Friday Night Bug Juice

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Welcome to Friday Night Bug Juice, a Metro Detroit bar review site. We're here to give you a look into the dive bars of the Detroit area, so you can hopefully spend your cash wisely, and get a little insight into the lives of a couple of hapless irish louts.

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Welcome to the section of our site where you can learn everything you ever wanted to know and way too much more about the gang that works hard ruining their livers to bring you all you need to know about the dive bars of the Metro Detroit area!

VITAL IDOL


   The Friday Night Bug Juice tour begins at 10 p.m....

   Unless Billy Idol is playing at The Fillmore downtown on a Friday night.  Then the tour starts at 7:30 p.m. when two work weary brothers pile into a filthy car for a dark and subdued trip into the belly of Detroit.

   Parking was no issue and set us back $10.  We opted not to hit one of the surrounding bars and went straight into The Fillmore for what was sure to be some great people watching.  Strangely, Tony and I were given our drinking wristbands without having to produce ID.  Out of respect, I guess.

   Once past security, we got in the queue for beers.  An extra large beer, Bud or Bud Light only, served in a flimsy plastic cup is $9.  Did I mention it was not particularly cold.  Once served, we walked up the stairs and hung out on the balcony overlooking the entrance.  It was a perfect perch to watch the freaks enter and get their drink on.  

   Young Brother and I had only been there a few minutes, when out of nowhere, a couple appeared at our side.  They were bombed, him more than her, and started talking with Tony and I like we were old friends.  They were from Up North, Manistee according to him, Elk Rapids according to her, and were staying downtown to see their favorite rocker, Mr. Billy Idol.  The camouflage trim on his shirt told me he was not bullshitting about his hometown.

   In twenty minutes, we learned that her goal was to sit on Billy’s lap at some point in the night, that he was working lots of OT and that was fine because every hour at work was an hour away from her, that her nipples were like gum drops, that they liked to camp in nearby Mesick, that they had recently had sex in the back of a car while a friend was driving, that the sex took so long that the driver asked when they might finish, and most disturbingly that they wanted to spend more time with Tony and I.
  
 Luckily, she had to find the ladies room (I guess there is no such thing as a tarts room), and that was our cue to split.  Later, Tony and I would try to figure out what it was that led these two to single us out for friendship at the crowded venue.  Still don’t have an answer for that one.

   Shortly after ditching our ribald new buddies, we made our way into the madness that is The Fillmore’s main floor general admission, the lights dimmed and the band took the stage. 

   Things started slowly for a variety of reasons:  Billy opened with a mid-tempo song from his new CD, the packed crowd was jammed into the stairs leaving no room to maneuver, security was intense and relentless and Tony and I could not find a little spot that we could call our own.

   After a couple of slow and somewhat mild tunes watched while being hassled and jostled, we sounded retreat and headed back to the bar to replenish and freshen our strategy.  

   “We might as well be in the parking lot listening to a Billy Idol CD.”  A spot on observation from Anthony.  We surveyed the room.  A decision to flank right was made.  Strangely, it was now easy to move and we found a niche to the right, close to the stage with a decent view of Billy.  The only real issue was the presence of the Lithuanian men’s basketball team in front of us.  These dudes had huge heads and swayed drunkenly back and forth.  If you went right when they went left, it was not so bad.

   While not perfect, we were home and could concentrate on drinking and watching the show.

   First, Billy looked great.  Of course he still has the cool hair and a ton of swagger.  He always gives you a good look at his shredded physique, either through an unbuttoned shirt or, during the hit songs, no shirt at all.   And as Billy says during the outro of Dancing With Myself, “I sweat, and I sweat, and I sweat.”  The effort he puts into singing and moving is significant and it shows.

   His band is tight and also gives you a lot to take in, especially long time lead guitarist Steve Stevens.  I told Tony that I thought he resembled Gary Oldman’s Dracula.  Tony agreed, though he felt Stevens was a bit more pale.  This guy has the rock look down pat with big hair, bigger guitar and the ever present cig.  

