Reviews Archiv 9

Fixed to the ceiling it hangs there, burnt in metal...Today the bell's gotta ring, so mates be there... etc. etc. etc.... The whole rhime is written somehow a bit different from a famous writer named Friedrich Schiller.
The creator of this monster here, which throwns above our heads in the center of Munichs Circus Krone is none other than AC/DC, the best Rockband on earth. Here and now in front of only 1000 people this fact gets underlined at least 3 times in red color and all the canon guns they've got. Holy shit, and all japanese Tzunamis and earthquakes, which probably seem like a springtime airwaves compared to what AC/DC are offering us within this performance. Nothing has changed though. Not the Hells Bell, nor the canons, not the stageshow nor the school uniform of little Angus, which is the same since the past 25 years ago. Maybe the hair is a bit gone. But this is really the only sign of aging. Condition wise an AC/DC show is still high voltage sports on a five dimensional Olympic level including a goldmedal. "TNT" goes hand in hand with "Back In Black", "Dirty Deeds", and "Hells Bells" as ultimate non plus ultra. The whole scale is offered. There's nothing what we don't know anyway, but it's wonderful, it's brilliant and absolutely overwhelming. For heavens sake, we thank god for the nineth wonder of the world, which seems to be undestroyable and doesn't show any expiration date and has got the power of at least 20 nuclear bombs. And this in front of only 1000 people. It's the absolute supergau. And we are a piece of it and explode to the edge of ecstasy and we realize, that there is something better than an ordinary sexual orgasm. This one here lasts more than 2 hours, goes down, and comes back again twice and ends with "For Those About To Rock - We Salute You". And as if this is not enough.... The venue lights are on for at least 10 minutes, the place starts getting empty, Rowdies have begun their work on stage and some kinda music comes out of the amps. Suddenly the altar develops a independent life of it's own. The lights go out, the Rowdies are blown away, and the AC and the DC come back again and drives with all it's energy once more into the thunderstorm zone. The whole lot gets rid of the huge rest of it's power, which rains down on us stuck in a tornado. And within one second we find ourselves in the center, in the eye of the storm. The madness has got a name, it's collabarating and first comes to an end when everybody of us is convinced that there are multiple highpoints out there, in whatever way... and most of all, that AC/DC is the best band in the universe - hopefully 'till eternity, forever and beyond.
My god this was so wonderful......

Oh jesus... this is one of these concret hard nuts, I hate so much to review. Fuck man, yes, John Sykes is a brilliant guitarist, and Scott Gorham owns kinda cultstatus and of course the name Thin Lizzy. And you can do a lot with that one. Four years ago the past legend had been digged out of it's grave. Why?! Because they wanted Phil Lynott to raise up from the Death again?! No, I don't think so, and it won't be possible anyway. Or because you guys were not very successful with your solo-stuff, and you wanted to make a little bit more money with famous Lizzy songs?! And Phil watches you from up there and sings halleluja. Yes, your frist try did work out, didn't it, - in 1999. Second time the flags weren't hoisted that high anymore. And because all good things are 3, we give it one more try. I'm not quite sure, if they're having only a bad day or if the energy is wasted now. The context of the setlist at least is exactly the same like in 2000. The encore is still "The Boys Are Back In Town" and Mr. Sykes still refuses to play "Whiskey In The Jar" whatever reasons for. Apart from that, the soundengineer didn't seem to have his best day either. And the quite often appearing wrong tune hurts a lot. Or was it Mr. Gorhams fault, who didn't look very happy that night. Caught in a cage, where there is no way out. Songs for the eternity, which can't be reached to a level of a Phil Lynott. So therefore those guys here are forced to play these songs over and over again, only maybe with another little improvisation inbetween. You call that stagnating synchronization of past days. Shame, 'cause I bet there's so much mor creativity within John Sykes and Scott Gorham, which ain't used. But the legend and it's spirituell head doe not allow such a thing. You can't renew a legend, can you?!! So for heaven's sake, let this tour be the last one in the name of Thin Lizzy, and let Phil continue to live in these songs and not an almost cloned copy, - okay John?! The legend will be immortal anyway.
(PS.: ...like your socks!)

