The Rock Never Stops Tour with Whitesnake, Warrant, Winger and Slaughter

The Rock Doesn’t Stop — But Is Anyone Paying Attention? If the Rock Never Stops tour comes to town and nobody shows up to see it, does the rock still… rock? Apparently it does — hard. Unfortunately, when the tour limped into Trenton, the Sovereign Bank Arena wasn’t even a third full. Chalk it up to the fact that whatever the quality of the music played, the headliner and the supporting acts, while somewhat similar, were ultimately a mismatch in draw. It was ’80s metal meets rock icon, and only the hardcore for each made the trek. Few hit wonders Slaughter were always middling near the bottom of the bill even at the height of the hair band days, and not much has changed (as it should be). With no pointed lack of effort, singer Mark Slaughter was determined to make it seem as if 30,000 strong were milling about the floor as opposed to the maybe few hundred, but the songs carry as much weight as bassist Dana Strum’s reputation as a swell guy, i.e., not much. Mere minutes after the stage had been cleared, a bloated and disheveled gent wearing old jeans and a baggy gray shirt ambled out a lone microphone stand checking the levels of the acoustic guitar slung around his neck. Not until he actually started playing did most of the audience realize it was really Kip Winger, who did about 25 minutes unplugged before politely thanking the crowd and walking off. Beavis-and-Buttheaded to death for much of the ’90s, he left naysayers little to grate on with his ballsy stroke of displaying the absolute antithesis of everything that the ’80s represented in music. Those who came to heckle the singer were left with mouths agape while his commanding yet unassuming presence produced “Headed for a Heartbreak” and “Seventeen” in a way that temporarily replaced the images of the a sweaty MTV pretty boy with that of a true musician. Shocking indeed. In a flash though, those high hair memories were back when cheese rock luminaries Warrant showed that while age may have take its toll on their line-up and pretty boy image, they could still deliver the pop rock. A downright fat Jani Lane sang like it was 1989 all over again. His voice, despite no less than five cigarettes during the 40 minute set, sounded rough and sweet in all the right places. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and “I Saw Red” played out with no less raw emotion and passion than 13 years before, which could be good or bad depending on how you look at it, but there was no denying the energy level the band brought to the stage. Warrant, along with a few others, are the ultimate poster boys for the glam ’80s, and they have become totally comfortable with the tag. Whitesnake is on an entirely different level and from the opposite side of the spectrum. Singer David Coverdale comes from a bygone era, when blues and hard rock melded to create radio dominant beasts like Led Zeppelin and Cream. Coverdale himself was a part of the genre, taking the helm of Deep Purple in the mid-’70s while they were going through yet another line-up change, an unfortunate trait that follows the band to this day. When he joined in 1974 though, Deep Purple was still relevant, and ultimately became the optimal springboard for what was essentially a Coverdale solo vehicle, Whitesnake. A slight backlash ensued by rock purists, who considered the front man nothing more than a cheap Robert Plant imitation, especially when the video conscious ’80s embraced Whitesnake and their Zeppelin-esque sound. Looks superceded music in importance then, and when discussing the hair metal opuses on MTV at the time, the trilogy of “Still of the Night”, “Here I Go Again”, and “Is This Love”, is always at the forefront. Images of Tawny Kitaen spread eagle on a Jaguar may forever corrupt any notion that Whitesnake’s music has held up some fifteen years later, but a solid argument was made in Trenton. As the lights dimmed in the Sovereign Bank Arena, the PA blared “Burn”, the biggest hit that the Coverdale-led Deep Purple yielded, before a rogues gallery of musicians for hire, including guitarists Doug Aldrich and Reb Beach and drummer Tommy Aldridge, appeared. Live on this night though, the band would draw only from the Whitesnake catalog, apparent from the opening assault of “Bad Boys”. Coverdale stalked out onto the stage looking nothing short of resplendent, brown lions mane flowing, reddish-orange shirt open halfway down his chest, and tight blue jeans faded perfectly, flaring out to reveal lazy and scuffed white dress shoes. The cool and swagger carried him through much of material from the 1987 self-titled Whitesnake masterpiece, and back in time with ‘Slide it In” and “Slow and Easy”, songs that not only reinforced the blues aspect of Whitesnake but showcased the tongue in cheek humor that Coverdale is so fond of. With a potty mouth that let loose no less than 20 “fucks” during between song banter, the singer still managed an air of regality. At one point, after grabbing a female photographer’s long lens, Coverdale inspected the camera closely, marveling with over the top fascination, “My…look how big that one is!” He then gave the camera back and commented, “That’s about the size,” while grabbing his crotch suggestively with a wink. Technical problems plagued the set all night, and a slightly annoying echo on some of the instruments didn’t help much, but when Coverdale’s in-ear system began to fail, he took it out, and let the audience know that he hoped they could hear everything ok, because he couldn’t “hear a fucking thing.” He then performed a jaw dropping, pitch perfect version of “Still of the Night’, successfully handling the difficulties with consummate professionalism, and cementing his status as the current crown prince of ’70s rock. Not even Plant, definitely not Bad Company’s Paul Rodgers, or anyone else can touch Coverdale at this moment in time when it comes to rock icons from that era — it’s just a shame that hardly anyone comes to see it.