Schenkerfest

    “The Circus-Circus is what the whole hep world be

                                          doing on Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war.”    

                                                                                              Hunter Thompson, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas–  1971

In a month when Steve Van Liew sang Overlord songs with Palooka and Udo Dirkschneider’s son backed him on drums, Michael Schenker knew he’d have to throw down to even make the winner’s bracket. And on a rainy night at the bejeweled Neptune Theater, Michael did indeed rise up and throw down hard.

This was the most-bizarre spectacle I’ve ever seen set to rock music. Nostalgia is king these days– everyone knows that. Any used up piece of spent jet trash 80s ‘metal’ band can make rent by getting at least a couple of originalish members together and booking a tour. Whether it’s a sad comment on the state of contemporary heavy music that we’d rather go see the remains of Judas Priest again let alone a Mother Love Bone tribute is a secondary issue. Let’s just say there’s always money in the banana stand.

But this was different. It wasn’t just a rock show. This was a high-stepping retrospective musical revue of the strangest order.

 I didn’t know what to expect. Word was that all the main-era singers were going to be there, but I couldn’t imagine how it would be presented. The show was to begin at 8pm and there was no opener. Punctuality is very German. The houselights were hardly out when Michael stepped to the mic from the wings of stage left.

“I am Michael Schenker,” he proclaimed in his familiar accent. “Lead guitar! Welcome to Schenkerfest!”

Very direct. So German. He continued.

“On bass Chris Glen!” No Flight of the Bumblebee recorded intro. No scurrying roadies with penlights. No dry ice. He was going to introduce the band under plain white stage lights before ever playing a note. Like a recital.

“On drums Ted McKenna!” he continued, to wild applause from his loyal crowd. “On rhythm guitar and keyboards Steve Mann!”

And then without further posing or wording, he grasped the neck of his great ax.

“Into the Arena!”

 And with that he was off and running. If Michael had known when writing this instrumental for his debut solo album in 1980 how powerful a set opener it would make nearly 40 years later, he wasn’t letting on. Instead there he was, grinning from his signature crouch, the wings of his Flying V straddling his right thigh, winding his way  to the end of the opener before announcing Gary Barden.

Gary Fuckin’ Barden! One of my favorite pre-metal hard rock singers and by far my favorite of Michael’s solo partners. He strode out from stage right in pointy boots and a gambler pulled down tight over his eyes to the opening strains of the gentle “Let Sleeping Dogs Lie.” My hopes were high, but my expectations realistic.

Very unfortunately, Barden’s voice was totally cindered. Whether it’s permanent or just a bad night is impossible to say from one show, of course– but his performance caused me to grab my own throat and gasp for breath. He muscled through four songs and did his best to appear relevant. But it was fairly painful to watch, and though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, I was actually relieved to see Michael throw his right arm around Barden’s shoulders, pose momentarily for the iphones, and dispatch him back to stage right before Chris Glen introduced “Captain Nemo.”

The instrumental served as a sorbet between singers, Michael alone at center stage effortlessly shredding as a god. And as Nemo reigned in, suddenly there was Graham Bonnet, all 70 years of him, emerging from the same wings into which Barden had disappeared–to the opening refrain of “Desert Song.”

Graham Bonnet is a freak of fucking nature. I thought he was 70 when I saw him and his new sidekick Yngwie from the front row of the Paramount on the first Alcatrazz tour in probably ’83. That was a long time ago, but it appears to have been nothing more than an afternoon for the timeless Bonnet. He still looks like he always has—slicked back hair, dark aviators, leather jacket with the sleeves pushed up. But his voice is so powerful, he just sings so hard he shakes the theater. Fully amazing. His one album’s worth of songs with Michael are not my favorites, but Bonnet turned in a spirited performance and looked as comfortable in the role as any of the singers all night.

And after four songs, Michael threw his right arm around the shoulders of Graham Bonnet, posed for the photos, and dispatched him back into the black void where I pictured Gary Barden moving down one folding chair so Graham could sit down in the proper order.

Michael stepped to the mic.

“It has been 40 years since I recorded Love Drive with the Scorpions,” he explained, rather academically. “I wrote this song for my brother Rudolph and I gave it to him.”

Dig Michael the stage rapper. No how you people doin’ tonight?! No it’s great to be back in See-a-tal! No let me see your cigarette LIGHTERS!!  Just the facts from Michael. Straight and to the point. Sleek and lean. He wrote “Coast to Coast” for his older brother, but he was going to play it for us right now.

