Author Archives: Robby Coleman

Nestled amidst the rolling hills of East Tennessee, Freedom Hall Civic Center in Johnson City has played host to some of the biggest names in rock and roll. Since 1974, nearly everyone from Elvis to Ozzy has plied their wares there, with several generations of fans coming of musical age within its walls. Rocktropolis 2024, featuring a headlining performance from Rock And Roll Hall Of Famer Ace Frehley, proved to be a more than worthy celebration and continuation of this history, Scotty Austin of Saving Abel kickstarted the evening’s festivities with a rollicking, high-octane set.

Guided by freewheeling adrenaline, Austin was in fine voice and schtick, working the crowd like the seasoned pro he is and leading his group through songs by Trash The Brand as well as covers of works by Pink Floyd and Billy Idol. Recent Vinnie VincentInvasion recruit and local hero Faysal Scott Smile commandeered the band for a run through KISS’ “All Hell’s Breakin’ Loose,” and Austin wrapped his raucous performance with a crowd-pleasing version of “Rebel Yell.” It wasn’t perfect, but it was damn sure close enough for rock and roll and it was a whole load of fun.

Josey Scott’s set was as tight as Austin’s was loose, with his road-hardened band ripping through a chunk of the Saliva catalogue with a well-honed energy and precision. On hits like “Ladies and Gentlemen,” “Always,” and the singalong “Hero,” Scott reminded why he was regarded one of the era’s most compelling performers, mixing hip-hop swagger with pure rock power into a potent, pungent potion. I had forgotten just how many of those songs I knew; by the time the one-two punch of “Click Click Boom” and “Your Disease” brought the show to a close, I was thinking that maybe Scott/Saliva is the rap-metal Collective Soul; one of those bands that manages to remain unsung while having a literal ton of hits.

So many glam metal frontmen tried to walk the diamond path laid by David Lee Roth, perhaps none more purely and successfully than Sebastian Bach. Rock n’ roll lifer Bach, who for the past thirty-five years has somehow stayed in his early-to-mid 20s, is an eternal showman and a perpetual dervish; from the moment he stomped on stage to the strains of his most recent single “What Do I Got To Lose?,” the hard rock icon owned the crowd, many of whom over the next hour or so seemed to have been transported back a few decades themselves. With a few exceptions from his fantastic new album Child Within The Man, the setlist was dominated by tunes from Skid Row’s first two albums, from the bawdy “Big Guns” to the epic “18 & Life,” the sultry sleaze of “Monkey Business” to the near-thrash of “Slave To The Grind.” The three-piece backing unit (which includes Bach’s son Paris on drums) ably provided a rock-solid platform for the strutting, sparkling, mic-whipping Bach to perform his magic act, the audience remaining enthralled all the way through the set-ending “Youth Gone Wild.” As a kid, I remember reading (probably in RIP magazine) that Sebastian Bach had been genetically engineered to be a rock star; judging from what I saw at Rocktropolis, the experiment continues to be a rousing success.

Greasepaint and pyro budgets aside, for a full five decades now, Ace Frehley‘s calling cards have remained largely unchanged: a Les Paul slung low and cranked high and an insouciant, staggering swagger that places him squarely in the House of Keith alongside his contemporaries Perry and Thunders. Both were on full display as Frehley and his band, introduced by VIP meet & greet guest Bobbie Brown, roared through a set of KISS classics, with a few chestnuts from his solo career sprinkled in for good measure. With the opening salvo of “Shock Me” into “Deuce” the Rock Soldiers were called to attention, and for the next hour or so the guitar legend led them delightedly through their paces, bridging the 70s (“Parasite,” “Shout It Out Loud”) and the 80s (“Rock Soldiers”) all the way to today (both “Cherry Medicine” and the title cut from his most recent album 10,000 Volts). Ace has assembled an absolutely stellar group of players, with Ryan Cook (bass), Jeremy Asbrock (guitar), and Scot Coogan (drums) each contributing spot-on vocals and elite musicianship while still putting on one hell of a rock show; their version of “New York Groove” was the best I’ve ever heard.. Of course there was the smoking guitar solo during “Cold Gin” (featuring snippets of “Communication Breakdown,” “Smoke On The Water,” and the James Bond theme, among others), and the evening ended exactly the way you’d hope it would: a spirited romp through “Rock And Roll All Nite,” with Sebastian Bach and Josey Scott joining in on backing vocals. No tapes, no tracks, no tricks, at 73 years old Ace Frehley delivered an unadulterated blast of solid rock that left the throngs fully satisfied, which is more than I can say for some acts a third his age.

