A Starr is born: Steel Panther.

For what is only their second visit to Scotland, Steel Panther possess the impressive ability to drag a good half-venue of Glaswegians out on this icy December eve. There’s a fundamental irony in so many showing up to watch a brutal, wig-wearing lampoon of ‘80s era heavy metal, comically detailing the type of excesses that were, at one point, embodied in a serious manner by tonight’s co-headliners. Perhaps this lack of criticism for the Panther arises from the fact that the two ‘serious’ bands being parodied here once wrote hit songs about overdosing, dying, coming back to life, hitching a lift home and overdosing again (and that’s just one song) and masturbating over a picture of Marilyn Monroe. The laughter track has always been playing silently in the background of their careers, perhaps desensitizing fans to the point where not even a piss-taking pseudo-tribute act can expose the ridiculousness of such antics. Or maybe the satire just completely passes over the heads of the girls who sit on boyfriends’ shoulders, screaming and exposing themselves to the misogyny of 17 Girls In A Row and Community Property. Either way, they’re entirely entertaining, and provide some respite from a metal scene that often forgets how to have fun.

Mötley Crüe appear with a loud bang but, sadly, it’s not something that they go out on. Let’s not lie: it was the Crue who sold out this gig tonight, perhaps with some help from the support act. They could probably spend their set reading out Chekov plays and the crowd would lap it up but, while Wild Side and Girls, Girls, Girls keep fans in the band’s palms as firmly as ever, the sloppiness that has attributed itself to them in recent years still lingers. Vince still inexplicably misses out words and Mick Mars, while gifted and soulful within the refrains of songs, recreates the sound of a malfunctioning Dyson in the instrumental interludes. Flaws aside, the LA four still know how to put on a hell of a twisted carnival show, be it in terms of sound (a rowdy singalong to Smokin’ In The Boys’ Room and the grown-up sleaze rock of Saints Of Los Angeles) or vision (drummer Tommy Lee playing upside-down on a firework-filled rollercoaster) and there are enough thrills to make up for the occasional complacency.

Rolling into town: Tommy Lee, upside-down.

What Def Leppard lack in Motley Crue’s rawness and sleaze, they make up for in pristine, crafted, stadium-straddling brilliance. The runaway train of hits rolls down the line, calling at all stops from Animal to Photograph, and even an acoustic session of ballads doesn’t halt the momentum. There is, however, a sense that a percentage of tonight’s crowd see the Lep as an ironic nostalgia act, one that does not have the privilege of carrying itself on MTV culture and the popularity of reality television shows. The pomp and swagger of subtle-as-a-brick classic Pour Some Sugar On Me is perhaps laughable to the new generation of back-combing Nikki Sixx fans – it’s mainly the older attendees that are wearing Def Lep merchandise tonight – but the NWOBHMers play like proud veterans as opposed to apologetic anachronisms. Joe Elliott can’t always reach the high notes anymore – a flaw which may, in fairness, pertain to age rather than inability – but an a cappella ending to When Love And Hate Collide by the audience stands as the warmest moment of the evening.

Rock of (old) Ages: Def Leppard's Joe and Phil.

Without trying to review the headliners solely by contrast to their touring partners, it’s virtually indubitable that most negative preconceptions about them are based on a trendy social consensus as opposed to legitimate personal tastes, which sadly shatters the principle of what this music stands for. Three sides of the same strange three-sided coin the bands may be, but this tour stands as a visceral monument to the continuing idea of rock as a wonderfully varied, but uniting, force.

Jonny ‘Itch’ Fox finishes off a hamburger in an underground dressing room in the heart of Glasgow. A few hundred miles may separate him from his native London but, apparently, very little distinguishes the inhabitants of each city from another.
‘People are different everywhere. There are nice folk and dicks no matter where you go.” he laughs, swivelling his chair away from the mirror.
He would certainly know, having spent the last few months touring Europe with his band The King Blues. However, ‘band’ is too insultingly broad a term. Their sound, particularly on latest album Punk & Poetry, is a hard one to define: a pendulum of punk, hip-hop, ska and folk, swinging between cheeky pop sensibilities (the bittersweet harmonies of Everything Happens For A Reason) and compellingly unsettling vitriol (the snarling call-to-arms of We Are Fucking Angry). That’s not to mention the poetry juxtaposed with their more energetic offerings, the lyrical themes of which range from Itch’s respect for women, despite his inability to understand them, to his tongue-in-cheek branding of certain politicians as fascists.

