EDMONTON -- Last time I smelled a blazing pinner being passed around the Jube, it was high school grad. Coincidentally it was about the time Billy Idol was on top of the charts, sneering his way into our hearts with a cover of Tommy James's Mony Mony. You still remember how the call and response to that baby works, don't you?

He stops singing, then we scream "Hey motherf---er get laid get f---ed!" Filthy stuff. Nice to know there's still a hint of that left in the reunion class of 2002, who schizophrenically lapped it up off the floor last night, then stood there, then went nuts, then stood there, then twisted and yelled. The word is "uneven," and it was hard to read Idol's face, which went through a number of expression numbering "all of them."

Generation X is looking a little gross. And by that I don't mean Idol, whose band owned the phrase before the greedy media stole it in the mid-'90s. No, Idol looked hot, carved, his personal trainer doing a good job, we saw, as he ripped his shirt open in a blue-green light for Eyes Without a Face. Things started out a bit crappy, the 46-year-old's voice sounding worse than a karaoke version of Dancing with Myself at Rosie's Pub. The bottom end was gone and people were both accepting and wondering. But the Middlesex Brit was open about it. "We're jus' gettin' use' to the sound in 'ere. Yeah jus' gonna haf' t'work wif' it!"

Easing that tension, enter the screaming. Who are these 14-year-old girls that are so into Billy Idol they'll sneak past security and snap a photo? Good for them. (PS: don't use a flash when you're 40 feet away - you'll just get the back of everyone's heads lit up.) One cute one got the hoist up to the stage during White Wedding, dancing not with herself but with Billy, who she kept kissing and grabbing. "I was in my hotel room today and I was thinkin' 'bout you," he jabbed, ever with the sneer, then ran around the stage, flapping his wings.

There are three hand positions you need to fathom if you want to impersonate Billy Idol and steal his kingdom for the day. First, the straight-out fist, mike in the other hand, close to your open mouth and shut eyes. Then raise the fist high, wait for the screams. They come, even now. Second, the thumbs-up. Billy seemed a little weird, maybe I just never sat this close to him before, but he seemed to be making fun sometimes, or maybe just having it. His Fonzie thumb was to tell us everything was fine, just turn it up a bit. Third and last, the middle finger. Unfortunately, due to my upright Greek Orthodox upbringing, I don't know what that one means, but I'll try it out in the bar sometime, see what happens.

Idol's facial gymnastics ruled, too. Tongue out, bug eyes, head back, total sneer, they were all there. Football faces after landing the penalty kick.

There was an acoustic set, Sweet 16 in there, revealing Idol's inherent Elvisness, and Steven Stevens, the guitarist with the black fuzzy string ball of hair, played the kind of guitar solos they used to play before the aroma of white whine filled the radios up.

Truly, it is the stations that need saving, not rock and roll, eh Billy?

Idol, good and bad, reminded us of that. Rebel Yell blew the roof off, man, never mind that mean stuff about how all we Gen-Xers look. You closed your eyes during that song, for a second everything was unsure and beautiful again. Perfectly unsure, mother. (More on Billy Idol)