Party With a Rock Star? Mötley Crüe's Singer In Midlothian? Why Not?

Find me someone who doesn’t know Mötley Crüe. I dare you. My parents listen to more Barry Manilow than is probably deemed safe, and they at least “know the name.”

Vince Neil has gotten around a lot over the last 30 years, as the Crüe carved a pulsing scar in the face of modern rock, leaving smears of blood and mascara in their wake. So it’s not all that hard to believe that the bleached-blonde screamer will be hosting an after party Friday night at Sullivan’s Irish Pub in Midlothian. Tickets run up to $25.

Don’t expect to hear him yell about the “Same Old Situation,” as the party comes after Mötley Crüe’s gig with Poison and the New York Dolls at First Midwest Bank Amphitheatre. And if they keep the energy up as in past shows on this tour, those attending are in for some ballistic spectacle (a drum set on roller coaster tracks? Yep). But Vince is supposed to be on hand for photos, merriment and maybe even a little debauchery.

So why am I telling you about this?

Because I still bang my head when they come on the radio, and I bet you do, too.

Mötley Crüe is still a brief rite of passage for kids just hitting that time in puberty when parents become jerks. Budding musicians and shopping mall rebels still widen their eyes upon hearing the speedy urgency and disregard for rules in the first crunching notes of “Dr. Feelgood.” And that attraction to life without fear of consequences, far out on the edge, only grows as a new listener then hears their even more raw and rough cuts from Shout at the Devil and Theater of Pain.

But beyond all of that, Mötley Crüe is a household name. Despite appetites for sex and drugs that made Caligula look like a Buddhist monk, and a penchant for violence that would be right at home with hewn street gangs, middle-aged folks in suburban subdivisions know their name. The group can sell out arenas around the world, even though few fans could probably name a song they recorded in the last 10 years. Mötley Crüe’s songs are the easier ones to play on Guitar Hero and Rock Band.

Even if people have never heard one single warbling, sustained note from Mick Mars’ guitar, or a banshee-pitched scream out of Neil’s mouth, or the undulating rumble of Nikki Sixx’s bass combined with the primal pounding of Tommy Lee’s drumming, they still know the name.

But why? Because they are a different version of the American Dream come true. Regardless of the utter filth and depravity that got them there, and even if their actual songs will never be as memorable as their attitude and approach toward rock, we unconsciously admire their ability to rise skyrocketing heights above from their collective starting gutter.

Especially because they still are perched on that ridge, with a sly, knowing grin that they got away with it all and stayed alive.

Editor’s Note: In what sometimes feels like another life, I was solely a rock journalist. One of my random assignments was to contribute to a foreword for Vince Neil’s biography “Tattoos and Tequila” written Mike Sager, one of the last great immersing anthropological writers, and a personal hero of mine.