Showing posts with label lemmy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lemmy. Show all posts
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Friday, April 24, 2015
Ozzy Osbourne, "Mama, I'm Coming Home"
6 Days to Find a Home
There's a probably apocryphal story of a young Bob Dylan approaching Mick Jagger to tell him, "I could have wirtten 'Satisfaction,' but you couldn't have written 'Mr. Tambourine Man.'" To which Jagger responded, "Yes, but you couldn't sing 'Satisfaction.'"
Ozzy Osbourne is not a great songwriter. By now we've all heard about how Iommi wrote the riffs and Geezer Butler wrote most of the lyrics on the classic Black Sabbath albums, and only a fool couldn't notice that Ozzy's only great solo albums--Blizzard Of Ozz, Diary of a Madman and No More Tears--were assembled with his two best backing bands. The wiriting credits of some of his best singles ("Bark at the Moon", "Shot in the Dark" and Perry Mason" among them) often show outside help, and have been disputed in court over the years. He's a self-admitted a rock star first and a musician second. But boy, what a rock star.
It's not just that he's a rock star, as heard on his biggest solo hit, "Mama, I'm Coming Home." Written primarily by Lemmy (who surely knew this couldn't be a Motörhead song) and guitarist Zakk Wylde
(years away from the self-parodying Black Label Society), "Mama" is one of the only power ballads that earns the classification. Wylde's playing is as delicate and diverse at is would get, but it's Osbourne's show, pushing a voice with far more character than range to deliver more heartfelt sentiments than anyone thought Ozzy, or metal in general, was capable of. He's a rock star, but imagine any other rock star, even Ozzy's closest peers--Brian Johnson, David Lee Roth, Steven Tyler, Lemmy, Joan Jett, Rob Halford, Bruce Dickinson, Paul Stanley, Alice Cooper--pulling off "Mama, I'm Coming Home." It doesn't work.
Perhaps Ozzy scores because he'd prefer to sing "Mama" than "Crazy Train". Part of his appeal is that he's metal's wolfman ("barking at the moon"), a gentle giant whose crazy side came to the top at the right moment. Osbourne once said that his family's TV show felt like being the Wizard of Oz telling people to ignore the man behind the curtain. He must've forgotten that he already ripped the curtain down on track three of No More Tears.
There's a probably apocryphal story of a young Bob Dylan approaching Mick Jagger to tell him, "I could have wirtten 'Satisfaction,' but you couldn't have written 'Mr. Tambourine Man.'" To which Jagger responded, "Yes, but you couldn't sing 'Satisfaction.'"
Ozzy Osbourne is not a great songwriter. By now we've all heard about how Iommi wrote the riffs and Geezer Butler wrote most of the lyrics on the classic Black Sabbath albums, and only a fool couldn't notice that Ozzy's only great solo albums--Blizzard Of Ozz, Diary of a Madman and No More Tears--were assembled with his two best backing bands. The wiriting credits of some of his best singles ("Bark at the Moon", "Shot in the Dark" and Perry Mason" among them) often show outside help, and have been disputed in court over the years. He's a self-admitted a rock star first and a musician second. But boy, what a rock star.
It's not just that he's a rock star, as heard on his biggest solo hit, "Mama, I'm Coming Home." Written primarily by Lemmy (who surely knew this couldn't be a Motörhead song) and guitarist Zakk Wylde
(years away from the self-parodying Black Label Society), "Mama" is one of the only power ballads that earns the classification. Wylde's playing is as delicate and diverse at is would get, but it's Osbourne's show, pushing a voice with far more character than range to deliver more heartfelt sentiments than anyone thought Ozzy, or metal in general, was capable of. He's a rock star, but imagine any other rock star, even Ozzy's closest peers--Brian Johnson, David Lee Roth, Steven Tyler, Lemmy, Joan Jett, Rob Halford, Bruce Dickinson, Paul Stanley, Alice Cooper--pulling off "Mama, I'm Coming Home." It doesn't work.
