Eagles Of Death Metal, Soho Revue Bar, London <!-- none onestar twostar threestar fourstar fivestar -->
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Your support makes all the difference.This is surely what all boys dream of when they first pick up a guitar. In the West End's red light district, the Soho Revue Bar is packed to the rafters with wild, braying women, dressed up to the nines, clutching cocktails and screaming obscenities at the four men on stage. This intimate strip joint is more accustomed to men drooling over pole-dancing lovelies - which makes it all the more ideal for the Eagles of Death Metal's ladies-only show. Sure, there are a handful of suspiciously broad-shouldered and bristle-faced "ladies" here tonight, but they all cling to the bar for safety.
Eagles' front man Jesse Hughes - a man who manages to have a ginger handle-bar moustache and still be sexy - is almost jumping out of his skin with excitement: "This is the coolest dream I've ever had come true!" he yells at his adoring fans. "Let's hear it for the ladies!" He combs his hair back, puts on his shades and the band launch into their dirty garage swamp rock. The dancefloor shudders under a hundred stomping stiletto heels. A group of rock chicks gyrate drunkenly on a stripper's pole. It's like I've just walked into a dream sequence from Wayne's World.
Unfortunately, that other ginger rock god (and Eagles of Death Metal co-founder) Josh Homme is nowhere in sight. But Hughes more than makes up for it; dripping sweat, sex and fun. And the music: straight-up, trashy, bluesy rock'n'roll that owes much to The Rolling Stones and AC/DC, but, thankfully, nothing to the Eagles. Macho music, some would say. But they'd be wrong.
A stage invasion was inevitable - and they just kept coming. It began with "Cherry Cola", when 15 or so girls clambered up, screamed into the microphones, groped the band members and then queued up to snog them. But nothing could beat the reaction to "I Want You So Hard (Boy's Bad News)". "Play it again!" scream the girls. And so they do - but not before swigging some vodka and passing it around the audience.
By the time they play their sweat-soaked cover of the Stones' "Brown Sugar", Jesse is strutting like a rooster during mating season. The girls grapple with his clothes. "This is the greatest gig we've ever played in our goddamn lives!" he screeches. I dread to think what happened in the after-party, but you can be sure that plenty of his other dreams came true.
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