Review: Steel Panther, O2 Academy

Since making their debut at the Louisiana last July, Wayward Sons have been out and about honing their craft on the festival circuit and with touring chums Inglorious. They now seem entirely comfortable on bigger stages, albeit in a 30 minute, bottom-of-the-bill slot.

It helps that Bristol’s very own Toby Jepson has been around this particular block before, several times. Indeed, he may now boast the distinction of being the only person to have fronted three different bands at the Academy: Little Angels, Fastway and now Wayward Sons.

Of course, Fast Eddie Clarke carked it recently and Toby dedicates Something Wrong to him tonight, those unkind things the late Motorhead guitarist said about Little Angels now being so much water under the bridge. There’s a vociferous local contingent cheering Wayward Sons on, and young hotshot guitarist Sam Wood in particular still seems to be having the time of his life.

It’s an infectious performance, made all the more enjoyable now that we’ve had time to digest the band’s fine debut, Ghosts of Yet to Come. By the end of set, the packed crowd are all onside and band anthem/rock radio favourite Until the End is greeted with a big singalong.

Huge of voice and, well, pretty big generally, Inglorious frontman and former reality TV star Nathan James arrives on stage resplendent in a natty spangly black jacket and ready to rock. Alas, the sound emerging from the PA tells a different story, being thin, muddy and lacking in the requisite power. Frustratingly, it takes a couple of songs for this to get sorted.

Thanks to his background, James has always looked like a star, but now Inglorious are starting to feel like a real band. With two full albums to draw on, they’ve ditched the covers that padded out the set during their first appearance here with The Winery Dogs. It’s no secret that their collective record collection contains the complete recorded works of Deep Purple, Rainbow, Whitesnake and Dio, but they manage to sup from this rich musical well without sounding like a cheap facsimile, the grand Holy Water remaining the big show-stopper.

Perhaps infected by the spirit of the headliner, James also takes time to point out that their wild man drummer – Somerset’s very own answer to Animal from The Muppets – has the best name in rock. Yes ladies, he’s really called Phil Beaver.

Take cover, millennials: the Academy is about to become a very unsafe space indeed. Actually, there’s no shortage of millennials in this sold-out audience, suggesting that the stereotype of them all sitting round solemnly dreaming up new ways to be offended could be a monstrous calumny. Steel Panther – or at least their tongue-in-somebody-else’s-cheek stage personae – are the kind of guys who imagine that #MeToo is a response to their invitation to a backstage gangbang.

The self-deprecating joke here is that for all their macho posturing, frontman Michael Starr is very old and fat with a small penis (“I’m not the chubby David Lee Roth or the chubby Bret Michaels,” he insists tonight. “I’m the slim Vince Neil”), guitarist Satchel is arrogant and conceited with a small penis, bassist Lexxi Foxx is a dim and vain chick-with-a-dick, and Stix, er, plays the drums (and keyboards – rather well, as it turns out). Sure, it’s not a particularly sophisticated joke, but it works for them. And the reason why they’ve managed to sustain such a successful career for so long is that they’re really great musicians. If you strip away the disgraceful lyrics, their songs are every bit as good as those of the bands they parody.

It helps that the Steel Panther crowd likes to join in the fun. There’s no shortage of bad ’80s hair metal wigs on show here tonight. Some people have brought inflatable guitars. One bloke waves a giant inflatable penis, which might have proven awkward on the night bus home. And down the front, someone’s got a placard reading I’d Go Gay for Lexxi.

The intro tape of Everybody Wants Some!! (which non-metalheads may recognise from the soundtrack of the Richard Linklater film of the same title) acts a sly nod to the band’s past – Starr once fronted a Van Halen tribute act and still deploys the Roth-esque yelps to prove it – before they hit the stage running in a volley of hair and spandex with Eyes of a Panther. Weirdly, however, they get the band introductions in early with an over-long, momentum-sapping display of self-indulgent dicking about.

But, hey, things soon get back on track as Satchel underlines his talent by nailing that blistering solo in Asian Hooker. Mind you, he also gets a lengthy solo spot that threatens tedium until he livens it up by playing drums and guitar simultaneously as he quotes from the Scorpions, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath and Metallica – each getting a huge cheer of recognition.

It’s not all about the party metal of Tomorrow Night and Poontang Boomerang. Steel Panther have a sensitive side too, as evidenced by the touching acoustic love song That’s When you Came In, which has us all singing along like fools. (Probably not wise to do this in public, though.) As anyone who’s seen a Panther show before will know, this is the point when a young woman is hauled out of the crowd and serenaded with improvised lyrics best not repeated here. The game, green-haired Amy then struggles to keep a straight face while Starr croons Weenie Ride at her, accompanied by Stix on piano.

An open invitation to other women to join Amy for 17 Girls in a Row prompts a stampede, as scantily clad ladies threaten to barge the musicians offstage with their gyrating. They all stick around for Gloryhole too, this being Steel Panther’s heartfelt plea for inclusivity and tolerance (“No one judges you at the gloryhole”). Band anthem Death To All But Metal is dedicated by Starr to “everyone who wants to kick Justin Bieber in the balls”, Community Property is sung mainly by the crowd and sends the bloke with the inflatable cock wild, and they leave us with Party All Day (Fuck All Night), which remains the best song Bon Jovi never wrote. Long may they, ahem, keep it up.

All photos by Mike Evans