Perhaps Ozzy scores because he'd prefer to sing "Mama" than "Crazy Train". Part of his appeal is that he's metal's wolfman ("barking at the moon"), a gentle giant whose crazy side came to the top at the right moment. Osbourne once said that his family's TV show felt like being the Wizard of Oz telling people to ignore the man behind the curtain. He must've forgotten that he already ripped the curtain down on track three of No More Tears.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Motörhead, "(We Are) The Road Crew"
A guitar teacher friend of mine was telling me about a student who brought in "The Load-Out," Jackson Browne's interminable ode to his roadies that's best-known for the live version that works in Maurice Williams' doo-wop staple "Stay."
I can't tell why anyone likes this song. Its melody and arrangement are the worst of dad rock sap, making the Eagles sound like Alice Cooper. The lyrics are even worse, coming across like a third-rate, unintentionally funny "Turn the Page" (Jackson's noble roadies are "working for that minimum wage"--well, who's paying them that?) One can imagine Richard Pryor, whom Browne proudly claims to have "on the video," gagging in earshot of this tripe.
Thankfully, it took just a few years for someone else to give roadies the tribute that they deserve.
"(We Are) The Road Crew" was written in the studio in ten minutes and recorded almost as hastily. Guitarist "Fast" Eddie Clarke accidentally crashes into feedback halfway through the solo, but the band kept it in the studio version. Lemmy, a roadie for Jimi Hendrix and Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd before he'd earned his metal god status, sounds like he's been itching to scream this one since his days of unpacking Hendrix's Fender. His restless delivery is perfect for the stories of Another Town, Another Place, Another Girl, Another Face, Another Truck, Another Race. As Mr. Kilmister remembers in his autobiography:
"One of our road crew cried when we first played that song for them. I'm not going to say who it was. We took the lot of them up to the studio one day and played them the track. And this one guy cracked and broke down right then and there. He was weeping, 'Oh, that's a great one. That's great.' It was really nice that it affected somebody that deeply. Bands as a rule don't treat their crews too well. I try to."
I can't tell why anyone likes this song. Its melody and arrangement are the worst of dad rock sap, making the Eagles sound like Alice Cooper. The lyrics are even worse, coming across like a third-rate, unintentionally funny "Turn the Page" (Jackson's noble roadies are "working for that minimum wage"--well, who's paying them that?) One can imagine Richard Pryor, whom Browne proudly claims to have "on the video," gagging in earshot of this tripe.
Thankfully, it took just a few years for someone else to give roadies the tribute that they deserve.
"(We Are) The Road Crew" was written in the studio in ten minutes and recorded almost as hastily. Guitarist "Fast" Eddie Clarke accidentally crashes into feedback halfway through the solo, but the band kept it in the studio version. Lemmy, a roadie for Jimi Hendrix and Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd before he'd earned his metal god status, sounds like he's been itching to scream this one since his days of unpacking Hendrix's Fender. His restless delivery is perfect for the stories of Another Town, Another Place, Another Girl, Another Face, Another Truck, Another Race. As Mr. Kilmister remembers in his autobiography:
"One of our road crew cried when we first played that song for them. I'm not going to say who it was. We took the lot of them up to the studio one day and played them the track. And this one guy cracked and broke down right then and there. He was weeping, 'Oh, that's a great one. That's great.' It was really nice that it affected somebody that deeply. Bands as a rule don't treat their crews too well. I try to."
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Motörhead, "Just 'Cos You Got the Power"
"I would have said America wasn't ready for (Obama). And I don't think they were, because they're trying to drag him down now. I mean, the poor fucker's only just gotten rid of all that George Bush shit that he left, or is trying to. And he's being stonewalled by the fucking Congress all the time. I don't know how he's gotten anything done. They should be glad. I mean the alternative is Mitt Romney. Please, please don't vote for Mitt Romney. Fuck him. Repeal abortion law is the first thing he'll do. Fucking monster."