No, no for f...sake no! This here is definately not the best concert, I've seen lately. And musically they are not the best band in the world. But, and that's a matter of fact, they are the biggest rockband this planet has ever seen in it's history for the past 40 years. That's as sure as a day has 24 hours. Mick, Keith, Ronnie and Charlie, each of them - already at a certain Rock'n'Roll stoneage, give us the lively prove, that you can still rock beyond the third midlife crisis and uncountable excesses, which the snake has injected into Adam with it's poison tooth. Mick, almost aged 60, is jumping like a Kangooroh . And Keith is standing above all critics, moving along in an abstract way and causing the impression of constantly needing a toilet. Ronnie the baby in the group, and after 30 years, still the new guy, with a new short haircut, offers Keith a permanently a shoulder to lean on to, just in case of course. And last but not least, there's Charlie, sitting behind his little drumkit with no face expression and the attitude, let them do the show, it's not my business. Inbetween the songs, there's always a little break, but nobody's complaining about that. Hey man, it's the Stones. At least they did one new record. Within my entire carriere as a musicjournalist I've never spotted such a huge setlist, sticked down to the stagefloor, measuring at least 50 x 50 inch. One thing is for sure. Even if you're badly shortsighted, you'd be able to read the titles of the songs. But who wants to wear glasses on stage? And we ain't quite free of wrinkles. But at least the boys don't suffer any beerbellys yet, which increases the youthful esprit up to 198 % . Okay, that's it, what's up to the visual aspect.

Well,as we all know, the Olympichall in munich ain't necassarelly the most fantastic soundtemple. But also this fact can't harm the Rolling Stones. I mean, it's not that common, they play such a small gig (12.000 fans), perform on two stages on one end and the other, just to make sure, evrybody gets a close up. It is a fantastic feeling, that someone causes a storm of enthusiasm just by showing up. Only the Stones can do that. Streetfighting Man does the intro, not only for the gig, also for the whole european tour, it's purely nostalgy. But a Stones song is always up to date as well, even it's 35 years old. They're also playing some odd and unusal tunes from the Tattoo You album or Let It Bleed. Only Midnight Rambler comes across in a rather unusal but quite interesting version. However, Honky Tonk Woman, Jumpin Jack Flash and Brown Sugar ain't missing. And that's the main point.

Another highpoint - Keith's vocal slot on two tracks, which causes a rumbling stomach ache on one side, (Keith you'll never be able to sing within the next 100 years!) but on the other hand, he lets us standing and sitting there with happy faces, because we're so close to our epitome of bad boy of Rock'n'Roll. Keith, you are the greatest, the coolest, the father of Rock'n'Roll image. And for christ sake, no other musicician could ever compete with you. We luv ya'. The encore is of course Satisfaction, and they don't seem rediculous still doing this tune, even they still will be dong it in 20 years time, when they're eighty something.
The Stones are The Stones. The hugest, the biggest, the over all standing rockband, which has ever existed...
Any more questions?

One thing I wanna take ahead. Whitesnake was always David Coverdale, it is David Coverdale, and it always will be David Coverdale, and nobody else. There might be really some excellent musicians in the current line-up, who really know how to play, but within the sight of Mr. Coverdale they degenerate down to meaningless shades. That's the first of my three realizations. And the second one's coming up now. Either the snake has left it's skin behind, thanks to a brandnew living cell therapy from the US., which proves energetically that you can still look 45 when you're 59. Okay, at least what's up to the shape and the acrobatic-erotic performance up on stage. Coverdale is the so born showman. He knows, how to bann people with his wit and chasrima. He doesn't stand still for one second and spills an enormous amount of sexual timbre of the 20 years Whitesnake philosophy - "Sex and Blue and Rock'n'Roll" over us. Most of all, the ladies in the first five frontrows of the altar are aware about all this and show their smiling beatific faceexpressions. Coverdale's big advantage is the enormous hitpotentional he can look back to and show off with at live performances. Each title is an ace for itselves. "In The Still Of The Night", an excellent track which is musically created by John Sykes, or "Gimme All Your Love" , also comosed by the just mentioned guitarist. But also "There Ain't No Love In The Heart Of The City", originally sung by Bobby Bland, melts like vanilla icecream in our ears, and dripps like a fine spreading fog down on us. The history is taken apart from the bluesy beginnings 'till the all american commercial beats. You can't overhear the handwriting of a Micky Moody and Bernie Marsden and you don't miss the riffs of Adrian Vandenberg thanks to their big input in Whitesnake songs. Thoses musicians you truliy can't name faceless shades.
Never again Whitesnake, said a desillusonised David Coverdale a few years ago, but left every option open for a renewal, like a Damokles sword which is gliding avbove the heads of Rock'n'Roll history. The Damokles sword has changed into Excalibur and with all it's power it has drifted into the most massive rock of Whitesnake's rebirth
The testresult is positiv thanks to a powerful erotic snakebite, It's juice is consisting of many dollars, which have been pretty much gone before the rising up again. One more reason to let Santa Claus sing halleluja. And even the miserable sound in the venue here, can't do any harm and can't influence David Coverdale's performance. I felt only sorry for his servants, Tommy Aldrige, Reb Beach, Timothy Drury, Doug Aldrich and Marco Mendoza, who have got the chance for performing a solo each, but none of them is able to break through the apocalyptic aura of the big boss. Coverdale knows that and takes his chances. He lets the audiance woreship him and shows mercy. Therefore no more encore and the mastro of all classes vanishes through an unknown backdoor into the dark of the night. Whitesnake are back again, no doubt about that, at least what's up to their pseudonym. It rocks, it's Blues (at least still a little bit), it's commercial, it's still erotic. But there is one little thing, and this is the only and real turning point which I personally, and some others who know the band from the past, really painfully miss, - the spirit! Where the fuck has the god damned spirit gonne? And this discovery hurts, - it hurts very much indeed.
There ain't no soul in the heart of Whitesnake (left), - there ain't no love anymore in me....
PS: By the way, this was my third realization.

