Poison, with Slaughter, Dokken and Cinderella
Molson Amphitheatre, June 28, '00
by Martin Popoff

So all was well in the world for a while. Music was as deep as a spilled Coke on a fresh sheet of rolled steel. The second-tier Gods Of Hair seemed firmly in the driver's seat, taking us on a trip away from responsibility, away from all those things in the world that require a clue, some skill, physical normality, social grace, looks, and an ability to multi-task, all attributes of the folks up there on-stage silently snickering at the multitudes in the crowd who emphatically weren't in that functioning zone. Damn, picture the next game of cockroach one-upmanship. I mean, what's the next grungified hair killer going to have to sound like to wipe these smug smiles away?