While scoring supplies at 7-11 on my walk up to Shoreline I was 'serenaded' by Extreme's "More Than Words" on the store's radio. It was a painful reminder of the '80s heyday of power ballads and hairspray rock. Even the good acts coughed up such syrup because few are strong enough to resist a wheelbarrow of cash and the chance to stoke feminine good will. Anyone who's forgotten will be swiftly reminded by the high rotation cable ad for the 50-track strong Monster Ballads - The Ultimate Set. One notable absence is Mötley Crüe's "Home Sweet Home," which arguably helped birth the power ballad (actively aided by Jersey doulas Bon Jovi). Perhaps this is because "Home Sweet" is an aberration within a largely hedonistic, rough livin' catalog. Meaner and a touch more introspective than most of the hair-nests in spandex that arrived in their wake, the Crüe, against all expectations, is still alive and thriving, bringing a 10 band lineup to summer sheds and celebrating the 20th anniversary of Dr. Feelgood by playing the entirety of that 1989 post-first-shot-at-rehab album as the centerpiece of a dazzling, vastly entertaining show.

One thing's for sure, I've never walked into this Amphitheatre and been greeted by short-short wearing strippers before. Just past the gate, before I'd even put my ticket away, a peroxide pixie with a money draining, will sapping smile curled herself around my frame, whispered a few naughty things in my ear and pressed a discount card for her S.F. pole lair into my hand along with a postcard promoting their Wednesday night Foxy Boxing matches - sanctioned, of course, by the WFBA (World Foxy Boxing Association). It's as perfect a "handshake" as one could wish as they embark on hours of hard rock, a sub-genre that just throbs with erectile overtones. Looking around at the decent if not sold out crowd, it was a treat to be surrounded by others who, like myself, dig this music without irony. Sure, sophisticated it ain't but it scratches an itch so caveman basic it makes one want to devour red meat and manhandle things with a grin one's mom would not approve of. More crudely, Mötley and their bastard children are the difference between 'making love' and beast fucking - what it lacks in complexity and subtlety it makes up in visceral whap and dumbstick wiggle.

In its second year, Crüe Fest added a second stage filled with the next generation of amp crankers topped by Rev Theory. On the main stage preceding the Crüe were Godsmack, Theory of a Deadman, Drowning Pool and aspiring Sunset Strip golden age wannabes Charm City Devils, getting the special "Introducing" nod from the fest headliners. The bit of the Devils' set I heard making my way inside made it clear they've spent time diggin' through Toys In The Attic, Appetite For Destruction and the titty bar staples in the Crüe's catalog. Silly but fun, as much of this one-night fest would prove.

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