SAN FRANCISCO--It was a bit ironic. Originally brought together to milk the Beatles' success in a goofy TV show, the Monkees have spent four decades trying to establish themselves as the real deal in the eyes of rock and roll's Cool Police.

Here they were on Saturday night (8/18) at San Francisco's Fillmore Auditorium--the temple of rock history and '60s Cool--and yet, years after Janis and Jimi and Jerry, the Monkees still couldn't fit in. And the harder they tried, the more ridiculous the results.

For starters, the band tried overly hard to establish its party-animal credentials. Before playing a lackluster version of "Randy Scouse Git," Mickey Dolenz explained how he had written that song after a night of partying with the Beatles.

"I don't remember much about that party," he said. "But I do remember the song--I hope!"

As the song finished, Dolenz pretended to have a Fillmore-style flashback, during which he looked at bandmates Peter Tork and Davy Jones in confusion before placing them as members of the Monkees.

"I use to watch you guys when I was a little kid," he said between shrieks. "Where's the guy with the hat whose mother invented liquid paper?"

Even without prickly ex-Monkee Michael Nesmith--the guy with the hat--the Monkees showed next to no chemistry, which is surprising for a band that has been around for 36 years. Occasionally, the trio would follow each other around the stage in little circles, turning their backs to the crowd in unison, but that was about it. Most troubling, there was no sense that the band members actually liked each other. And they each seemed a bit uncomfortable when the spotlight would focus on another member.

The absolute worst moment of the evening occurred toward the end of the show, when each of the three Monkees took lengthy moments to explore and explain their musical and personal backgrounds.

Excuse me? And these former TV actors thought this would be interesting because why? These self-centered excursions were simply awful, and even Tork realized that--he apologized to the crowd and promised that it would all be over soon.

That moment of clarity notwithstanding, Tork seemed utterly out of touch with reality during the show. He had a major chip on his shoulder, and was dead set to have his time at the microphone. Of course, Tork was rarely utilized as a vocalist during the golden Monkees days and for good reason--the guy couldn't carry a tune if it had a handle. He did a forgettable version of "Your Auntie Grizelda" and a decent job on the Jackie Wilson classic "(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher & Higher." But his cover of rock standard "Lucille" was a monstrosity.

The Monkees [ tickets ] withheld most of the bubble gum hits until the very end. (Considering the band's lengthy history, its back catalog contains a pitifully small amount of worthwhile material.) The encore brought a great triple-bill of "Pleasant Valley Sunday," "(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone" and "I'm a Believer."

But it was too little, too late. On what should have been a triumphant night, the Monkees instead proved that they make better lunchbox models than rock stars.