'80s Hard Rock

Not every rock star spent the '80s on the Sunset Strip, bringing the ready, willing and able down to their sha-na-na-na knees while dancing with the devil, like Guns N' Roses. Some squeezed into hip-huggers and belted out can't-live-without-'em-happy-hour sides, like "Here I Go Again" and "Livin' on a Prayer," while others tried their gloved-and-grizzled hands at Rocky-ready underdog anthems ("Eye of the Tiger"), puzzle-piece prog ("Tom Sawyer"), and glittery, glorious funk-rock (the oft-sampled "Another One Bites the Dust"). Avert your eyes — it's all going down at the back of the tour bus, in Next Steps.

The '80s was a behind-closed-doors golden age of pile-driving guitar solos . . . and a host of unmentionables, some of which are likely to be unleashed here. Put the kids (if you've got 'em) to bed and crank up the power tool chords and temptress-calibre hooks of "The Stroke," "Talk Dirty to Me," Aerosmith's homage to illicit office kinkiness, "Love in an Elevator," and, of course, "Cherry Pie," that sweet, sweet Warrant single that's made many a grown man cry. Then, add Aqua Net and spandex as needed. The rest is up to you. It's a hard rock life . . . and Triumph is living it to the full, in Deep Cuts.

In the '80s, getting to the gig early was key and not just because the bar line was shorter. There was also the sometimes pleasant surprise of an opening act with praying-mantis physiques and pit-stirring songs that made the stage barrier upfront give way . . . like the gleaming I-think-I-can chug of Night Ranger, the boot-scuffing riffage of Ontario's Red Rider, the galactic axe-slashes of Aldo Nova, the campy romper rock of Dangerous Toys, and a hairspray-doused Cinderella that'd sooner smash a pumpkin than turn into one.

Welcome to the world of '80s hard rock, a domain where mascara and lipstick were both king and queen, and riffs were almost as big as the headlining band's ozone-depleting sacrifices to the god of coiffure. It was a time and a place like no other, where Jon Bon Jovi was "Wanted Dead or Alive," where Tawny Kitaen crawled all over David Coverdale's Jag, and where spandex-snapping, solo-busting artists like Aerosmith, Van Halen and Twisted Sister packed arenas from coast to coast . . . all the while putting the real show on the tour bus. It was the best of times and — who are we kidding — the best of times.