Dave Dickson hibernates. But when he comes up for air, life can get interesting. On August 30, 2003, Dave sent me an email that was to land me in London, catching Hanoi Rocks live for the first time in my life.

Overseas jetsetting is not a typical Jon Reed occurrence. Although my life sometimes reverberates from adventures past, the daily reality of Jon Reed is NOT romantic. My naïve belief is that the grind will eventually lead me to a life beyond the grind. As of today, I don't have a fuck of a lot to show for that faith. But now I can add a Hanoi Rocks backstage pass and a used London plane ticket to the mix, undeniable proof that life does indeed budge if you bang against it for long enough - thereby providing at least some marginal justification for the adolescent obsessions that continue to fuel my fantasies in a way that the trappings of "adult success" don't and never will.

Chief amongst these obsessions, of course, has always been Hanoi Rocks. While recent years have shifted my mindset from adoring fan to truth-seeking journalist, there has always been something unfinished about Hanoi Rocks to me, as if some important truth, twenty years out, was yet to be uncovered.

Of course, I'm not the only one who saw something unfinished. Vocalist Michael Monroe and guitarist Andy McCoy, the driving forces behind the band, clearly felt that way too. Their motivations for reforming the band have been questioned extensively; I've done a fair share of that myself. The ultimate verdict on a musician, however, is the music itself. Dave Dickson swears that Hanoi never captures the real magic on record anyway. That's easy for him to say, having seen more Hanoi shows than any one person has a right to. For me, it's the total opposite. Up until this trip, I've been (happily) stuck with trying to glean all I can from Hanoi's imperfect but legendary studio recordings.

Fast-forward to a hotel driveway in London, the night of September 30th. A Napoleonic figure is fast approaching, wielding a menacing walking cane with a beast's head on top. Running late, Dave Dickson is, and he is all business, looking for the loo, annoyed with traffic delays, distracted by my deviation from the outfit I told him I'd be wearing. But I was to enjoy my evening with Dave immensely. At the end of the night, he would ask me if my Hanoi Rocks adventure lived up to my expectations. What I couldn't get across to him is that he was inseparable from the adventure itself. I hope someday he'll understand that heroes come in all stripes.

So here I am, "riding shotgun" with Mr. Dave Dickson, friend and colleague of my favorite band, cultural giant of my youth, and just the kind of madman you might expect him to be. He parses out his anecdotes, choosing his words carefully. It takes me a few minutes to grasp his point: anyone who flies 3,000 miles to see a gig must be insane, even by a madman's standards. Point taken. Not long after, we're driving into Sheperd's Bush, cruising past The Empire, scoping for a parking space. "Hanoi Rocks" is listed almost casually on the Empire's marquee, like a neighborhood band would be.

At the show: I pick up my ticket at the door, and a backstage pass falls out. Dave flashes me a knowing look. But I can't even think about that yet.

We missed both openers, so it was all about waiting for our headliners to come out. Which they did, around 9:30. I don't really remember the intro, it's all clouded by the intensity of anticipation. I can verify that it was not the usual "Carmina Burana"/"Pipeline" intro that Hanoi often played in the days of old. But then, Hanoi is not especially fond of its own history, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse.

What would they play? The Hanoi concert dilemma is as follows: aside from a few "signature" songs which we all know are coming, how can the band possibly satisfy? Recently, I burned my own Hanoi "best of" CD for a road trip. Twenty songs later, I still hadn't covered the bases. No, I was doomed for disappointment unless I went in with a different mentality. I would go in knowing that Hanoi would, as always, leave me wanting more.

We kick the show off with "Obscured," one of the best of the new, and right away it's just what I expected: Michael is all over the place, dominating the stage with that David Lee Roth meets Johnny Rotten stage demeanor. He is the furthest thing from the aging rock star stereotype you could imagine. The band is tight and the pace is furious; they proceed to rip through a two hour set that carries few surprises but many "take to your grave" moments.

The first of these is on the third song, when the staccato riff of "Oriental Beat" announces the first "old" song of the set. The best version of "Oriental Beat" on record is the live Wasted Years version, so it's no surprise that the real live version is incredible. Most of the best rock and roll can be broken down into a few simple chords; what song is better proof of that than "Oriental Beat"? OK... here we go! But hold on, back to more new stuff, which sounds good, but takes away from the momentum of the first '80s track in the set (for the full song listing, see the set list).

