Live Review: Steel Panther Meet'N'Greet

A standard black 4WD chucks a u-ey and approaches our designated collection point outside Inpress HQ. Not deeming this appropriate transportation to the Steel Panther Experience, we look the other way and hope it goes away. A few more minutes pass and then up rolls a stretch Hummer limo – now we're talkin'! There's no way this beast can make a U-turn and so we wait patiently for our ride to reappear. The chauffeur strolls around to assure our safe passage inside the vehicle (handy hint: mount the stairs sideways and mind your noggin) where various media types are already enjoying the mini-bar. Another bottle of bubbles is popped for our oral lubrication as we excitedly exchange ideas as to where our pre-show entertainment is likely to take place. Footage from Steel Panther's first ever Blu-Ray/DVD, titled The British Invasion, graces the interior's TV screens to get us in the mood. We eventually coast up Greville Street and chuckle as we gaze out the window and spot a hotdog shop called Massive Wieners. Our limo pulls up. Appropriately, this is where we'll be dining.

After shoving massive wieners into our gobs to help celebrate Cocktober, it's back into our luxury transport vehicle for more adult beverages. Then we head off to convene with the band at a secret location. A few of us guessed right and the Olsen penthouse, located on the 14th floor and boasting a balcony spa, proves the perfect setting for meeting and greeting our spandex-clad metal heroes. As soon as the penthouse door opens, we spy a scene that would not look out of place in Rock Of Love. There's Steel Panther plus an entourage that includes a posse of imported pornstars (aka Brazzers = NSFW). Head Panther, Michael Starr, has one of said 'ladies' bent over a piece of furniture. He pulls up her panty leg and spanks her. Hard. Then drummer Stix Zadinia takes a turn. Thwack. She likes it, but we feel a tad awkward as her arse cheek reddens. Guitarist extraordinaire Satchel (Russ Parrish on his library card) approaches and he sure is a charmer. He introduces himself, asks for our names and then directs us toward the drinks table where an array of bottles is laid out: Jägermeister (of course!), vodka, champagne and glasses filled with pink marshmallows. One of the Brazzers (who later drops into the splits for a photo op) informs that if you pour champagne over the marshmallows it goes “all mushy and yummy” so it's off to the bar to sample this Sunset Strip specialty. It tastes like shit – the pornstar's probably still laughing about this bum steer – and we later discover vodka is the more compatible liquor for marshmallow drenching. 

As ridiculously pretty bassist Lexxi Foxxx trades makeup tips, one of the invited guests is witnessed slipping what is probably a booty call note onto a bedside table in one of the bedrooms. Pretty sure this suite has been hired specifically for the meet'n'greet function and the band won't be staying here tonight, but good luck to ya, honey! We line up for photo ops and hilarity ensues as all four band members dutifully pose up a storm with their various rock personas upfront and centre. Horniness drips from them as they pose like true pros. Sadly, it's time for the rock'n'roll circus to roll out, strippers in tow. But the good news is that we all get to follow.

As our chauffeured stretch Hummer limo cruises down Dudley Street, the elongated queue outside Festival Hall contains more wigs, spandex, bandannas and makeup than we just witnessed on the band they're fanning out over. As we gawk at the punters, they squint and try to peer through the extreme tinted windows. Our driver further teases the masses by driving around to the back of the venue, towards the stage door, and we feel like the rockstars they erroneously believe us to be.