Ah, the 1980s. That was the decade when Rock woke up one morning, collected the take-away cartons and pizza boxes from the sticky carpet in its sleazy bedsit, threw them in the bin….
…..along with the green furry unidentifiable objects inhabiting the fridge and moved into a penthouse at the top of a redeveloped riverside factory.
It packed in its job at the corner motor repair workshop and became a trader in the city, exchanging a weekly pay-packet for a superannuated salary with more digits than its National Insurance Number. It then chucked out the steel toe-capped workbooks for a pair of Pradas. Some things remained – the jeans were still there but rather than being worn out and oil-stained they were pristine and ripped in exactly the correct places. The hair also survived but the long, lank, greasy locks were ever so slightly trimmed, coiffed to within an inch of their life and given more highlights than a whole season of Match of the Day. Yes, like everything else in the Thatcher/Reagan years, Rock went corporate, losing its anger, bile and soul to bow to the wishes of the record companies and, most of all, MTV. When I saw the poster for Rock of Ages, therefore, I knew exactly what I was going to get. Except I didn’t!
There was a play which ran for quite a long time in London called ’The Complete Works of Shakespeare in 90 Minutes’ and Rock of Ages could be subtitled ‘Every Film and TV Cliche You Have Ever Seen in 2 Hours’. I am certain that they could have easily beaten the hour and a half mark except the bard didn’t include many guitar licks in his stuff.
Here is/are the plot(s). A small-town girl moves from the middle of nowhere to LA to find her fame and fortune, where she meets an innocent young man intent on being a rock star whilst they are both working at the Bourbon Club on Sunset Strip. The club is in danger of closing as a property developer has bribed the Mayor to let him redevelop the area. The club owner, looking for a way to survive, hits on a novel idea, which he probably got after watching White Christmas or The Blues Brothers, of getting the huge rock band, Arsenal, yes you did read that correctly, to do their farewell gig there as he gave them their first break. He also uses the threat to expose an incident involving the lead singer and a llama in a hotel room as leverage.
The innocent lad goes on a date with who turns out to be the not so innocent young girl. When he takes his time over making his move, she goes off with the llama fancier who is not so reticent and then gets her fired from the Bourbon after which she obtains employment in a ‘gentleman’s’ club as a pole dancer-cum-stripper, with added extras. The young man is ripped off by an unscrupulous agent and the two meet again and ride off into the sunset.
The property developer and his son are convinced by protesters against the scheme that their dreams are worth more than money and so the club is saved and they turn out to be not such bad chaps after all. There is a lot more but I am losing the will to live now, so I will leave it at that.
The whole evening is brought together by a camp narrator straight out of Cabaret who not only narrates but also interacts with the audience, choosing one woman on the front row to be his foil for the whole evening. I must say that this was done brilliantly as he referred to her throughout the night in the most inappropriate scenes but at no time embarrassed her.
Speaking of inappropriate, there were several elements in the show which I was not sure about. I am certainly no prude and find the excessive application of political correctness abhorrent, but there were throwbacks to the days of ‘Allo, ‘Allo here, with the evil property developer being a German and breaking into an involuntary goose step every time he moved. His son, who was also his assistant, was also as camp as Butlin’s.
The use of sex, albeit fully clothed and simulated, I found to be a bit excessive at times. I realise that this was in the pre #MeToo era and we all know what went on back in those days, but it was, in keeping with the rest of the show, rather over the top. There was a lot of comedy involved but I must say that one of the things which made me chuckle inside was when the lead singer of the band deflowered the girl in the cubicle of a gent’s toilet, when I couldn’t help but think that it is the first time in a while that an Arsenal player had scored. Sorry, the mindset was contagious.
Down to brass tacks. The production consists of a cast of thousands, so I am afraid that I will just have to pick out a few for specific mention. I must point out that the singing was uniformly brilliant, with one slight exception. Sherrie, the girl, was played by Jodie Steele, who managed to walk the tightrope between innocent and raunchy very adeptly, Drew, the innocent, was Luke Walsh, who managed the same trick. Everybody but these two were so far over the top as to be halfway down the other side. The Arsenal lead singer, Stacee Jaxx, was played by Anthony Costa from the boy band Blue and surprised me by his seeming inability to hit a couple of notes especially in Feel The Noize, but was otherwise very good.
The two people without whom the whole thing would not have worked were Lonny, the narrator, played brilliantly by Adam Strong. He sang, danced and had the most amazing banter with the audience, especially the hapless Debbie whom he had singled out to start with. The other star was the actor who played Dennis, the owner of the Bourbon
Club. He was an ageing, old-school rocker clad in a leather jacket with long hair, kept in place by a headband. His singing was superb and his dancing not too shabby. I could not believe my eyes when I looked in the programme at the half and saw that it was none other than Kevin Kennedy, aka Curly Watts from Coronation Street. I was totally taken aback. He also provided what was the highlight of the evening in one of the dance routines. The music was ripping a classic to which he was dancing, but then the pace picked up at which point he disappeared behind the club’s bar, only to instantly reappear, throw himself over said structure and proceed to do somersaults and acrobatics in time with the thrusting beat. He ended his solo by leaping back over the bar and once again reappearing, seemingly breathless and asking for a minute to recover. I don’t know who the dance double was but he was great, as was the execution of the stunt. The audience quite rightly went wild.
The band, comprising Liam Holmes, Musical Director/keyboards, Drew Lowe and Marc Le Guerranic on guitars, Elliot Mason, bass guitar and Vito Guerrieri drums appeared on stage all of the evening and were brilliant.
Mention must also be made of the production team, who worked wonders with such a large cast and complex lighting and sound. There was a back projection on a small screen which did the scene-setting and was as humorously done as the live action. Not only did it inform as to where the action was taking place, but also when we were in the agent’s office there was a series of gold discs displayed by artists such as Bon Jovi and Michael Jackson, along with a rogue one from Kenny G. At another point we were treated to a further cliche when a piece of stage action involving a pedal bike saw the vehicle ridden off the set, reappearing on the screen as a silhouette passing in front of the moon as in ET.
The choice of songs to accompany the action, or was it done the other way round, was well thought out except for one which I found irritating. Don’t get me wrong, it is one of my favourites and performed superbly several times during the show, but Starship’s We Built This City was written about San Francisco, not Los Angeles, but I think that I might be being too clever for my own good here.
I am at a loss to describe what I saw last night, even after my eight hours kip, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t like pigeonholing everything so it is irrelevant whether it was a juke box musical, a comedy with a soundtrack or even the first Rock Farce. All that matters is that now my senses have recovered from the assault perpetrated on them, I realise that I ended up having a great night out and was on my feet giving the other audience members similarly inclined an exhibition of the shapes to throw to eighties rock anthems.
As a footnote you all know how much I love the Grand Theatre and I realised last night that I love it for even more reasons than I did previously. Having recently been to a couple of venues where I was in agony after a few minutes in totally unsuitable seats, I realised that the Grand is so comfortable. It is a testament to how accommodating the seats are when it is something I have not realised before. Thanks, Grand.
So – if you fancy a totally fun night out with no intellectual demands, some great music – well, eighties anthem rock – and a load of laughs, then Don’t Stop Believin’ and Cum On Feel The Noize at the Grand until Saturday.
Feature photograph is Kevin Kennedy as Dennis. All photographs by Richard Davenport.
