Steel Panther, at House of Blues, celebrates hair metal hedonism

He just got a new bong for Christmas.

Dude's stoked.

"It's totally killer. I'm not kidding," says frequently kidding Steel Panther frontman Michael Starr of his newly acquired smoking apparatus.

Perhaps this has inspired the singer's analogy regarding his band's growing success, which recently culminated in the top 40 debut of the Panther's latest disc, the title-says-it-all party metal riot "Balls Out."

"I tell you what, dude, I equate it to this: Let's say you get some killer weed, right?" Starr begins, talking while working out on a treadmill in Cleveland. "Then you don't get that killer weed for years and years, and you kind of forget about it. Then once you get it again, you're like, 'I want some more of that!'

"That's what Steel Panther is," he continues. "We're, like, bringing back the best era in music."

The era in question: '80s metal, when the hair was big, inhibitions were small and mothers everywhere all of a sudden had to hide their makeup cases from junior.

That decade was defined by excess, and no form of music encapsulated the whole Gordon Gecko, more-is-more ethos than mainstream metal, posited on visual and aural ostentation.

Those were the days when a guy like W.A.S.P.'s Blackie Lawless could be celebrated for shooting fireworks from his crotch and the Pomeranians in Poison could dress like girls and still get girls.

It was the sonic approximation of the male ID cranked through a Marshall stack, turned to 11, of course, the articulation of man's primal impulses (mate, conquer, repeat) accompanied by an equally primal sound, where self-awareness was treated like an allergen.

But like a (Led) zeppelin overinflated by its own hot hair, the hair metal bubble had to burst eventually, and it famously did in the early '90s, when grunge replaced tight pants with loose jeans, smiles with smirks, dirty minds with dirty hair.

Two decades later, Starr still sounds as if Pearl Jam stole his lunch money.

"Do you want to buy a record that's a guy singing about how he grew up when he was a little kid and how he has a really hard time dealing with his feelings?" he asks incredulously of the popularity of dour '90s alt rock. "No, you want to hear how he deals with his feelings by (having sexual intercourse with) chicks. That's what you want to hear.

"People just want to rock, and they want to have fun while they're rocking," he continues. "That's what Steel Panther embraces, the whole circumference of rockin', getting buzzed, having a good time and leaving with a laugh. That's fun."

And that's pretty much Steel Panther's reason for being.

One of the most basic rules of physics is that for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction, and just as Nirvana banished Warrant to the breadlines, overserious rockers such as Godsmack and Disturbed eventually created a vacuum of laughter and party-'til-you-puke revelry that a band like Steel Panther was created to fill.

Originally coming to prominence a decade ago on Hollywood's Sunset Strip, where scene originators such as Van Halen, Ratt and Motley Crue also got their start, Steel Panther evolved from tongue-in-cheek tribute act Metal Skool, which both parodied and lovingly embraced hair metal hedonism.

They were a novelty act that became much more than a novelty.

This is because Steel Panther works on two levels.

On one hand, they're all serious players with a past in metal bands such as L.A. Guns and Fight.

Ignore the lyrics to "Balls Out," and what you hear is a collection of expertly executed, fist-in-the-air anthems with Starr sucking all the air out of the vocal booth with a powerful upper register wail over a backdrop of tongue-wagging guitar acrobatics and a foundation-rattling bottom end.

Now, peruse some of the song titles ("I Like Drugs," "It Won't Suck Itself," "Supersonic Sex Machine"), and the other side of the band comes into relief, the side that doesn't hesitate to make light of headbanger stereotypes.

As such, the band treads a fine line between satire and sincerity. It's a balancing act, one that becomes increasingly evident when speaking with Starr.

His real name is Russ Parish, and for the most part, he seems to stay in character, but there are times when the distinctions are blurred.

"We're not just four actors playing instruments," Starr explains at one point, "we're four guys who love metal for real and it shows in our music."

This isn't always readily apparent to everyone, though.

To wit: Steel Panther recently completed a U.K. tour supporting Def Leppard and Motley Crue, and it took the latter band some time to warm up to Starr and Co.

"I think for some of them in Motley, they were like a little confused, because we do some joking around in the show and we take the piss out of a couple of bands and they weren't too stoked on that," Starr says. "But we let 'em know that we sincerely love metal."

Ultimately, it's the band's fondness for the sound that they so knowingly send up that wins the day and is the reason why they are going over so well with hard rock and metal fans, who don't like to feel like they're being made fun of.

Instead of taking offense to the Panther's playful ribbing of metal conceits, they flock to the band's weekly shows here in Vegas (at the House of Blues on Fridays and Green Valley Ranch on Saturdays) and L.A. as well as their ever growing tour dates, as the group has become a solid road draw, regularly selling out 1,000-plus capacity venues.

And so a decade after forming as a lark, the Panther has become increasingly serious about spreading their word -- and, ideally, more than a few thighs.

"The movement of Steel Panther is getting really big," Starr notes. "Once we go into a town, we infect it. Like herpes."

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@review journal.com or 702-383-0476.