Not far from Larry's is the El Mocambo where the Rolling Stones performed for two nights in 1977 while Keith Richards was temporarily laid up on a smack bust. The gig was unannounced, yet the place with athrong with those 'in the know'; the cognescenti had come to see and be seen. The El Mocambo has been living off that remarkable and impromptu gig ever since, though it has never yet equaled it, nor it is likely to.

Down at Larry's things aren't quite so hot. Basically, Larry's is a dive. Upstairs you can hire a hooker and a room for considerably less than the El Mocambo was asking for a ticket that fateful night, and downstairs the bar is open till 1am and a goodly crowd has gathered despite the 10 dollars being demanded at the box office for tonight's performance. Some are here purely out of curiosity; who are these dissolute Scandinavians with their fey glances and oh so chic makeup?

Some are here, however, because it's the only place they can go to sport their latest creations, tardy copies of London fashions, but what the hell, who's to know it was the thing to be wearing a whole six months ago where it's really at? And some are here because they wanted to see the support band but have hung around just in case they might see and be a part of something special…they might even tell their children.

Larry's isn't the El Mocambo and Hanoi Rocks aren't the Rolling Stones but who knows? Maybe someday they can swap stories: Yeah, I was there, Hanoi Rocks' first ever American date, I was there, you know?!

So they collected and they gazed and soon they were awed. 'Carmina Burana' gave way to 'Pipeline' and 'Pipeline' gave way to Mike Monroe. He preens his way through 'Oriental Beat', this glorious and pristine mannequin, too perfect, surely, to be real. He isn't Mick Jagger, not yet at any rate, but just to watch him seems enough for the time being. He is a star; less antagonistic than of old, more controlled, he prepares himself for glory.

Stage left, Andy McCoy, the insolent, cock-sure, sullen-cheeked gypsy, unfurls another lead guitar intro to 'Don't You Ever Leave Me,' no two ever being alike, but this is just the lull before the storm of 'Tragedy', which bursts its floodgates, and then they're cruising for home…and Monroe's cruising through the air, taking a swan-dive off the stage and into the crowd, and God, yes, I was there, you know, I touched him…and maybe they'll tell their children.

There's something rather menacing about this band, something brash and arrogant and dangerous, a newly acquired confidence in their own ability; call it faith, call it power, it's almost intangible…it's like they've sighted the promised land and are just itching to lay waste to that, too. And maybe I'll sick around for the carnival…

DAVE DICKSON

Dave Dickson notes, February 2003: "In the same issue as this review appeared (#42), Kerrang! ran a Hanoi Rocks logo competition. In issue #47, there was an article on Hanoi Rocks written by Pete Makowski, and the results of the logo contest were printed. Hanoi then started to use the winning logo on their merchandise."

Back to Dave Dickson's Hanoi Rocks Article Archive

copyright Dave Dickson, 2002