"(Obama) didn't have the experience of being a bastard. That's what it is, you know. That's what it comes down to. And there are no bigger bastards than the Republican party."
--Lemmy Kilmister
there are no bigger bastards than the Republican party
Read more at http://www.blabbermouth.net/news/mot-rhead-s-lemmy-there-are-no-bigger-bastards-than-the-republican-party/#zRRbHP5pZ42TlUfI.99
Read more at http://www.blabbermouth.net/news/mot-rhead-s-lemmy-there-are-no-bigger-bastards-than-the-republican-party/#zRRbHP5pZ42TlUfI.99
there are no bigger bastards than the Republican party
Read more at http://www.blabbermouth.net/news/mot-rhead-s-lemmy-there-are-no-bigger-bastards-than-the-republican-party/#zRRbHP5pZ42TlUfI.99
Read more at http://www.blabbermouth.net/news/mot-rhead-s-lemmy-there-are-no-bigger-bastards-than-the-republican-party/#zRRbHP5pZ42TlUfI.99
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Ozzy Osbourne, No More Tears
Zakk Wylde is metal's greatest one album wonder. He's written a few good songs with Ozzy in the past 20 years, as well as many bad ones with Black Label Society, a band that's apparently only enjoyed by Guitar World readers. But give him his due, in all the endorsements, record sales and touring slots that he deserves, never forgetting that he co-wrote and played lead on the best solo album by heavy metal's Elvis.
Nearly everyone points to Blizzard of Ozz or Diary of a Madman, the two albums that Ozzy wrote with Randy Rhoads, as the towering achievements of his solo career. They're not far off. But for songwriting, Ozzy peaked with 1991's No More Tears. Like a few of his metal legend contemporaries, mainly Judas Priest, Ozzy was both distancing himself from glam metal and competing with the rising thrashers of the early '90s. That sense of urgency, plus the enlistment of Motörhead's Lemmy and budding guitar god Wylde, ending up giving Ozzy an album that held up not only with his Randy Rhoads records but his indelible work on the first six Black Sabbath records.
It was "I Don't Want to Change the World," not "Crazy Train" or "Bark at the Moon," that made me a dedicated Ozzy fan. That stadium-sized chorus dishes out one of metal's most badass messages. While bands as varied as Mötley Crüe and Slayer were trying to scare the pants off of parents, preachers and politicians, Ozzy did so without even trying, or so he claimed. "Don't you try to teach me no original sin/I don't need your pity for the shape I'm in," goes one defiant couplet. "I don't want to change the world/I don't want the world to change me."
No More Tears also is the last genuinely creepy Ozzy album. Long before he was metal's (and eventually, with The Osbournes, America's) goofy dad, Ozzy could chill you with a child abuse narrative, from the gleefully irksome "Mr. Tinkertrain" to the equally haunting and infectious title track. "Hellraiser," an ode to Clive Barker's Pinhead, thrashed hard enough for Motörhead to record their own version for March or Die.
Ozzy has always had an excellent team, but never any with more chemistry than the one he has here, from powerhouse drummer Castillo to longtime bassist Bob Daisley, playing on his last ever Ozzy record. But the first mate, of course, is Wylde, whose playing spills out into mountains of riffage and solos that always seem to hit the sky and somehow end at the right time. Other than Slash, no hard rocker was making his axe sound this simultaneously professional and spontaneous.
But Ozzy also came into his own as a balladeer on No More Tears. "Mama, I'm Coming Home" put the last ten years of power ballads in their place, deservedly becoming the album's biggest hit and reportedly earning co-writer Lemmy more than he had earned in his previous 20 years as a musician. A perfect pop song played on metal instruments, it's only matched by the equally lovely "Time After Time," making No More Tears home to the two best ballads that Ozzy ever recorded. Giving any weight to songs played at this pace is no easy task, as shown by Ozzy's attempts to recreate their success, but here he put himself at the top of the game. Think of Ozzy's only peers among hard rock frontmen--David Lee Roth, Brian Johnson, maybe Steven Tyler or Paul Stanley--and imagine any of them trying to carry either of these songs.