Folks who wasted a few hours reading my extended review of Twelve Shots on the Rocks know that I like and respect the new material, even if very little of it penetrates my soul. Tonight, they play most of the best new songs (including "People Like Me" and "A Day Late, A Dollar Short,") and it sounds as good as the old, but doesn’t carry the same impact. How could it? In the end, my selfish beef with the show would not be with the new material (who wants to see a backwards-looking nostalgia act?), but with the overall length of the performance (more on that shortly).

The next old song is that Two Steps From the Move staple "I Can't Get It." You can't pull off this tirade against all-things-unrequited without some bitter disappointments, and Michael Monroe has surely tasted some of that. The song burns. "Don't You Ever Leave Me" is the next old song to appear. While I've never felt this song deserved its status amongst the all-time greats, you have to take Andy's live guitar intro into account here. I remember the first time I heard Andy do that intro, on the unlicensed (and renounced) Rock and Roll Divorce bootleg (1985). It's the only special moment of an otherwise sad and sloppy bootleg from a band that was completely falling apart. Tonight's guitar intro is almost as poignant. Michael is offstage changing outfits ("the things I do to keep you people entertained," he would chide the crowd after one of these outfit swaps). Meanwhile, Andy introduces the song he wrote as a teen, and off we go with that guitar lead and a song that really "bookmarked" the band's '80s career. It is a moment.

Then, another new track ("Bad News" according to my notes), and without notice the band slams right into "Tragedy." Now we're into the heart of the show. Now, we can talk about what is was like to hear "Tragedy," "Malibu Beach Nightmare" and "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" - three of the greatest "underground" songs in rock history - back to back. Now, we can talk about that Hanoi magic, that patented something that happens when you combine charisma with punk attitude and throw that into the performance of some of the best rock music ever recorded. Yes, this is why I'm here. The audience, not nearly as hyped as I would have expected, is really getting into it now. Next to me, Dave Dickson is in an almost trancelike state. Me, I'm just out of my mind, feeling vindicated but not knowing why, savoring every second of this run of impossibly good music that was sure to end too soon.

And it did.

That was the end of the official set. There were two encores. The first encore, featuring "In My Darkest Moment" and "High School," was an odd song selection. But "High School" hurtled along with a manic energy that couldn't be denied. As for "In My Darkest Moment," it's not one of the new songs I really care about, but it was greatly enhanced by the sax and guitar interplay from Michael and Andy. As the song opened, Michael and Andy were upfront and center, shrouded in blue and white light. These two aren't always on the same page offstage, but they played off each other beautifully here.

The second encore finally answered my age-old question about "Taxi Driver," a song that appears on every greatest hits collection but no fan seems to adore. But as I suspected, the song comes into its own live, with a hard-edged, raging blues that suits Michael and Andy perfectly. As another reviewer has noted, this was the song where Michael started out behind the drumkit, which officially sent the message that the gig was now an all-out jam. The closer, "Up Around the Bend," is hardly even a cover song anymore. Hanoi Rocks owns that song the way Jimi Hendrix owns "All Along the Watchtower" and Van Halen owns "You Really Got Me." It was one of those classic rock and roll encores, the kind of freewheeling jam session that the best shows seem to end with. At one point, the band launched into an excerpt from Golden Earring's "Radar Love." At another, Michael grabbed a guitar himself and played with some extravagance. The second encore also featured a surprise onstage guest, guitarist Acey Slade from Murderdolls - a band I am not too familiar with. But his presence captured the spontaneity of the moment.

A two hour Hanoi set is, of course, open to second guessing. A few more surprises would have been in order - long-lost songs like "Café Avenue," which the band has played in recent gigs but didn't work into this set. There weren't enough trips to the "old school" well for my taste. A "Dead By Christmas" or a "Tooting Bec Wreck" would have really brought the house down... or a classic B side like "Rebel on the Run"... I can't even think about it! I can't fault the songs they played from Two Steps, but there are Hanoi songs with a lot more soul in the back catalogue. I guess Two Steps sounds more like the "new Hanoi" than any of the other 80s records, but the fans were ready to go back further. One thing I did like was how they mixed in touches of the older songs at different points. Michael and Andy played a nice bit of "Self-Destruction Blues" before launching into "Bad News," and the acoustic glimpse of "Cheyenne" that showed up at the beginning of "Don't You Ever Leave Me" was a thing of beauty.