The kids are united: The King Blues (Itch, second from right)

And it’s on streets like the ones above that this auditory regime was formed.
‘You couldn’t get Radio 1 where I grew up. There were just pirate stations coming in from every angle, playing all kinds of music.’ explains the frontman, lighting an after-dinner cigarette without a second thought for the smoking ban. ‘There was no Internet to download from. So whatever the people around you chose to play, that’s what you listened to.
‘The six of us in the band don’t agree on a lot of music, but I think it’d be boring otherwise. There isn’t a genre I don’t like – each just has good and bad stuff.’
Its impact on radio is not his only observation of the World Wide Web.
‘The mainstream media had so much control before social networking. They could demonise protestors so that everyone would turn against them, without realising that the problem was higher up. Thanks to the Internet, we can talk to each other and tell the other side of the story. We’re powerful now more than ever.’
And this is where the other side of the band’s story starts to show: their politics. Growing up around the streets and squats of the capital, Itch witnessed the social and political injustice faced by those at the bottom, but channelled his feelings into positive energy through activism and music, all in the name of the underdog.

The street poet imparts his wisdom.

‘Education is a vital thing that everyone should be entitled to.’ he states, when told about the increase in tuition fees at the University of Stirling. ‘Right now, only the rich can afford it. There’s something incredibly wrong with that. It’s all part of the worker-and-boss divide. What inspired me most after the student riots was the fact that workers and the unemployed came out to protest too. They realised that we’re in this together. I think students need to realise their personal struggles are part of something much larger. Sharing your struggles with others makes you far stronger.’
He drops his fag to the floor and stamps on it like it was a Tory Government.
‘Because, even when being political, you always need to have some humanity.’

Bands come and go. Some make it big and are hyped ad nauseam. Others pack a punch to a cult following, but never climb the ladder. This is, however, the first time in many years that an act has felt so important. The King Blues are entirely unafraid to hit out at the world’s wrongs, but not from the top of an ivory tower or from a Hollywood mansion like today’s shameless stars for whom global warming is a profile-booster. Instead, these are the heartfelt words of an honest group of people who relate to how unfairly tough life can be, but who aren’t reserved in urging the idea that you can make a difference, that you can shape your own future, and that it’s okay to smile all the while.

Emerging out of the 1980s UK glam scene, Tigertailz lit up the pages of the metal press in a burst of neon colour, jagged guitars and perhaps the best hair out of any of their British or American contemporaries. While often only linked to subtle-as-a-brick anthems like ‘Love Bomb Baby’ and ‘Livin’ Without You’, the Welsh quartet showed that deep down they were a hard rocking force to be reckoned with, through the likes of later albums like 1991’s ‘Banzai!’ and 1995’s ‘Wazbones’, the former even featuring Metallica and Megadeth covers.

They split up in the mid-‘90s before reforming almost ten years later, only for 2007 to see the sad and untimely death of bassist Pepsi Tate. The band, including founding guitarist Jay Pepper and best-known singer Kim Hooker, however, soldiered on, recruiting bass player Sarah Firebrand and drummer Robin Guy, and releasing a new live album last year, encapsulating the timeless quality of their genre-defying music.

Speaking backstage at the Cathouse in Glasgow, Scotland, Kim and Jay took the time to give an insight into life in the band.

l-r: Kim Hooker, Sarah Firebrand, Jay Pepper, Robin Guy.

You’re almost at the end of your UK tour. How has it been?
Jay [Pepper, guitar]: Most nights have been great. There hasn’t been a really bad show; a bad show for us if the sound isn’t great, and there have only been one or two of those. The rest have been fantastic.
Kim [Hooker, vocals/guitar]: Something that we kind of forgot is that how much easier it all becomes when you do five or six shows in a row. It all becomes like second nature and you become a better band. I’m more familiar with the set now than I ever have been.