One of the many things that has set Ozzy apart from his peers is his ability to end an album well--remind yourself that "Steal Away (The Night)", "Diary of a Madman" and "Shot in the Dark" are all closers. No More Tears tops itself off with one of Ozzy's best notes, the wistful "Road to Nowhere," wherein the Ozzzman muses, "The wreckage of my past is haunting me/It just won't leave me alone." As he told us nine songs ago, Ozzy doesn't want to change the world. He didn't set out to be the Christian Right's worst nightmare, but he became it just by being being born with an inimitable voice and a knack for taking risks. The rest of us wouldn't have him any other way.
Reflecting on No More Tears today, it sounds even more special when considering how short the magic lasted. The production and songwriting both got soggy, Wylde got caught up in the Guitarist Wars and started overplaying. Ozzy's voice and body can no longer keep up with his mind. But no reality TV shows, tabloid appearances, pinch harmonics exhaustion or inebriated performances can make No More Tears any less awesome.
Nearly everyone points to Blizzard of Ozz or Diary of a Madman, the two albums that Ozzy wrote with Randy Rhoads, as the towering achievements of his solo career. They're not far off. But for songwriting, Ozzy peaked with 1991's No More Tears. Like a few of his metal legend contemporaries, mainly Judas Priest, Ozzy was both distancing himself from glam metal and competing with the rising thrashers of the early '90s. That sense of urgency, plus the enlistment of Motörhead's Lemmy and budding guitar god Wylde, ending up giving Ozzy an album that held up not only with his Randy Rhoads records but his indelible work on the first six Black Sabbath records.
It was "I Don't Want to Change the World," not "Crazy Train" or "Bark at the Moon," that made me a dedicated Ozzy fan. That stadium-sized chorus dishes out one of metal's most badass messages. While bands as varied as Mötley Crüe and Slayer were trying to scare the pants off of parents, preachers and politicians, Ozzy did so without even trying, or so he claimed. "Don't you try to teach me no original sin/I don't need your pity for the shape I'm in," goes one defiant couplet. "I don't want to change the world/I don't want the world to change me."
No More Tears also is the last genuinely creepy Ozzy album. Long before he was metal's (and eventually, with The Osbournes, America's) goofy dad, Ozzy could chill you with a child abuse narrative, from the gleefully irksome "Mr. Tinkertrain" to the equally haunting and infectious title track. "Hellraiser," an ode to Clive Barker's Pinhead, thrashed hard enough for Motörhead to record their own version for March or Die.
Ozzy has always had an excellent team, but never any with more chemistry than the one he has here, from powerhouse drummer Castillo to longtime bassist Bob Daisley, playing on his last ever Ozzy record. But the first mate, of course, is Wylde, whose playing spills out into mountains of riffage and solos that always seem to hit the sky and somehow end at the right time. Other than Slash, no hard rocker was making his axe sound this simultaneously professional and spontaneous.
But Ozzy also came into his own as a balladeer on No More Tears. "Mama, I'm Coming Home" put the last ten years of power ballads in their place, deservedly becoming the album's biggest hit and reportedly earning co-writer Lemmy more than he had earned in his previous 20 years as a musician. A perfect pop song played on metal instruments, it's only matched by the equally lovely "Time After Time," making No More Tears home to the two best ballads that Ozzy ever recorded. Giving any weight to songs played at this pace is no easy task, as shown by Ozzy's attempts to recreate their success, but here he put himself at the top of the game. Think of Ozzy's only peers among hard rock frontmen--David Lee Roth, Brian Johnson, maybe Steven Tyler or Paul Stanley--and imagine any of them trying to carry either of these songs.
