Sticks N Stones have come all the way from Toronto, Canada, to play this show, but halfway through their set they make a little mistake. They play Thin Lizzy.
The problem, you see, is that whenever you hear Thin Lizzy, all you really want to do is listen to more Thin Lizzy. Their version of “Cold Sweat”, sung by bassist Luke, is excellent, but it leaves the Canadians with the slightly unfair task of competing with one of the greatest bands there has ever been.
Which is a shame, because there is plenty to commend them. When singer/guitarist Nicholas Lisanti tells you, “Our name has an ‘N’ in it, like Guns N’ Roses,” you understand what being on this stage means to him. Not for nothing do they have a song called “Living in a Dream”. This clearly is theirs.
They are heavier than you might expect, too. There is a rough edge to their hard rock, and the closing “Walking Dead Machine” makes sure that point is understood. It is a crowded market, certainly, but there is enough here to suggest Sticks N Stones can find their place in it.
Just before L.A. Guns come out, I catch myself smiling. Over the PA comes Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”.
Lest we forget, 35 years or so ago this was supposed to be the music that killed off sleaze. We can debate that until the cows come home, but what cannot be debated tonight is that KK’s is packed. Phil Lewis tells us it has been eight years since L.A. Guns were here. All I know is it’s been a long time since I saw them just up the road in Bilston. The welcome suggests they have been missed.
After Def Leppard’s “Switch 625” has done its work as the intro tape, “Cannonball”, from “Checkered Past”, gets things moving. Then “Electric Gypsy” takes us all the way back to the first record, and the years seem to fall away. There is a snippet of “Paint It Black” in there, too. These boys know their rock history.
“Sex Action” follows, and yes, the lyrics are ludicrous. Of course they are. But it does not sound dated. The best stuff never does. What strikes you is just how good this still sounds.
They know something about the present as well. This is more than an exercise in nostalgia, and the newer material earns its place. “Like a Drug” gets an introduction crediting guitarist Ace Von Johnson, with Lewis and Ace joking that it is actually called “I Like Drugs”. You suspect nobody here would have been particularly shocked if it was.
“Speed” sees Lewis don his racing goggles, while reminding everyone that “this is a live gig, not a movie”. The song is suitably urgent.
“One More Reason” and “Over the Edge” provide a formidable pairing in the middle of the set. The latter, from “Hollywood Vampires”, is another reminder of what a guitarist Tracii Guns is. Watching him, I find myself thinking back to the first time I saw this band, opening for Skid Row at Birmingham’s NEC almost 35 years ago to the day. He was superb then. He is superb now.
“Cocked & Loaded” was the record I properly got into as a kid, and “I Wanna Be Your Man” offers another reminder of why. It also underlines just what a voice Phil Lewis has for this stuff. It might be sleazy, but the fists go into the air all the same.
Around “Kiss My Love Goodbye”, there is more of the humour that runs through the evening. Lewis explains that he has to dress appropriately for his age. He is, after all, almost 48. Nobody is checking his birth certificate. The song gathers into a gallop towards its end, and the grin is still there.
This is the Lucky Motherfucker tour, and the song itself, from “Leopard Skin”, gets its turn. You might not know it yet, Lewis suggests, but you will. Dutifully, the room turns it into a singalong. Another one that can hold its own amongst the old favourites, then.
“Never Enough” arrives with an introduction borrowed from AC/DC’s “Hells Bells”, and Lewis sings it as though he still means every word. “The Ballad of Jayne”, of course, is the big one. The phone lights go up, the chorus comes back at the stage, and a song that has been part of so many lives for so long does exactly what it always does.
An elongated “Rip and Tear” brings things to a close, finding room for the band introductions and a level of innuendo that probably tells you everything you need to know about L.A. Guns. Ace Von Johnson apparently has a big heart and a big willy, bassist Johnny Martin is introduced as a legend of the adult film industry, and nobody pounds harder than Shawn Duncan. Guns doesn’t disavow Lewis’ claim that he once did something fifteen times in one day. It does not appear to involve a fretboard.
Their tongues have always been firmly in their cheeks. That is part of why they have always been so good. They have never taken themselves too seriously.
Earlier, Lewis had summed it up as no gimmicks, no bullshit, just rock ’n’ roll. A live band, up there cooking. It is very hard to disagree.
As he leaves the stage, he offers a simple: “Thanks for not forgetting about us.”
But why would anyone forget a band responsible for some of the finest sleaze songs ever written? Their visits might be infrequent, but L.A. Guns are always welcome when they turn up.
