By John Johnson, photos by Chaz Dykes of Chaz D Photography

When I had spoken with Sebastian Bach last Monday, in preparation for his show at Ferg’s Concert Courtyard this past Friday, he had made it pretty clear he was ready to rock. Not only is he naturally full of energy, like a hyperthyroid or adult ADHD thing (who knows?), but he had made me totally aware that Friday was his birthday and to quote him, “I’m gonna be 58 brother, here we go!”

But he wasn’t going to do it alone, that’s for certain. Not only did he have two opening acts, his son on drums and his daughter in the house, the Downtown St. Pete staple was Sold Out. Typically Ferg’s is packed with sports enthusiasts of all ages and other trendy types hanging at any one of the dozen bars, but on Friday April 3rd, their Concert Courtyard was turned into a sweat-soaked rock cathedral. The place was packed wall-to-wall, with black tee shirts, skinny jeans and middle aged cleavage, for a night that felt equal parts throwback and rebirth.

Opening the night, Stitched Up Heart didn’t ease anyone in, they detonated, pushing the decibel levels to red. The captivating, blue-haired front-woman Mixi Demner commanded the room with a mix of grit and vulnerability, channeling that heavy emo edge into something that felt urgent, but also slightly playful. The band claims LA as their home base, but Mixi confided in me that she’s a Florida native and had several of her family in tow for support. Not that the band needed it because their set hit hard and fast, with pounding rhythms and soaring chords that had the crowd fist pumping along. The four piece band, all in variations of black leather, spandex, studs and hair dye were an intense site to behold. Once she held the mic, and the occasional Jackson guitar, she was intimidatingly intense. But as the set came to its end, ear ringing mission accomplished, she sincerely, and somewhat demurely said “thank you for giving us 30 minutes of your time”. I plan on giving their next album Medusa a listen when it comes out in June.

Then White Lion rolled in and flipped the vibe in a way that somehow worked. The crowd didn’t seem to have a problem going from Hot Topic emo-metal to a late 80’s hair metal vibe one bit. Singer Mike Tramp, blonde mane now a thing of the past, walked out like he’s been doing this forever, because, well, he has, and just owned it without trying too hard. There’s something cool about watching a set like that in a place like Ferg’s…big arena lights and sound but on a smaller stage and intimate setting. They played all the faves from over three decades ago. “You’re All I Need”, boppy “Little Fighter”, overly sappy “When the Children Cry” and the ear worm of the ages “Wait”. In between the tightly performed tunes, Tramp monologued with the congregation in his somewhat heavy Danish accent. Every time he spoke I couldn’t help but picture the two blonde brothers from Family Guy that misuse common phrases like “Way Awesome” and “For Definite”. Regardless of my unavoidable stereotyping of his Danish-ness, Tramp still has that unmistakable voice, and the crowd leaned in heavy for the recognizable hits. It was nostalgic without feeling dusty.

Then…the wait…WAIT. (I hope you sang that in Tramps voice)
I digress.
The wait.
Forty-five minutes of it.

You could feel the room getting restless, more beers, more scrunched pacing, more “what’s going on?” looks. But the second Sebastian Bach finally hit the stage, none of it mattered. The place exploded.

And yeah, the guy JUST turned 58, but don’t tell him that, because he told everyone that he was 58, often. “My grandpa died at 57, and my Dad…he died at 57. Well, I’m fucking 58!” So he came out like he had something to prove, tearing into the set with that signature scream still somehow intact and just as unhinged as ever. Love him or hate him, the dude hold’s your attention and can still wail like a mother f’er. At 6’3”, and still sporting the long blonde coif with a fair amount of gray spliced in, he still covers the stage like guys half his age. He doesn’t stand still for a second, spinning, pacing, whipping the mic around over his head like it’s 1989 and nobody told him time passed. His exceedingly primed band held their own next to the energizer bunny in leather pants.

Consisting of shirtless Fede Delfino on bass, Brody DeRozie shredding on his various Gibsons and Paris Bach on drums. Paris, son of the Birthday Boy, is no nepo-baby, the boy crushed that kit. Not to mention the next day, April 4th, was the younger Bach’s 38th birthday. They ripped through all the Skid Row hits with angst, swagger and Bach’s somewhat of an unspoken “F You” to his former bandmates. “What Do I Got to Lose?”, “Youth Gone Wild”, “Monkey Business” and a personal fave in “Slave to the Grind”. In between the heavy hitters, Bas (as he’s called) quipped with the crowd about old MTV days and hanging on the beach drinking beer and throwing frisbees all day. At one point he had 3 or 4 frisbees being tossed back and forth with audience members. Signing one before flinging it back into the masses, being snatched up by local concert devotee, and my pal, Liana Haydon.

Several times throughout, he’d grin and soak it in, the crowd singing to *him* for his birthday, and you can tell he actually feels it. Not in a cheesy way. More like, “yeah, this is why I still do this.” Then right back into another full-throttle track like he’s not even a little tired. Dedicating “18 and Life” to his daughter Sebastiana, who recently turned 18 herself and joined him on stage. He spoke sincerely about all the artists we’ve lost recently (Ace, Jeff Beck, Taylor Hawkins, Ozzy), dedicating “I Remember You” with a nod to the latter with a voracious version of “I Don’t Know”. One other massive cover in the mix was a version of “We’re Not Gonna Take it” that energized the crowd, as later this year Bach will be fronting Twisted Sister on tour. Sitting in for the ailing Dee Snyder will be bittersweet, but it’s a position he seems completely prepared to respectfully helm.

It was a raucous birthday bash for Bas, and it felt raw, loud, a little unpredictable…rock and roll the way it’s supposed to be. Noise ordinance be damned, it was sweaty, chaotic, slightly delayed—but totally worth it. And just like all good parties that MUST come to an end, Bas aptly delivered the lines from the closing number “No Need to Wimper, No Need to Pout. This Party’s Over…So Get The Fuck Out!”

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