One of the many things that has set Ozzy apart from his peers is his ability to end an album well--remind yourself that "Steal Away (The Night)", "Diary of a Madman" and "Shot in the Dark" are all closers. No More Tears tops itself off with one of Ozzy's best notes, the wistful "Road to Nowhere," wherein the Ozzzman muses, "The wreckage of my past is haunting me/It just won't leave me alone." As he told us nine songs ago, Ozzy doesn't want to change the world. He didn't set out to be the Christian Right's worst nightmare, but he became it just by being being born with an inimitable voice and a knack for taking risks. The rest of us wouldn't have him any other way.
Reflecting on No More Tears today, it sounds even more special when considering how short the magic lasted. The production and songwriting both got soggy, Wylde got caught up in the Guitarist Wars and started overplaying. Ozzy's voice and body can no longer keep up with his mind. But no reality TV shows, tabloid appearances, pinch harmonics exhaustion or inebriated performances can make No More Tears any less awesome.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Pantera, "Hellbound"
"Hell ain't a bad place to be," the polemicist Bon Scott tells us in his Let There Be Rock dissertation. As usual, he was being understated. Hell is the most metal place in the universe, as emphasized by Slayer's waiting, Venom's welcome and Stryper inviting the Devil there. Ozzy and Lemmy both went a-raising, right on the same song. Some of metal's finest documents start in the underworld, or at least right next door, including AC/DC's two best albums, Megadeth's most violent junkie dream and Guns N' Roses two-CD loose cannon. But no one ever made it sound louder or angrier than Pantera.
Pantera dominated the '90s as the world's best and biggest metal band, just as Black Sabbath ran the '70s and Metallica owned the '80s. They kicked off the decade by introducing themselves as the Cowboys From Hell, but bookended it by dragging us back home with them on their final album.
Even when Dimebag was still alive, there was much uncertainty as to whether we'd ever see another Pantera album. Every Pantera fan who read about them in metal mags (and if you were a Pantera fan, you absolutely read metal mags) knew that there was infighting between Phil Anselmo and the Brothers Abbott. It had been four years since The Great Southern Trendkill, years in which mainstream metal had been reoccupied by Korn and Limp Bizkit. But on the wonderfully preposterously-titled Reinventing the Steel, Pantera outsavaged not only the nu-metal legions, but more importantly their own storied career.
"Hellbound" is a band at their most ruthless, throwing all of their brutality into their last testament while still hanging on the the grooves. Phil Anselmo's banshee scream in the chorus is the stuff of immortals. He couldn't keep it much longer, as his voice settled into its present-day baritone, and the band couldn't even stay together after the Reinventing the Steel tour, with Phil Anselmo famously telling Metal Hammer "Dimebag Darrell deserves to be beaten severely." That quote was run on the magazine's cover one week before Darrell was killed by a gunman.
Pantera may have no longer been friends on Reinventing the Steel, but by Satan's graces they were still a band. If Hell really is other people, than I'm glad Pantera chose to leave the tape rolling.
Pantera dominated the '90s as the world's best and biggest metal band, just as Black Sabbath ran the '70s and Metallica owned the '80s. They kicked off the decade by introducing themselves as the Cowboys From Hell, but bookended it by dragging us back home with them on their final album.
Even when Dimebag was still alive, there was much uncertainty as to whether we'd ever see another Pantera album. Every Pantera fan who read about them in metal mags (and if you were a Pantera fan, you absolutely read metal mags) knew that there was infighting between Phil Anselmo and the Brothers Abbott. It had been four years since The Great Southern Trendkill, years in which mainstream metal had been reoccupied by Korn and Limp Bizkit. But on the wonderfully preposterously-titled Reinventing the Steel, Pantera outsavaged not only the nu-metal legions, but more importantly their own storied career.
"Hellbound" is a band at their most ruthless, throwing all of their brutality into their last testament while still hanging on the the grooves. Phil Anselmo's banshee scream in the chorus is the stuff of immortals. He couldn't keep it much longer, as his voice settled into its present-day baritone, and the band couldn't even stay together after the Reinventing the Steel tour, with Phil Anselmo famously telling Metal Hammer "Dimebag Darrell deserves to be beaten severely." That quote was run on the magazine's cover one week before Darrell was killed by a gunman.