Some things are made to last. Lovingly labored over by skilled and dedicated artisans, constructed from the sturdiest materials via techniques passed down through the generations, designed to function for lifetimes. In an ever-increasingly inauthentic and disposable world, it’s a sad truth that these monuments get rarer by the day. Fortunately some still stand and shine brightly, and people come from miles around to bask in the familiar, perpetual glow, the warmth of a known and trusted tradition.

This was doubly the case on March 1, as a crowd of over 1,400 filled the seats of Ashland, Kentucky’s historic Paramount Arts Center to veteran road warriors Tesla. For nearly forty years,  the Sacramento outfit have offered a distinctly heartier, more classic flavor of hard rock than many of their more elaborately coiffed and attired peers to the south on Sunset. No hiding behind gimmicks or controversy, no media-manufactured image or backstage backing tape sorcery. Just five hard working musicians, locked in tight and cranking out their brand of heavy-duty, zero-bullshit rock and roll for a legion of loyal fans and true believers.

Cincinnati native/self-professed “crazy motherfucker” Kurt Deimer handled opening duties, bringing the room to its collective feet with his radio-ready brand of bombast. The horror actor and his crisp, whip-tight backing band tore through songs like the anthemic “Hero” and “Dance” (which sounded like a nu metal run through an imaginary outtake from KISS‘s Revenge), throwing in a cover of the Pink Floyd classic “Have A Cigar” for good measure. Deimer and his four-man unit did an admirable job winning over the audience; when his forthcoming debut double album is released, a return trip to the area may be in order.

As “Crazy Train” faded from the speakers and the house lights dimmed, Tesla bounded onto the boards with a vengeance, kicking off with “Lady Luck” and then landing the one-two punch of “Modern Day Cowboy” and “Hang Tough.” The fifteen-song setlist progressed through fan favorites like “Love Me,” “Changes,” and “Gettin’ Better,” newer works “Miles Away” and “Time To Rock,” and the majority of their biggest hits, era classics like “Edison’s Medicine,” “Call It What You Want,” “Heaven’s Trail (No Way Out),” and the inevitable roof raising sing-along “Love Song.” By the time the evening ended and the crowd was sent home happy with “Signs” (what else?), most everyone appeared well and truly spent, their throats a little sorer but their hearts a little fuller.

Vocalist Jeff Keith positively beams the whole night, an unending smile underlying the fact that he remains one of the genre’s singular voices. That sandpapered rasp remains intact, a bit weathered by the years but no less potent. Frank Hannon is every bit the old school guitar god, stalking the stage and throwing shapes in the spotlight. Between the theremin and the talk box (seriously, more bands should use the talk box) and the endless array of vintage guitars, he came off like a more casual Jimmy Page, with cargo pants and sensible shoes instead of a black silk Dragon Suit. His co-shredder Dave Rude was a solid, heavy presence, and their dual lead work brought to mind the finest of Thin Lizzy and Judas Priest. And the only person in the venue with a smile bigger than Keith’s may be the newest member of the Tesla family, drummer Steve Brown. Brown and his rhythm section cohort, bassist/co-founder Brian Wheat, provided a firm foundation and a mile-thick backbeat all night long, well-trained craftsmen masterfully plying their trade for a rapt and adoring public.

Tesla has always been and very much remains a band out of time. In a day and age where some of the biggest acts in music are simply and sadly incapable of performing without varying forms of technological assistance, for a band to boldly emblazon NO MACHINES across their merch is damn near a revolutionary statement. This tour is called “Keeping It Real;” Tesla has been doing just that since 1986, and they show no signs of stopping anytime soon.