Saturday Night: Meat Loaf At House Of Blues

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Photos by Groovehouse
Meat Loaf
House of Blues
August 28, 2010

For more photos of Mr. Loaf and friends from Saturday, see our slideshow here.

Meat Loaf decimated House of Blues Saturday night for nearly three hours of pneumatic dick cannons, theatrical stomp, lights and his own burly-bear countenance. He also managed to throw down almost 15 songs for good measure, playing until our feet hurt from standing and our faces were smile-sore.

At "sexty-two" years old, the Meat holds no quarter live, stalking the stage like a pissed-off football coach with a voice like velvet. How he has managed to sound as clear and on-point this far down the line is a thing of beauty. Usually the older an artist gets the more viciously half-ass they get, coasting on nostalgia and name-recognition. Meat still bellows like he's singing for his supper.

Opener "Hot Patootie," from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, kicked the crowd in the nuts with a blaring lights and an LCD screen showing a clip of the young Meat from the 1975 cult classic. It was like an Arctic blast of happy for everyone involved, turning the floor into a danceteria not even three minutes into the night. Why the hell no one has ever mounted a big-budget touring concept of that soundtrack's music is beyond us.

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Meat did what amounted to five minutes of stand-up after "If It Ain't Broke, Break It" from Bat Out of Hell III, warming up the crowd with Dallas shit-talking and touring tales. We had just watched the Texans beat the Cowboys in preseason play on the venue's drop-down screen before the show, making his jibing all the more prescient.

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A live Meat Loaf show is taxing on your brain and your ears in the best way possible. He makes every gesture grand and opulent, from the screens behind him to the volume of the music. At some points all we did was grin like an idiot, even while listening to the stuff from the new Hang Cool Teddy Bear.

He didn't run through "California Isn't Big Enough (Hey There Girl)," which has become uber-famous for the sexty-two-year-old screaming that his "dick can barely fit in my pants," but he would make up for that later in the show in a fashion that made us forget about the slight.

Unrolling the five best tracks from 1977's monolithic Bat Out of Hell brought the yelps and howls in the crowd, especially from the messed-up freak show behind us. The mass of cougars and their conquests treated each song like an entreaty for the PG-rated mauling of each other. If you were unlucky to be standing close enough to them, you could get makeout smells that would take doing lines of Comet in the bathroom to get out of your nose.

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