Dastardly Motley

They were unashamedly daft before stardom; they were daft beyond the call of rock'n'roll duty when they sold millions of records and as last night's fiasco showed, they remain, supremely, untouchably daft in their twilight years.

Indeed, only Motley Crue could transform the air-punching goodwill that greeted their arrival into the angry, disappointed boos that followed them off-stage.

"We have some good news and some bad news," announced orange-skinned singer Vince Neil after the opening Dr. Feelgood. "The good news is that we're here..."

The bad news was that drummer Tommy Lee, erstwhile Mr Pamela Anderson, would not be drumming owing to a shoulder injury.

Evanescence's Will Hunt deputised, although Lee occasionally appeared (topless but for an ice pack over his shoulder), most memorably to ask the undeniably pertinent question, "who wants a goddamn swig of Jagermeister?" before French-kissing Neil and swaying off stage.

Hunt beavered away manfully, Neil squawked in chipmunk-fashion and the band rattled through a few hits.

Elsewhere, guitarist Mick Mars was static and hunched owing to his degenerative bone disease ankylosing spondylitis and his recent hip replacement, while bassist Nikki Sixx was merely static and hunched.

The far from intelligent Girls, Girls, Girls rocked manfully, Home Sweet Home was a comedy power-ballad and, understandably, even the road crew covered their ears for Louder Than Hell.

After a parsimonious hour of rampant idiocy prolonged by bovine riff upon bovine riff and a version of Anarchy In The UK which beggared belief (but not in a good way), they slunk off stage.

Five minutes later, when it became clear there would be no encore from this confederacy of dunces, the jeers began.

As awful as it was horribly watchable.

Motley Crue
Hammersmith Apollo