Motley Crue sound “loud & muddy wall of sludge.”

The Carnival Of Sins tour wrapped up with a deafening yet incoherent whimper instead of a raucous bang at the Brandt Centre on Thursday evening.

One hundred and eighty-five shows and 16 months after Motley Crue hit the road in support of Red, White & Crue, the former bad boys of rock and roll are now just . . . bad, boy.

Now, I know what some of you might be thinking: Claymation video, propane fireballs, smoke, sparks, endless profanity, softcore porn, choppers, bondage-ready trapeze artists, scantily-clad nurses, topless fire eaters (the same three multi-tasking ladies, incidentally), clowns, a dwarf, full sections of empty seats, nipples and other assorted images from the "boobie-cam," pot smoke, liquor and a sea of backcombing and feathered hairdos . . . what’s not to like?!

To its credit, Motley Crue has made it work for a quarter-century (give or take the odd overdose, high-speed fatal auto wreck, and band breakup) despite its musical ineptness and cliches that were tired 20 years ago and unbearable now.

Even at its ’80s peak, the Crue was a loveable yet laughable assemblage of one great drummer, one decent guitarist, one passable bassist and a singer who struggled with nine notes out of 10.

Roughly 4,000 punters were either loyal enough or curious enough to kick off the Easter weekend with a one-ring circus that opened with the title cuts of Shout At The Devil (1983) and Too Fast For Love (1982) as well as "10 Seconds To Love."

Barnum & Bailey knew how to make a spectacle out of not much, and to that end there was always the "entertainment value," as well as the guessing game that went along with trying to figure out exactly which fist-pumping anthem the Crue was playing.

Songs that the crowd of 20- 30- and 40-somethings grew up with were buried in a ferociously loud and muddy wall of sludge for at least the first third of the show, but the forgiving throng barked its approval when bassist Nikki Sixx stepped to the microphone and announced that, "We’re a little band from Hollywood, California, called Motley f**kin’ Crue!"

The devil horns, leather and mullets were flying vigorously throughout "Red Hot" and the group’s breakout hit "Looks That Kill" (both also from the heavily-represented Shout At The Devil) before "Louder Than Hell" and the smoke (and mirrors) of "Live Wire" closed the first half of the show.

Even by the time a bizarre 10-minute video loop and intermission had concluded, it was still a little confusing trying to understand exactly what the role of Tommy Lee was on this night. Still nursing a bad bout of tendinitis, the drummer and accidental porn star played roughly a half-dozen songs, hooted and hollered, operated the boobie-cam, and performed an excruciatingly long drum solo that concentrated on his foray into rap, techno and nu-metal from his un-sellable Methods of Mayhem solo project.

The unfortunate injury provided a golden opportunity for the group to fly in Campbell Collegiate grad Harvey Warren (who so admirably filled in for Lee in Red Deer) from Calgary, but they opted instead to insert Dark New Day drummer Will Hunt behind the drum kit here. Pity.

But even when Lee isn’t playing, he still seems to be the Motley character that people (especially females) gravitate to most. The lanky skinsman is kind of like the big dopey kid who forgot to grow up, but he rallied the troops, led the cheers and incited the crowd through the title cut of ’87’s Girls, Girls, Girls (the group’s ode to its favourite strip clubs of North America), "Wild Side" from ’89’s Dr. Feelgood and "Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)" to get the second half of the show started with the only real momentum established all night.

It was also clear by this point that: A) the sound had improved; B) everyone’s ears had become acclimatized to the wall of noise; or C) a combination of both.

Despite the appearance of a, er, "gymnast" in a semi-see-through unitard, the momentary momentum was quickly lost when the band wussed-out with the bad power balladry and awful wailing of singer Vince Neil on "Home Sweet Home," before gaining it back (once again momentarily) with the title cut from Dr. Feelgood.

Seemingly forgetting that it was in the middle of a supposed rock show, the group then lost everyone with the aforementioned unneeded drum solo, band introductions, cheering contest, the cooly-received boobie-cam — call the beautiful women of Regina prudes, but I prefer to call them classy; at least as classy as you can be while attending a Motley Crue gig — the passing out of wine and Jagermeister, and, oh yeah, the worst guitar solo in the history of recycled ’80s metal. Yeesh!

Nearly 150 minutes after the veteran rockers hit the stage, the show came to its merciful conclusion with "Same Old Situation" and "Kickstart My Heart." Although no one was calling for an encore, the band reappeared for one with its awful interpretation of the Sex Pistols’ nugget "Anarchy In The UK."

In the end, the last night of one of classic rock’s most storied comeback tours became a non-event by committing the ultimate sin in show biz — it was mostly boring.

Metal Sludge thinks Gerry’s review is bull shit. How dare he make fun of Vince Neil! (sarcam mode turned off). The only good part of the review is where he makes use of the word "sludge." And we’ll return the favor and use your name in a sentance as well Gerry.