Pantera may have no longer been friends on Reinventing the Steel, but by Satan's graces they were still a band. If Hell really is other people, than I'm glad Pantera chose to leave the tape rolling.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Ten Metal Bands to See Before You Die: The Dillinger Escape Plan
This.
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.
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.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Judas Priest, "Painkiller"
The sharpest point that I ever heard in the Priest vs. Maiden debate is that Judas Priest are more of a guitarist's band, whereas Iron Maiden are more of a bassist's band. Regardless of which side you fall on, this makes perfect sense. For all of their bombast, Maiden's solos are relatively succinct, and songwriter Steve Harris's basslines are right up there with Bruce Dickinson in the mix. Judas Priest practically founded metal's now-ubiquitous twin axe attack. It's no surprise that Lemmy prefers Iron Maiden, or that Kerry King champions Priest.
Nowhere are those lightning guitars better heard than in the title track to Painkiller. "Painkiller" doesn't just sound heavy for 1990, or for guys pushing 40. Listening today, in 2013, "Painkiller" is downright brutal, far nastier than any of the power metal it supposedly inspired. Drummer Scott Travis, making his first-ever appearance on a Priest record, wastes no time in implementing blast beats into the Priest formula, and it works shockingly well. Tipton and Downing's solos are so frenetic that even guitar wizard Chuck Schuldiner tried something completely different when he covered "Painkiller" on Death's final album. Rob Halford's frequency-pushing vocals are at an all-time high, perhaps acknowledging that he can go further now to complement his band's flourishing energy. Your parents might have even tolerated "Living After Midnight," but there was no way that they were getting down to this.
You'll hear about how Painkiller was Judas Priest's comeback, a response to two lackluster albums (Turbo and Ram it Down) and a sharply-delivered boot to a world of Poisons and Warrants.
But 1990 was an incredible year for metal. Painkiller was up against Rust in Peace, Seasons in the Abyss and Cowboys from Hell, all Album of the Decade candidates. More than a nail in the glam metal coffin, Painkiller was a gauntlet to the thrash and death metal legions, and an example of how Judas Priest could make a melody sound even meaner than a death growl. Listen to what Amon Amarth did with a similar main riff 18 years later--it completely rocks, but it still doesn't sting the same way.
To paraphrase Ornette Coleman, this is the shape of metal to come.
Nowhere are those lightning guitars better heard than in the title track to Painkiller. "Painkiller" doesn't just sound heavy for 1990, or for guys pushing 40. Listening today, in 2013, "Painkiller" is downright brutal, far nastier than any of the power metal it supposedly inspired. Drummer Scott Travis, making his first-ever appearance on a Priest record, wastes no time in implementing blast beats into the Priest formula, and it works shockingly well. Tipton and Downing's solos are so frenetic that even guitar wizard Chuck Schuldiner tried something completely different when he covered "Painkiller" on Death's final album. Rob Halford's frequency-pushing vocals are at an all-time high, perhaps acknowledging that he can go further now to complement his band's flourishing energy. Your parents might have even tolerated "Living After Midnight," but there was no way that they were getting down to this.
You'll hear about how Painkiller was Judas Priest's comeback, a response to two lackluster albums (Turbo and Ram it Down) and a sharply-delivered boot to a world of Poisons and Warrants.
But 1990 was an incredible year for metal. Painkiller was up against Rust in Peace, Seasons in the Abyss and Cowboys from Hell, all Album of the Decade candidates. More than a nail in the glam metal coffin, Painkiller was a gauntlet to the thrash and death metal legions, and an example of how Judas Priest could make a melody sound even meaner than a death growl. Listen to what Amon Amarth did with a similar main riff 18 years later--it completely rocks, but it still doesn't sting the same way.