   The crowd was drunk and intense.  If you are the type that does not like to be touched or jostled, this was not the place for you.  It was a slightly older bunch, and there were more women than at most rock shows.  I know that the ladies liked the songs, but judging by their yells and gyrations, they liked the guy belting out the songs even more (even though my wife did not attend, I believe you could safely include her in the smitten with Billy camp; she certainly asked about him a lot).

   The pace of the show picked up about halfway through with Generation X song Ready, Steady, Go and Doors cover LA Woman leading the way.  Idol is no rookie.  He replaced the lyrics in LA Woman with calls of “Detroit Woman” or “Motor City Woman”.  Would you be surprised to know that the crowd, especially the female half, found this staple of any rock show delightful?

   After about ninety minutes of well paced, hit laden rock, Billy let the crowd know that the show was coming to an end with Rebel Yell, easily the best song of the night.  It brought the entire band to the front of the stage and Idol weaved in and out of them with a wild look on his face.  I swear, his deep set eyes actually glowed at some points in the performance.  

   The band split after that, the crowd went crazy (I did not see one lighter held high in the air...Sigh), and only Idol and Stevens returned.  

   “Show Detroit how a hit is played”, Billy demanded.  Stevens responded with the opening chords of White Wedding.  The two stood close together while the first two verses were played as a duo.  The rest of the band then took their places for the rocked out conclusion of their biggest hit.  

   A short drum solo morphed into show closer Mony Mony.  Of course the entire crowd joined in as the house lights came up.  Billy donned a guitar toward the end of this tune and hit various rock star poses.  The Fillmore lost it as the song crashed to an end.  Idol brought the entire band to the front of the stage and humorously introduced each member, before thanking Detroit for making him “so fucking happy” and running off.

   I am having a tough time thinking of a better rock front man than I saw last night.

   I am also having a tough time thinking of a better way to spend a Friday night.  Boozing, music, people watching, hanging with Tony.  Not bad.  Thanks, Billy.

Cheers!  Jim  
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UNLOVED AND IGNORED: THE LIFE OF A COMPACT DISC


   I have a clothes rack with about forty t-shirts.  I routinely wear the same eight shirts, ignoring the other thirty-two. 

   It dawned on me the other day that I do the same thing with my CD collection.  Since I own more CD’s than t-shirts, my circle of choice is wider than eight and my unloved discs are more than thirty-two.  I purchased the dusty discs for a reason, usually a well researched reason, and I was actively ignoring them.

   I became a man on a mission.  I have gobs of alone time at work when driving or catching up on paperwork.  I decided to fill this time listening to the ignored portion of my collection.  Interesting or not, probably not, these are my findings:

Jack White, Lazaretto:  A present from my daughter, many highs, but too damn much country for my total liking.  I get it, you can do anything, so get rocking and toss in a hard blues tune every once in awhile.  Rating 7

The Go, The Go:  If you like solid, complete with catchy hooks and meaty guitar, this is a good choice. Forgettable vocals hurt the overall rating. While not life changing, it will never bore you and will always rock.  Rating 7

Mudhoney, Superfuzz Bigmuff:  Unless you are detoxing from heroin or contemplating suicide, avoid this.  I was wise enough to buy the special two disc version, doubling my cost and depression.  Rating 1

The Shams, Please Yourself:  I love rock with a dose of blues and this is The Shams.  No problem listening to this in its entirety, cuts a wide swath. A racy cover, should come in a brown paper bag.  Rating 7

New Bomb Turks, Switchblade Tongues and Butterknife Brains:  I wanted to love this.  The lead singer is channeling his inner Iggy, but the songs are not memorable.  Each rocks and for that I add a point.  Rating 5

Beck, Morning Phase:  Another gift from my daughter.  I listened to this on a dark, solo trip back from dropping my son off at CMU.  A ton of atmosphere.  Don’t play this at a party, but feel free to listen when you need a minute.  It’s not Odelay, and that’s all right.  Rating 7

Black Keys, Rubber Factory:  I wanted to like this, critics and fellow rock snobs said I should.  I couldn’t.  A certain sameness throughout.  A lot of middle and few highs.  Rating 5

Green Day, Insomniac:  I understand that real punks, whatever that means, shit on these guys for being too commercial.  To me that means that they write hooks and I am fine with that.  Rating 7