While we're on the subject of petty grievances, I do find something strange about bypassing almost twenty years of solo efforts from both guys - fruitful territory for a memorable and creative setlist. It's been done before - Simon and Garfunkel always milk the heck out of Simon's solo work in their reunion shows. Ignoring large chunks of music just seems silly. I have suggested elsewhere that "Hammersmith Palais," from Michael's Demolition 23 days, would have been a stunning addition (especially to a London gig), and you can easily think of so many others - "Strung Out" from Andy's Building on Tradition or "Relationshipwrecked" from Michael's Peace of Mind... maybe even Michael singing "The Best is Yet to Come" from the Suicide Twins. Playing a few of these songs would have formed a bridge from the old material to the new, from the 80s until now. If I was in the band, half the fun would be surprising myself and the audience with different looks at all this rich material. Why skim from the top when practically the whole glass is pure cream?

I must admit to being a bit surprised the guys didn't play longer - especially considering this was the last night of the tour (though to be fair, they did play for almost two hours). If I were in Hanoi Rocks, and I had written all this amazing music and sealed it up for twenty years, I would have wanted to play for hours on end, till I had riffed through every last song. But that's not the Hanoi of today. Today's Hanoi is a savvy combination of passion and professionalism, an inspired but practical collaboration. The "New Hanoi" is hardly the kind of "dangerous" that made young Dave Dickson's hair stand up. All the same, there was still something a touch unpredictable about it all, mostly centered on Michael, who is nothing if not untamed. His onstage antics were most definitely not pre-meditated - scaling every structure that could be scaled, losing the sound from his mike in the process, tossing it down in disgust while Andy scrambled to take over the vocals - Michael was an injury waiting to happen. It made for a show.

As for the band itself, I think we all understand that Timpa, Lacu, and Costello are never going to fully satisfy the nostalgic demands of the hardcore fanbase. They are content to function as extremely capable sidekicks, and all the parties involved accept such an arrangement. At this point, it's hard to imagine things playing out any other way. Give them this, though: the new guys play their guts out. This is not a geriatric band.

Hearing Michael introduce Andy as "my best enemy" was also incisive, and to me, underscored the relationship of rock and roll necessity between them. It's not so much that they've become close friends again - perhaps they have, perhaps they haven't - it's that they've realized that friendship is not the most important thing when it comes to rock and roll. I must say that Andy's rather loving introduction of Michael ("someone I have been friends with since grade school, and the most amazing person I have ever met") made me wonder if there was a bit of a discrepancy in their regard for one other. It's not my place to really know or understand everything that went on between them, and I can't say for sure where they stand now. All I can do is quote what I heard and tell you what I saw. Nevertheless, it lined this experience with a certain sadness, because we really can't go back, can we?

I would think about this a lot on the long trip home, as I tried to reconcile what the difference is, musically, between the new Hanoi and the old. Call this more uninformed speculation, but one thing that's missing is the tenderness and naked innocence of some of the old stuff, with Michael almost yelping with happiness on songs like "Walking With My Angel" or "Cheyenne," or having fun at his own expense on "Do the Duck." I haven't seen that openly emotional side of Michael in a long time, not since I first saw the video from that shattering performance of "Million Miles Away" right after Razzle's death, with Michael's tears clogging his vocals. But it makes all kinds of sense that Michael would develop a much harder exterior, to survive not only what happened then, but everything that's happened since. I can't claim to be any different.

Looking out over the Atlantic Ocean, I would think about how Hanoi Rocks used to boil down to several romantic notions: the power of love, the comradery of close friends, the delirious ecstasy of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and how all of that could be, should be, and fucking would be enough to transcend the dreariness of 9 to 5 life... "I don't care about the victory, if I can still have your company..." The simplicity of the phrase doesn't do justice to the power of the romance, of how much it made me want to live more fully than I ever had, to go out and find the kind of girl that Michael sang so passionately about. The bullshit of the "straight world" was surely no match for the power of true comradery and the pride of the rebel life. Somehow, we'd all get through, we'd find that "eternal party" ("in the second room on the third floor... tell me more...").

But that party ended a long, long time ago. Friends moved on. And some of the same things that led to the great escape eventually led to a dead end. Nobody said it with more authority than Alice in Chain's Layne Staley (RIP): "the drugs turned on me." While some of Hanoi's signature songs were on the set list, the ones that would require the most tenderness, the most looking back, were not. Coincidence? Perhaps. But the romantic passion of "Until I Get You" and "Ice Cream Summer," the heartbreak of "Million Miles Away" and "Dead By Christmas" and "Fallen Star," the almost unbearable innocence of "11th Street Kids" - to me, these songs were the essence of the band's appeal; they formed the beautiful soul that encompassed the sex and drugs on "Malibu Beach" but went so very far beyond.

