I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything worse than Mötley Crüe in Sheffield. Nothing more tuneless, empty, vapid and dismaying. The Los Angeles glam-metal band became superstars in the 1980s, largely by wearing lots of make-up and doing terrible things, but I’ve never understood why. Even those who weren’t repulsed by the band members’ behaviour and personalities surely couldn’t have detected any actual tunes in there.
At Bramall Lane, with a viciously loud PA, the few melodies that were there were largely undetectable. And the band – now in their sixties – still gloried in their obnoxious infantilism. Late in the set, drummer Tommy Lee – the one who was in the sex tape with Pamela Anderson – came to the front of the stage and appealed for women to lift their tops up to be shown on the big screens. Several did, including one older woman, flatter of chest than the others. ‘We got us some man titties!’ yelled Lee. The face on the screen sank.
Mötley Crüe still gloried in their obnoxious infantilism
Def Leppard, by contrast, have aged remarkably gracefully. Their albums Pyromania (1983) and Hysteria (1987) are among hard rock’s biggest records, because – unlike Crüe – they really cared about songwriting and song construction, which they learned at the feet of their producer, Robert John ‘Mutt’ Lange, the great starmaker of 1980s and ’90s rock. Also, they remain delightful people (I have had several dealings with them in the past few years, and I have no hesitation in calling them the most helpful and reasonable major rock stars I have ever dealt with).
They were also too loud, but because the songs have proper melodies, it didn’t all descend into a swirl of noise.
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