‘Bezerk’ is hailed as your breakthrough album. Does it feel like twenty years since it was created?
Jay: It seems like a long time ago, yes, but playing the songs is like riding a bike – it all comes back to you quickly. It was a lifetime ago that we actually wrote and recorded the songs though, so you just do what you can to make it feel as fresh as possible. As for career highlights, some of the festivals we’ve played since our reunion have been brilliant. I enjoy things a lot more nowadays, doing them at our own pace.
Kim: I’m exactly the same; I can’t honestly look back on the Bezerk period and feel that I enjoyed it more than today. Back then our lives depended on it, but now it’s something we do purely because we love it.

Tigertailz have been credited as being one of the definitive British glam metal acts. Is this something you still identify with?
Kim: I never did identify with it, to be honest. I always thought we were just a heavy metal band. Our influences growing up were the likes of Judas Priest, Accept and Black Sabbath. That’s what I listened to, and that’s what I still listen to.
Jay: It’s understandable that people will always identify with your image and pigeonhole you before they’ve even heard a note of your music. Luckily, this time round, I think we’re changing people’s perceptions of us. For example, we played Hard Rock Hell [in Prestatyn, Wales] three years in a row because people wanted to see us.
Kim: When it comes to image, I just couldn’t imagine being in a band and going on-stage at night looking exactly the same as I did when I arrived in the afternoon. There’s nothing in that for me at all. Even bands like Metallica have an image – they just have a different image from us. We’ve never considered not getting dressed up before a gig, and we never will.
Jay: Yeah, it’s entertainment! It’s a theatric. When you go to see a show, you don’t expect to see people in jeans and t-shirts. A lot of fantastic bands do dress like that, but our deal is that you get a show, like it or not.

Women in metal is a subject that has been documented ad nauseam, but does having a female member change Tigertailz’s perspective in any way?
Kim: Well, the problem for us was that we thought Pepsi was irreplaceable. Then it occurred to us, let’s not try to replace him, so a female bassist was perfect because no one will compare the two.

What changes have you observed in the music industry or live scene since your inception in the 1980s?
Kim: Well, one good thing is that people don’t get fucked over by record companies as much anymore. Back when we were making ‘Bezerk’, we were always driven by record companies who used to demand singles, and that’s why the songs on it range from ‘Sick Sex’ and ‘Heaven’ to stuff like ‘Love Bomb Baby’. Nowadays we just write what we want to write, with no one telling us how to sound. The pressure’s off, and that’s a change for the better. I think the Internet has a lot to do with bands feeling like that now.

What about the calibre of bands nowadays?
Kim: I don’t really go out of my way to listen to any bands, they tend to come and go out of my life, but generally I think that bands seem to play a lot better these days. You get fifteen-year-old kids who can play very well, and that wasn’t the case when I was that age.

Has your fanbase changed in twenty years?
Kim: On this tour I’ve realised that, yes. There are people that weren’t even born when we started who are getting into us.

Is it satisfying?
Jay: Well, hopefully it’s a testament to how good our records were. It’s really rewarding when eighteen-year-olds who weren’t part of the scene at the time get into the music years later.

What are your plans for after the tour?
Jay: We’ve got a few more shows planned. We tend to cherry-pick those and only do the ones we really want to. But, apart from that, we’re looking to record a new album later this year. I’m not sure whether it’ll actually be out this year though.

What can we expect from it?
Kim: We’ve been writing for a while, and it will just sound like the heavier songs that we play at the moment. We’re now the band that we always were, in truth. I’ve written a few songs that could be called singles, but then I’ve thought why? I don’t need to write singles anymore. We’ll just throw a load of new songs into the air and see which way they land.
Jay: If a commercial record or single comes out of it, that’s fine, but it’s not like we’re going out of our way to write another ‘Love Bomb Baby’.
Kim: We’ve been talking about doing this album for a few years, but shows and such always get in the way of recording, so we’d like to get a record finished before we come back…
Jay: …more aggressive.