|| still in awe
Who let Metro Station out of gaol?
I’ve never seen a sex offender like Trace Cyrus in my life. I was actually frightened when he ran onstage. Is there any chance Marilyn Manson is his biological father?
But before getting that treat, we had to suffer through Missing Hours, a female-fronted version of Nickleback from Geelong. Had the organisers even heard this band before they chucked them on the bill (or did it have something to do with them getting signed to Sony and the impressionable teen audience they'd be performing for...)? Pretty forgettable, except for a limp cover of ‘Send Me an Angel’.
What followed was a scheduled forty-five minute wait til the main event, prompting the question, had the organisers ever put on a show before?
But eventually Metro Station took the stage, surprisingly on time (I mean, how long does it take to put the CD in and press play?). And they rocked it. Until the backing tape started skipping and cut out. The audience was overwhelmed by nothing but the sound of the sticks tapping the rim of the drums. Fortunately, this situation only lasted for half of the song.
To Metro Station’s credit, they looked a little embarrassed, but since they probably don’t know what a real band is, they never lost heart, and singer Mason Musso just kept passing out bourbon shots to girls in the crowd.
They even rigged up a series of bright flashing lights designed to make the crowd forget, much like the neuraliser in hit movie, ‘Men in Black’. They needn’t have worried, as the crowd, like the boys themselves, didn’t seem to know what a real show was.
The second highlight was the way the band managed to change every thinly veiled reference to sex on the record, to the ‘f’word. I can’t believe that Musso and Cyrus’ mothers put this band together. It’s a whole album about doing it. ‘Seventeen Forever’ and ‘Wish We Were Older’ are odes to paedophilia and underage lovemaking. And I’m never going to dance to ‘Shake It’ the same after seeing Musso’s hand gestures. Plus, what was with all the heavy breathing?
It’s hard to put my finger on what was more disturbing, Trace Cyrus flapping about like the ghost of a convicted rapist in spray-on pants, or the fact that they went a whole show without needing to stop and tune their guitars. It’s funny, actually, that they even bother to pretend they can play. The instruments contributed about as much to the music as Cyrus’ designer tattoos. Even the keyboardist, Blake Healy, was miming. Full credit to drummer Anthony Improgo for actually keeping time during the backing tape crisis.
OK, so Metro Station can’t be a real band. They’re over-sexed teenagers who are just lucky enough to tour the world, get free stuff, groupie action, and anything else they want. Why would you bother learning to play?
But they love life (and why wouldn’t you?). They clearly got off from just being in front of an audience, and, not having the concerns of real touring artists, they had a stack of fun.
Metro Station have to be a joke, and it’s up for debate whether they get it or not, but either way, it’s the most fun and laughs I’ve had at a show in years, and that is a precious thing.