Of course, it's no surprise that the limits of love, escapism and comradery have hit the band hard. But like any true survivor, Hanoi has come up with a counter-punch: the celebration of individuality. Michael and Andy are free spirits for the ages; new songs like "Gypsy Boots" underscore their unrepentant attitude towards life. Of course, sticking to your guns can be a double-edged sword. But Michael and Andy are well prepared to lie in the beds that they've made ("You can't tell me what my life could be about, 'less you've walked these in these gypsy boots of mine.")

To underscore this point, let's jump ahead in the story briefly: at one point backstage, Dave Dickson and Michael got into a back-and-forth about doing videos (Dave was urging Michael to use the video medium to broaden his audience; Michael was taking a different view). Michael basically said to Dave, "If getting new fans means selling out, then we don't give a fuck. Every band that makes it big right now sucks, so I'd rather keep doing what we're doing on our own terms." This is a simplistic rendition of the conversation, but the next time anyone criticizes Hanoi Rocks for selling skateboards, they might want to take these comments from Michael into account also. Michael seems quite determined to remain on the fringes of a musical establishment he perceives as corrupt, and if he has to sell a few skateboards to do it, he'll sell some skateboards. Call it sour grapes and you might have a point, but Michael has a point too. Dave's perspective is also valid, in that broadening your audience doesn't always mean going for the lowest common denominator - Johnny Cash's "Hurt" video being one example of how you can play the game and create powerful art at the same time. But it's a rare feat.

So dreams die hard, life goes on, and you find yourself at a Hanoi gig you never thought you'd see. And the gig was well beyond what I expected. I've raised a few points about the setlist, but that was more to emphasize how things have changed than to criticize an altogether brilliant performance. This wasn't a bloated Axl Rose making a mockery of himself. This was, in fact, the opposite: this was the sweet revenge of a band that never got seduced by the big-time; a band that was prevented from doing so in a way that cost them dearly but, with the benefit of hindsight, may have saved their musical souls. Life outside the spotlight kept Hanoi lean, and they are just about as hungry as they ever were. They still have something to prove, they still have an edge, there's still some motherfucking things they "just can't get!" If Hanoi had tasted that Guns 'N Roses type of fame we all felt was coming to them, where would they be today? A smaller stage is sometimes a better one. If that is one part of Razzle's legacy, then it is an honorable one.

I don't know for sure, but I think Razzle would understand that if they don't mention his name onstage and on their CD, it's not out of arrogance. It's because some things, after all these years, are still too painful to face. The "might have beens" never truly lose their power, so you don't ever look them in the eye - you just play on as if your life depends on it. And that's what Hanoi Rocks did that night. I'm a veteran of "hair band reunion tours"; this gig was an entirely different animal. No, the new material didn't have the same force as the old, but it was far from the usual irrelevant crap. There were really no weak points in the set - just a string of great songs, some of which were (unfortunately) blocking the way of even greater songs that were therefore not played. But perhaps those songs will resurface. Michael and Andy have found a way to work together for a while, and our reward will be some memorable, if short, tours, and music that doesn't (and can't possibly) sound like the old. Still, it's music that reflects a welcome contempt for commercialism even as it tries to claim a piece of the pie for itself. If you see a contradiction there, well, that's what the new Hanoi is all about.

And as an aside, that may be the one piece of the "old Hanoi mystique" that's changed the most. The old lyrics elevate companionship over Cadillacs ("Lightnin' Bar Blues"), romantic love over conventional success ("Beating Gets Faster"...note to die-hards: I realize "Lightnin' Bar" was a cover song, but the point remains the same.) There were surely some mixed messages on these topics - after all, Hanoi wanted to be rock stars, not social workers. But in the end, the pursuit of passion won out. Material striving and the accumulation of things were not part of the Hanoi ethic. You traveled light; beauty and attitude took you anywhere you wanted to go. But twenty years of scraping for rent has had an impact. Michael and Andy may not sing about the importance of money, but make no mistake: the new Hanoi understands the power of the marketplace. If there's a line in the sand they refuse to cross, they're also willing to use their name recognition to enhance their financial interests. Personally, I don't begrudge them that at all. I'm just pissed I didn't have the money for a Hanoi cap. And I can't find the damn things online...