And Bonfire for the 175th time, or is it the 235th time. I don't know, and I don't really care, because the band stands for down to earth good time Rock'n'Roll and they show their common power performance, sometimes more intensively sometimes not. If the slot of the supportact is a gift of heaven or of the circumstances, or is it the ungrateful part to play the starter engine of the actual star, is up to each individual. On one hand, you get the chance to get introduced to a big audiance and conquer their hearts in the shadow of the superstar. But on the other hand there's also the danger to get lost and degenerated as a middleclass whosoever band. Hmmm difficult to say in this case. This audiance here knows Bonfire very well from all these countless headliner gigs with a bombastic lightshow and a full length show. Of course, automatically you start comparing this show to earlier events. And this one sucks. Though frontman Claus Lessman can manage to draw a part of the Whitensnake audiance in his direction. This is mainly due to his professional live experience over many years and lots of selfconfidence. Bonfire are acting like always, not much difference to other times, apart from the cut down light and sound circumstances. But it's those circumstances, which wake up this tricky impression of not likeing the show - in our mnds. No, - Bonfire ain't bad at all, but they seem not right at this place here and their aura gets lost. The bavarian hardrockers belong on a stage on their own in their full outfit and with everything behind it - as king of the roads, pardon, stage, without restrictions and without another too highly praised headliner. Only in that case Bonifre are really brilliant and typically Bonfire inclusively their tribute to Sweet Home Alabama. And the Mississippi murmurs down it's way.

"The Tyger" is back again, - indeed! Holy christ and all of his nons, and I asure your, there were more of them in this place, than you think, Tom Jones has not forgotten anything. His hips are moving, his esprit is spreading and his sexappeal is glowing. Auntie Emma is getting wet eyes and wet, - okay leave it. Heart is the ace, and the 'I Love You's ' are drippling like honey.out of Tommy Boys erotic mouth. "Delilah" makes it's way and also "She's A Lady". But when "Sexbomb" came on, the venue stood head, and all those woreshipping beauties of daily life are heading towards the stage to be a bit closer to the dream of their sleepless nights. "If I Only Knew" is stating once more Tom Jones deep and intensiv expressions, and his jacket is sailing through the air and is motivating him to even more powerful contortions. The conclution is once again a sexy ladies lingery, flying up on the altar of innosence , where TomBoy takes it as a trophy to wipe his forehead. In this moment, probably 2000 or more bavarian beauties are wishing themselves to be their own slip or better the one, which has found it's way to Tom Jones face. '

Oh yes, my dear ladies, the tyger has nothing lost from his aura, his wit and sexy timbre in his voice. The heartbreaker of all widows, orphans and grandmummys has proved once more, that he still knows very well to put out his claws and lets us shiver with his acoustical and visual tenderness. And the desire to sit on the tygers knees once in a lifetime goes far beyond imagination and lets us believe, that the absolute orgasm is the non plus ultra of all sexual psychosis and lies on Tom Jones laps.- Halleluja!

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