Initially, the place falls as quiet as a VE Day silence.  People stand to attention, soldiers salute and what begins as a murmur slowly builds into a stomachy growl as the vast majority of the static crowd sing along lustily with the final chorus.  Give It Away by Red Hot Chili Peppers follows and it's as you were.

    Such behavior is nothing new to Bon Jovi.  They've played Thailand before.  They've already braved the worst traffic in Asia with its smog that eats away at singers' throats ("Don't bother me man, it's humid," croaks Jon Bon Jovi) and means that traffic police must wear masks.  It's a cool place in other ways -- women walk the streets alone at night, unhorsed.

BANGKOK IS THE FOURTH DATE ON yet another Bon Jovi tour, this time to promote the splendid, hit-packed ("It is?  Hallelujah.  I hope so man") These Days.  The Bon Jovi camp seem chipper enough as they re-discover their tour legs and blood new -- but not yet permanent -- bassist Hugh McDonald, the replacement for Alec John Such, who departed after a series of "incidents".  They address each other and everyone, irrespective of gender or nationality, as "man" and there is but one topic of conversation: the weather.

    Bangkok (village of plum-olives) is known to the locals as Krung Thep, City Of Angels.  It is hill-free and, according to the hitherto publicity-shy World Meteorological Organization, is the world's hottest city.  To coincide with Bon Jovi's visit, the world's hottest city is having a heatwave.  A cloudless, windless heatwave.  It is, officially, Too Hot.  "Man," sighs Jon Bon Jovi, "phew, man."

    "Man," observes wiry, beside burned drummer Tico Torres, who plays dressed as a Romanian gymnast, "it's hot."  Collectively, Bon Jovi have decided this is all "like Indiana Jones, man".

Thailand, once known as Siam (slap-head love story, The King & I, is still banned), is norminally ruled by a parliament.  The real power resides with the army, who cleverly avoided getting their country embroiled in wars in Vietnam and Cambodia.  Today, however, the military is dishonored and disparaged for their cack-handed efforts to clear some refugee camps near Burmese border.  Worse, the neatly turned-out venue where their sports teams play has been taken over for the evening by an American rock band who will exhort people of good Thai stock to "party".  Worse yet, the stadium appears to have been invaded by Coca-Cola and something called Kloster Bier ("Happiness you can drink"), whose flags and banners envelope the place.  Worst of all, guess who has to do the security in, oh misery, full uniform?  "Security" involves spraying water over people and extracting them from a swaying, sweating throng in front of one of the loudest bands in the world.  It is, you suspect, no fun at all being a Thai soldiers, this or any other evening.  Right now, rock'n'roll is a long way from home.