Absolutely magical. The instrumentals woven into the set served a critical role in the construction of the evening—the engineering was magnificent. But to hear these gilded melodies coming live out of Michael Schenker’s guitar without any singer jockeying for favor was extra special. And I’m not a guitar player! Normally I need singing to be interested in music, but I found myself wishing my way through the verses to get to the solos and in particular enjoying the instrumentals.

And then of course, out pranced Robin McAuley.

The mid-80s McAuley-Schenker period was an uninteresting one for me, and the songs of McAuley’s set re-enforced that. We all know what the mid-80s were about, and that was on-display in all its tinfoil glory with dangling chains and lots of Bedazzler during McAuley’s set. His voice was fine if you like that kind of dreck, but there’s something very untrustworthy about that cat if you ask me. He looks like a Realtor they plucked off the golf course and dressed in pleather and a black wig. A very thick veneer. His tattoos and biker patches don’t fool me– he’s not very heavy metal…

Lucky for me he was only up there for four songs before Michael threw his right arm around his shoulders and paused, smiling, before sending him back to henhouse where Barden & Bonnet both moved down a seat.

From there shit got weird.

To this point, things had seemed very linear: chronological singers performing the songs of their respective eras, broken up by tasty instrumentals between courses. But once McAuley was finished, it turned into a real floorshow. All three came out at once and proceeded to swap verses on some songs from the recently released Resurrection album. The Neptune stage is not huge, and with three singers posting up, things got a little crowded. The three MSG ‘frontmen’ shouldered up together, each doing their own period-appropriate dance moves and winking at the crowd & each other. With their own cordless microphones, they reminded me of the Beastie Boys, taking turns on verses. One would step forward while the other two would fill in behind. Then they’d all come together for an endless chorus before Michael ripped off a double solo and they had to comp even more time, working those dance steps and winking up a lather. As much as I admired the concept, the manifestation of it made me feel kind of funny deep inside. I couldn’t tell if they were more like the 3 Stooges, the Witches of Eastwick or the Golden Girls– each with their own distinct costume, accessories and, presumably– superpower.

And then as if matters couldn’t have been more awkward, out came something called Doogie White, apparently the current ‘lead’ singer. He took his shift on what were presumably songs from the new record, brandishing the Sign of Rock and Roll at the audience, paying his tribute to DIO which included a song for the Master called “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead.” Doogie’s kicked around this circuit for a while, but I failed to see his value in this setup. His voice was strained and his antics tiresome. If they needed a fourth hand to round out the singer’s cribbage tournament, then alright. But by that time the focus on the stage was getting a little fuzzy and the block of new material fairly monotonous.

But through it all, there was Michael Schenker just doing his thing. Chris Glen was definitely driving the band, and Michael had no responsibilities whatsoever beyond killing every single note and just being Michael. He’s really got that little crouching shuffle perfected, and he inches from one end of his sector to the other, just grinning up a storm– adorbs! Schenker’s personal problems of the 90s have been ponderously documented, but by all accounts he is clean and driven. He looks awesome in his uniform of (really) skinny jeans, patched vest and beanie w/ goggles. But it’s his playing that testifies to his clarity. The overall sound was pretty muddy, including Michael’s rhythm tone. But his solos were like drawn butter, sinfully rich and creamy.

Michael is 63 years old, but he looks like he could do this forever. He played almost three hours without taking a breather. He’s an energy star, that’s for sure– not a wasted word or movement. Economy is the name of the game. No empty audience banter and not a solitary wasted movement. His right hand hardly moves at all while his left is like a tarantula effortlessly wandering the neck of his Flying V.

“Do you want to hear some more?” he asked at the end of the Resurrection set. Naturally, the crowd wanted to hear some more. There was no secret as to what most of us had come to hear…

And Michael didn’t hold back. We’d pumped our fists in the air to some mixed material for more than two hours now, and there was no reason not to reward us with the UFO songs we’d hoped for. I thought maybe he’d do “Doctor Doctor” and bow out, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t offer up five classics including the obligatory extended middle solo section of “Rock Bottom” which was other worldly. The place went nuts as the singers racked up verses, each seemingly vying for Michael’s favor. They really kind of reminded me of a bunch of ex-wives who discovered that they really enjoyed hanging out together. 

I don’t know how long they’ll be able to keep that bus on the road, but I’m glad it made it as far as Seattle. It was a really big show…

PHOTOS by ROCKFISH!