Any reliable rock 'n' roll history — and I like to think this includes VH1 specials — will tell you that in 1991, grunge killed hair metal. At the very moment Kurt Cobain strummed the opening chords to "Smells Like Teen Spirit," bands like Mötley Crüe, Whitesnake, Poison and Cinderella simply disappeared, taking their goofy hairdos with them.
Those chords sent shock waves through the rock 'n' roll community, where disaffected sneers replaced winking smirks, flannel replaced spandex, political consciousness replaced conspicuous consumption and dirt replaced makeup.
In the end, all Kurt Cobain killed was himself. While grunge fell out of favor, the hair rockers who hadn't O.D.'ed — and even some who did — kept playing, even if that meant retreating from their beloved arenas and stadiums to set up shop at amphitheaters and fairgrounds.
The Common Ground Music Festival is not held in an amphitheater or on a fairground, but it's definitely a big city cousin to those venues, particularly with the rock acts that are playing there this year, which include the aforementioned Poison and Cinderella.
No one will want to admit it, but the rock at Common Ground this year reeks of nostalgia — when the festival closes with Ted Nugent, who's known more these days as a right-wing mouthpiece than the guy who recorded "Cat Scratch Fever," it's kind of unavoidable.
So when I went to see Poison, Cinderella and Endeverafter at Common Ground, I assumed I'd encounter a crowd of aging metal heads looking to relive the party anthems of their youth. But as the old adage goes, to assume makes an ass out of you and me, and the people who actually turned out were a mixed bag of everyday people, old and young, looking to see a good rock show … in lawn chairs.
That all-ages appeal is one of the weirdest things about Common Ground. Isn't rock 'n' roll supposed to be dangerous? If I learned anything from "Behind the Music," it's that a Poison show is no place for children. Or people who like to sit down. Or women who don't like to flash their breasts. But there I go assuming again.
Cinderella still manage to rock pretty hard, but due to a damaged left vocal chord, lead singer Tom Keifer is little more than a lead growler these days. His speaking voice sounded fine, but when he sang, he sounded like a tiny dog choking out an impression of AC/DC vocalist Brian Johnson.
Both Cinderella and Poison are celebrating 20 years of rocking and rolling, which suggests that the bands are reaching for some sort of Rolling Stones-esque longevity. Keifer's blow-out vocal chord aside, neither band will achieve this.
Neither Cinderella nor Poison could possibly have the intestinal fortitude of Keith Richards.
Poison's Richardsian displays of self-destruction were present at Common Ground, if only in the form of music videos played on the festival's big screen. Watching an image of guitarist C.C. DeVille pour champagne over his head while the actual DeVille — fresh out of rehab — wailed on "Talk Dirty To Me," I had to wonder how the now-sober guitarist dealt with this nightly reminder of excess.
When your band is playing a venue where its performance is just as big an attraction as the elephant ears, you have to sacrifice some degree of credibility — which Cinderella and Poison never had much of anyway. They're still playing music for thousands of people two decades into their career, while most grunge bands are but a memory.
And I really hope Pearl Jam doesn't end up playing the Fowlerville Fair one day.
Erik Adams is a State News entertainment reporter, reach him at adamser9@msu.edu.
