Roth lands. I think for a second that his knee has buckled, but he’s still standing. Triumphant. A warbling, electric hum resonates from the guitars, the synth fades. We raise our fists. Roth has won, but it doesn’t matter. We are thankful. We don’t want him or Hagar to leave. We don’t want to go home to our laptops and multidisc changers. You can’t find this on an MP3. Roth bows. It is over. His shape disintegrates as the lights fade. Then he is gone, and all that is left are the multicolored bulbs of the Ferris wheel, spinning around and around and around.

What’s this? Two Salon pieces today? Read this one on the Hagar and Roth tour.