Anyhow, right after the gig: Dave and I head backstage immediately. My heart is pounding; the thoughts I'm sharing with you now have yet to fully form. I am determined to act like a peer, a journalist goddammit, not a starry-eyed fan. After a little backstage wandering a la "Spinal Tap," we stumble into a dressing room and I am face to face with Michael Monroe. Now, Michael Monroe does not suffer fools, even for a few moments. I'm sure that most people who walk into his dressing room look a lot like fools to him, so I'm sure as hell glad Dave Dickson is by my side right now. There are two women in the room, and I'm quickly introduced to the other man, who just so happens to be Kory Clarke, the rock and roll genius behind my second favorite band of all time, Warrior Soul. Later than night, alone in my hotel room, I would literally cry out of pure astonishment and good fortune. I knew Michael was fond of Kory and his old band, but I had no idea this was coming.

At the last minute before the show, I had jammed a disposable camera in my pocket. Not really thinking, I blurt out, "Hey, can I get a picture of you two together?" I figure I might be in big trouble, but they like the idea and say, "Yeah, sure!" and thus a souvenir for the ages is housed in my shitty camera. The two of them, Michael and Kory together, is something to behold. To me, it was a scene of raw power. I guess I see creative power as the most impressive accomplishment in life, so seeing Kory and Michael side by side is, frankly, a bit dizzying. I feel myself losing the journalist vibe I am trying to project as I slip into fandom, but Michael is much more interested in hanging out with Kory than anything else anyway, so Dave and I move along into the adjoining room, where the bulk of the hangers-on are hanging on. This group also includes other band members, roadies of today and yesterday, Andy's half-sister (or sister-in-law, my notes aren't clear on this), and, in the back, sitting on a folding chair, is our generation's Keith Richards.

Andy's eyes light up when he sees Dave, and the two have a long embrace. I get my second (and last) picture of the night . (Later, I would take twenty-two pictures of the hotel fire escape map in order to develop those two shots before leaving London). Say what you will about Andy, what I saw that night was a man who was everything (good and bad) I had ever heard about him, and underneath all that, a heart of fucking gold. Due to my connection to Dave, Andy welcomed me without question. If you're wondering, sure, it bothered me that neither Michael nor Andy were not truly aware of who I was when I met them, despite the volume of Hanoi material on my web site, but I long ago came to understand that I am not going to win those two over with a web site.

At any rate, meeting Michael and Andy was really just that: meeting Michael and Andy. Aside from that exchange about videos between Dave Dickson and Michael, there was really no substantive or lasting conversation to be had. I did get a chance to pull Kory aside and try to solicit his cooperation for a future Warrior Soul retrospective on my web site (look for that down the line!), but then the bulk of us adjourned to a club in Soho for the Hanoi tour afterparty. I would not see Michael or Kory again. Andy, however, was there, looked after by his half-sister, who swore she would be taking a close look at my web site, but I have yet to hear from her.

Andy was deep in conversation with his half-sister most of the night, so I got the chance to talk to Dave. The conversation turned to some of the rock stars he had met over the years. Dave talked about how you don't always want to meet your idols. He told me how he once met one of his biggest idols - one of the great rock icons of all time - and the guy was in a foul mood and blew him off. After that, Dave swore he would never meet another musical hero unless it was for an official article. Having learned the hard way, Dave later turned down the chance to meet David Bowie. I didn't really have the same stakes with the Hanoi guys. I had already seen a couple of long-time fans go through some unfortunate events with Hanoi, and I had learned firsthand about facing the flaws of a band that I had once admired from afar, unconditionally. When I first started digging into my Hanoi research, I was troubled by the imperfections I found, but I came to understand that a search for truth is a search for truth. You have to take it all. As I would tell someone upon return: I have people in my life who treat me more thoughtfully than any of my rock idols would be inclined to. But how many people in my day-to-day life have reached into my gut and turned my life upside down?

Speaking of whom, Michael is still something to behold. No longer shockingly beautiful, he is still a wild force, every bit the free spirit that first jolted my imagination and served as a constant reminder to "never go straight." The straight world may have its charms, but to me, it's got nothing to match the joys (and sorrows) of a bolder path. I can't claim to have done Michael's example justice, but simply being in his presence meant I had closed some kind of gap. I was no longer a teenager with his picture in a scrapbook. I was a partner-in-crime of sorts, a would-be colleague, though my creative accomplishments are nowhere near as well-developed as his - I can't even claim a cult audience. If meeting your idols means facing them as they are, it also means getting the chance to shake their hand. Shaking hands with Michael and Kory and Andy did me a world of good. For the last twenty years, these guys had been in my head, sometimes cheering me on, usually kicking my ass, reminding me not to give up too much soul in exchange for a "victory" that means nothing if you can't wear your gypsy boots at the altar.

Go to the Conclusion of "Hanoi Rocks Live in London"