With the Metropolitan Museum of Art hosting a schmancy “Punk: From Chaos To Couture” gala attended by Hilfigers and Kardashians this month, one could be fooled into thinking that all danger has been completely erased from rock n' roll. Then you see a band like The Dillinger Escape Plan. Rock music is going to be OK, although I worry that these guys might not be.
When anything gets burned or broken at a rock show, usually it's there to be destroyed. Notice how Paul Stanley's guitar shatters in the exact same place, at the same time in the show, night after night after night. But when something--instruments, equipment, bones--gets broken or torched at a Dillinger show, one senses that these boys just couldn't control themselves. If Greg Puciato starts running towards the crowd, get out of the way. If he brings out a torch, duck. If there's an encore, you've done something right. Show me someone who thinks that Karen O is insane, and I'll show you someone who's never seen Greg Puciato.
Watching Ben Weinman play guitar reminds me of Jerry Lee Lewis setting his piano on fire, or Kurt Cobain flinging himself into Dave Grohl's drum kit. His ability to make math-rock stay in your head has earned him a spot among today's metal greats, but his performances are in a league with the most dangerous rock legends. I don't know many people who could play "Panasonic Youth" sitting down, much less while swinging the guitar around and violently jerking back and forth. Whoever is in charge of equipment at the Bowery Presents clubs probably begs the promoters to not book The Dillinger Escape Plan.
When I get a chance to breathe, sometimes I wonder how much further these guys can go. There may not be a more musically or physically demanding band in the world. I can't imagine they're getting much compensation, unless blogger admiration counts for something. Every time someone leaves the band, I'm a little disappointed but never too surprised. But whether Puciato, Weinman and the rest of DEP break up tonight (and, considering this month's One of Us is the Killer, that would be a crushing loss), or whether they're as young as Lemmy when they're 65, watching them on any stage is one of music's rarest and most dependable thrills.
There has never,
never been a more badass band than Motörhead. The only rock stars who
can possibly compete, Jerry Lee Lewis and Keith Richards, relish their
wildman reputations, but Lemmy, Phil Campbell and Mikkey Dee barely seem
to care that it exists. Instead, they tour every year, keep putting out
albums and obliterate any room that they stand in.
One adjective that is rarely used to describe metal is "cool," but Motörhead practically defines it. They don't move much on stage, cutting stoic figures, but I've seen the music that erupts from their instruments throw venues from compact clubs to outdoor arenas into a frenzy. Their songs are so consistently singable and thrashable that you'll even be throwing horns to the ones that you don't know. Lemmy, who's practically lived on the road since the 1960s, never misses a step. The little banter he provides, you'll be quoting for the rest of your life.
Even when they're playing songs they've played at every show for the past 30 years, they seem like they're having a blast. Phil and Mikkey complete Motörhead's longest-enduring lineup, and knock out the band's early anthems with more punch than their predecessors gave them. Barely anyone ever copies Lemmy's signature "machine gun bass" move (see above) because nobody could possibly make it look nearly as cool. "We are the first and we just still might be the last/We are Motörhead, born to kick your ass," remarked Lemmy on 2000's We Are Motörhead. It's as close as anyone's come to summing up Motörhead's mighty career, but it still feels like an understatement.
How is it that "Think About You" didn't hit? If Guns N' Roses didn't alrady have six other singles to push, "Think About You" could've landed on the charts. Instead, it's the crème de la deep cuts, a reminder that for a few years, Izzy Stradlin wrote better rock songs than all but maybe about six people in the world.
It's a sweet, catchy song with a danceable rhythm, which is probably why it wasn't a single. "Think About You" is the nicest song that GNR ever wrote, and when you're playing hard rock's Jerry Lee Lewis, you don't give us the nice songs. As John Lydon, one of GNR's heroes, tells us, "'Nice' is the worst insult you could pay anybody. It means you are utterly without threat, without values. Nice is a cup of tea."
But even at their nicest, GNR's music is no cup of tea. The hand claps, cowbell and declarations of love come with a few meaty solos and some awesome plugged vs. unplugged guitarmonies. Best of all is the finale, where Axl tops off some of his greatest melismas with an ominous "only you," set to a haunting Stradlin arpeggio that demolishes the song's pace in a matter of seconds. Only a few metal musicians have ever matched Stradlin's songbook, but one of them shared a band with him.
If Ozzy Osbourne or Judas Priest had written "Think About You," it'd be a staple of their tours and compilations. But on Appetite for Destruction, it's just track eight.
Dad mixes are some of the hardest to make. Almost by definition, your father hates the music that you listen to. Mothers get far more musical tributes, and most father songs ("Come to Daddy," "Papa Don't Preach," "Had a Dad," "The End") are wildly inappropriate. Thus Father's Day mixes can be a chore, but let's give it a shot.
Dad Rock
Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Under the Bridge"
The White Stripes, "My Doorbell"
Shel Silverstein, "Dirty Ol' Me"
Squeeze, "Is That Love"
Fiona Apple, "Paper Bag"
Stevie Wonder, "Boogie on Reggae Woman"
Smashing Pumpkins, "Tonight, Tonight"
Sex Pistols, "Pretty Vacant"
Elvis Presley, "All Shook Up"
James Brown, "Night Train"
The Rolling Stones, "Loving Cup"
Harry Nilsson, "Maybe"
The Clash, "Rudie Can't Fail"
Jerry Lee Lewis, "What'd I Say"
R.E.M., "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)"
Joni Mitchell, "Free Man in Paris"
Radiohead, "No Surprises"
Roy Orbison, "Only the Lonely"
Prince, "Starfish and Coffee"
Neil Young, "Comes a Time"
Santana, "Samba Pa Ti"
Shel Silverstein, "Comin' After Jinny"
In the five years where DC101's playlist was the most important thing in the world to me, Dad would occasionally meet me halfway, at "Under the Bridge" or "Tonight, Tonight" (he never came around to "March of the Pigs.") I met him at Neil Young and Prince, and years later at Joni Mitchell.
Dad and I share an appreciation for Shel Silverstein, who appears in the giddy "Dirty Ol' Me" and the bittersweet "Comin' After Jinny," and we've also agreed on "Samba Pa Ti," Santana's best number and a subject of Nick Hornby's 31 Songs. On a limb, I'm hoping to increase Dad's appreciation for Jerry Lee Lewis, The White Stripes and especially the Rolling Stones, gracing us with my favorite song here. Dad prefers the Beatles, so I've added Squeeze's best impersonation of the Fab Four.
This year, I've gone on Radiohead and Fiona Apple kicks, represented by father-friendly tracks, and more recently caught up to Roy Orbison, who joins a few of my favorite rock pioneers. The influence of artists like James Brown and Elvis Presley is now universal, and therefore taken for granted. A mix CD is ideal for emphasizing why they really matter.
The sore thumb here is "Pretty Vacant," which outguns everything else here by miles and shouldn't be on a mix for anyone over age 30. That being said, I do worship the Sex Pistols, and Dad likes Johnny Rotten's letter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, so I'm taking a chance.
PS: Metalsucks has an excellent photo gallery of Metal Dads right here.