Dirtbombs, Dangerous Musical Noise:  So fuzzy, so deep in the garage, sung with great passion.  If you don’t like the Dirtbombs, then we can’t be friends. It is an indictment of the insane world in which we live, that these dudes are not stars.  Rating 9

The Hiss, Panic Movement:  Like The Go, this is straight ahead rock with hooks.  Nothing that you can’t live without, but an enjoyable forty minutes.  Rating 5

Rory Gallagher, Calling Card:  Perfect combination of blues and rock with a dose of Irish mixed in.  Tempted to take off a point, because Rory tried to pick up my wife at a pub one night while on tour, but I can’t, she's beautiful.  Rating 8

Bronx Tale Soundtrack, Various:  Reminds me so much of Ray and Max as I played this a lot when they were little.  Great mix from Dino to Wilson Pickett.  You cannot get bored listening to this.  Rating 8

Heartless Bastards, Stairs and Elevators:  The lead singer is old, I am old, old is tough.  I get it, but I don’t need to be pounded by this for forty minutes.  Some cool tunes, but overall depressing vibe.  Rating 4

Radiohead, The Bends:  I didn’t expect them to rock as much as they do.  This is an interesting mix of styles, with a lot of great highs and very little low.  Surprised me.  Rating 7

Supersuckers, Live at the Magic Bag:  Yes, they recorded their live CD in Ferndale, yes they poke fun at other rock bands and yes they never take themselves seriously.  Still, you can’t make it through this entire live show without your mind wandering.  Rating 5

Chesterfield Kings, Mind Bending Sounds:  I understand a nod to psychedelia, but an entire CD devoted to one riff?  I love me some Little Steven and he has his hands all over this, but I struggled to get to the last song.  Rating 2

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Take Them On:  When right, they are spot on.  There is a lot of right on this CD, but a certain sameness pervades and you get weary by the end.  Rating 5

The Maggots, Monkey Time:  The band name works against them (like the great Toilet Boys), but this is an enjoyable garage trip featuring farsifa, covers and frivolity.  Rating 7

Detroit Cobras, Mink/Rat/Rabbit:  Andrea and I saw them clear the Wyandotte Art Fair.  A festive mood went to shit when they hit the stage.  People picked up their folding chairs and left in droves.  Not easy to do on a drunk Saturday night in the summer.  This disc makes that even more difficult to understand.  It is fun and should have been perfect for that atmosphere.  Rating 7

Frank Black, Teenager of the Year:  Lots of short ideas, some good, many tedious.  I like The Pixies and feel sheepish for not liking this, but I don’t.  Rating 4

Dropkick Murphys, Do or Die:  When you start with a bagpipe call to arms and go hardcore punk front to back with a couple of short pauses for drunken sorrow, I am going to love you.  You need to own this.  Rating 10

Black Sabbath, Sabotage:  The front photo of the band is a bit unsettling and so is the music.  In a good way.  Of course there is a lot of sludge, it is Sabbath after all.  They mix it with some brief Spanish influenced guitar noodling and complex songs.  Heavy as hell.  Rating 8

Journey, Look into the Future:  Yes, I own a Journey CD.  This is before Steve Perry fucked up their vision of being a guitar driven prog rock band and turned them into schmaltz.  I saw them live a hundred years ago with my friend Rob (opening acts were Earl Slick Band and Wet Willie, quite the triple bill), and they tore the place down.  Lots of cool songs, harsh guitars and a Beatles cover.  Rating 7

Jethro Tull, Stand Up:  Early Tull.  A great variety of blues rock, some flute (of course) and great additional tracks (not often the case).  If you don’t know this album, it will surprise you.  Rating 7

The Woggles, Rock and Roll Backlash:  Got to know them from Underground Garage on satellite radio.  They are all things garage and mix clever covers with fun originals.  They sometimes wander into power pop, but they never forget that garage rock is home.  Rating 6

That was fun.  For me.  I have like a zillion more CD’s to listen to, but will keep future opinions to myself.  I promise. 

By the way, the eight t-shirts I routinely wear are Thin Lizzy, Foo Fighters, Tom’s Lounge, Downriver Rats, The Alley in Chicago, Frank Zappa, Dunleavy’s Bar and Ferndale High School.

Cheers!  Jim
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