In an age where American rock is lying, wounded, in the gutter, choking on its own over consumption of radio-friendly AOR muzak and nu-metal noise, one man alone can bring us salvation. That man is one Marvin Aday, but goes by the stage name Meat Loaf.
He's meaty, he's big, he's bouncy and he beats on a lone drum in the middle of the stage to signal that our journey down the freeway of teenage small town frustration and adolescent lust has began. The title of the first song he plays encapsulates it all perfectly - 'Life Is A Lemon And I Want My Money Back'.
Yes, my fellow disciples, 'tis the night of the long guitar solo, of hairstyles time forgot, of inordinately long song titles (that often have brackets at the end) and of introducing every member of the band as if they were deities, although in reality they're all session musos with names like Andy McDicksplash and Conchezo Spondoliko.
And the main man? Meat sweats (profusely), he swears (and warns the children in the audience not to copy him in front of their parents), he gets the ladies to throw him bras which he ties around his mike stand. But most of all, he sings every overblown, melodramatic line from the bottom of his cavernous lungs as if his life depends on it.
The versions of those familiar tales of parking lot liaisons and bedroom suffering - 'All Revved Up With No Place To Go', 'Paradise By The Dashboard Light', 'I'd Do Anything For Love', 'Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad' - last for what seems like decades. Just as they should.
Throughout it all, Meat is the consummate rock showman - grimacing at the video cameras, conducting the crowd, introducing his daughters, shrieking like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally before 'You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth'.
They even come back for an encore of 'Johnny B. Goode' despite the fact that the PA's come back on. Meat tells us that they never do encores. I bet you say that to all the crowds.
And then the American rock revival bandwagon packs up and moves on to another town, its mission in old London town fulfilled. And thousands of middle-aged couples go to bed and sleep contentedly, dreaming of a world where every day brings a fresh musical hero, riding over the horizon on a throbbing Harley, bringing the most utterly ridiculous yet inexplicably compulsive music with him. Amen to that.
