As a band, they preen, mug and prance.  They offer no social or political insights and in no way are looking to solve the world’s problems.

   Thank God!

   It was a perfect night in late July as Tony and I headed north to Pine Knob.  Your dynamic duo was joined for the evenings festivities, by little brother’s better half, Beth.  Was I bugged to share Tony with Beth?  Hell no.  Was I bugged that my lady decided against joining?  Hell no.  For some time, I have understood that going to a rock concert is not Andrea’s idea of “Nothing But a Good Time”.  

   We had great seats to the show and VIP parking courtesy of Huntington Cleaners in Huntington Woods (the leaders in insurance and commercial cleaning of garments and draperies...I don’t think they would be bothered by this shameless plug, though they would probably be horrified by its placement amid this horseshit web site). 

   Beth looked very nice in her over the calf stretch pants and print top.  Not sure if I ever saw her rocking the pig tails before, but it worked ( pulling out all the stops in a shameless attempt to get noticed by Bret Michaels, no doubt).  Tony and I looked like tools in shorts and t-shirts.

   We decided to bag the opening acts, a local band whose name eludes me and Warrant, performing without now biffed lead singer Jani Lane.  We opted instead for the Pine Knob Starlite Club, where three cold ones will set you back $21.  That did not prove to be much a deterrent, and in the blink of an eye three rounds had been consumed.  At this point, my duties as designated driver and tightwad took over and the consumption of alcohol ceased.  For me.  Not for Beth and Tony.

   We enjoyed the perfect summer night and classic rock tunes being spun.  But what we really enjoyed was the people watching.  Forget the guy-half of people watching.  We all look the same, crappy.  The ladies on the other hand are a delight.  They were all dressed to impress (Bret that is, not us crappy looking dudes in the crowd).  I saw lots of thirty and forty somethings in their whoriest best.   These broads were Friday night partying on a Tuesday and loving it.

   We could have hung there all night, but when the last slice of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” was served, we made our way down to our fabulous seats, seventh row on guitarist CC Deville’s side.  In no time, the lights dimmed (and is there a better feeling in the world than the lights dimming at a rock show) and Poison took the stage.  Bret looked great as expected in tight jeans and Poison tee.  No surprise there.  That the other boys in the band also looked fit was a bit of a surprise, pleasant at that.

   The crowd was on its feet from the opening chords of “Look at What the Cat Dragged In” and never sat for a moment.  They danced and sang along to Poison’s greatest hits and well selected covers “We’re An American Band” and “Your Mama Don’t Dance”.  All four guys in the band took turns in the spotlight, though it was clearly Bret’s gig.  He exhorted the crowd from one side to the other, from the runway above drummer Rikki Rockett to the front edge of the stage.  Bret also worked in his trademark “awesome” about twenty times, paid homage to the servicemen admitted gratis to the show, and gave lots of love to “The Motor City”.  These tricks of the trade worked every time.

   This was a drunk crowd, but not drunk in a confrontational way.  Drunk in a let’s hug, raise our lighters in the air and belt out the chorus of each song way.  Poison was hosting a party, providing the soundtrack and daring you not to have fun.

   After ninety minutes of party rock, and three or four shirt changes for Bret, Poison thanked the crowd one last time, promised to return next summer and left the nearly packed house grinning from ringing ear to ringing ear.

   For most people this would have been enough.  Beth and Tony are not most people.  A return trip to the Starlite Club was in order.  Drinks were ordered (water for me) and we stood about twenty feet in front of the DJ booth with the other Poison fans who refused to let the party end.  A dance floor soon broke out around us.  Tony and I would have looked like two lecherous douche bags were it not for the presence of Beth.  She gave us a certain amount of credibility; one of us was able to have a relationship with a person of the opposite sex.

   At this point, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Beth’s ability to be loved by all kinds of women.  Strange broads asked her to take pictures, talked to her about her jewelry, hugged her and even got down on the dance floor and rubbed her calves.  Seriously.  She has a fairly outrageous figure, likes to party and is outgoing without being obnoxious.  That she had such a good time was a huge part of the evenings revelry.  Beth even mentioned that she could provide this same quality to Friday Night Bug Juice.  Amid nervous laughter, Tony and I both said that this would not be necessary.  We knew it was time to call it a night only when they told us to leave.

   A perfect storm had been had:  beautiful evening, great seats, people watching extraordinaire, Beth and Poison.  I’m already looking forward to next summer (will work on getting my wife to attend).

Cheers!  Jim