To paraphrase Ornette Coleman, this is the shape of metal to come.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Boy Meets Girl: Five Great Metal Duets
1. Metallica and Marianne Faithfull, "The Memory Remains"
Metallica's best original song in the past 20 years is aided by an unearthly rejoinder from one of rock music's greatest collaborators, eternal muse Marianne Faithfull. Her quote at the end is from The Misfits, not the band, but Marilyn Monroe's final movie.
2. Queensrÿche and Pamela Moore, "Suite Sister Mary"
An awesome and ridiculous band at their awesome and ridiculous peak. "Suite Sister Mary" is a ten-minute centerpiece of a Manchurian Candidate-esque concept album featuring a full, Michael Kamen-conducted choir serenading the titular character, a dominatrix-turned-nun played by Moore. Shockingly tame when considering the depths that Queensrÿche would later sink to.
3. Motörhead and Girlschool, "Please Don't Touch"
A punk-metal makeover of a mostly-forgotten rockabailly single, "Please Don't Touch" casts its performers as the Devil's answer to Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Motörhead never needed to duet with anyone, but they knew it was in their best interest to give Girlschool half of this song. When Lemmy and Kelly Johnson sing "Please Don't Touch," it's a dare and not a request.
4. Rammstein and Bobo,"Engel"
Rammstein let chanteuse and countrywoman Bobo lead them into the chorus over a perfect storm of froufrou krautrock and industrial riffing. The music video gives Bobo's lines to a child and owes its life to Salma Hayek in From Dusk Till Dawn.
5. Ozzy Osbourne and Miss Piggy, "Born to be Wild"
Forget about "Close My Eyes Forever." This is John Michael Osbourne's only duet that does not defang him or overwhelm his collaborator, found on 1994's Kermit Unplugged. Ozzy hasn't sounded like he's having this much fun since "I Don't Want to Change the World." The band is a little stiff, but maybe Ozzy just makes everything else seem that way.
Metallica's best original song in the past 20 years is aided by an unearthly rejoinder from one of rock music's greatest collaborators, eternal muse Marianne Faithfull. Her quote at the end is from The Misfits, not the band, but Marilyn Monroe's final movie.
2. Queensrÿche and Pamela Moore, "Suite Sister Mary"
An awesome and ridiculous band at their awesome and ridiculous peak. "Suite Sister Mary" is a ten-minute centerpiece of a Manchurian Candidate-esque concept album featuring a full, Michael Kamen-conducted choir serenading the titular character, a dominatrix-turned-nun played by Moore. Shockingly tame when considering the depths that Queensrÿche would later sink to.
3. Motörhead and Girlschool, "Please Don't Touch"
A punk-metal makeover of a mostly-forgotten rockabailly single, "Please Don't Touch" casts its performers as the Devil's answer to Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Motörhead never needed to duet with anyone, but they knew it was in their best interest to give Girlschool half of this song. When Lemmy and Kelly Johnson sing "Please Don't Touch," it's a dare and not a request.
4. Rammstein and Bobo,"Engel"
Rammstein let chanteuse and countrywoman Bobo lead them into the chorus over a perfect storm of froufrou krautrock and industrial riffing. The music video gives Bobo's lines to a child and owes its life to Salma Hayek in From Dusk Till Dawn.
5. Ozzy Osbourne and Miss Piggy, "Born to be Wild"
Forget about "Close My Eyes Forever." This is John Michael Osbourne's only duet that does not defang him or overwhelm his collaborator, found on 1994's Kermit Unplugged. Ozzy hasn't sounded like he's having this much fun since "I Don't Want to Change the World." The band is a little stiff, but maybe Ozzy just makes everything else seem that way.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Song of the Day: Motörhead and Girlschool, "Please Don't Touch"
Lemmy's endorsement of President Barack Obama and women's right to choose last week confirmed his status at one of metal's most outspoken feminists. In a genre often deemed sexist by folks who don't listen to it, Lemmy has always been an exemplary metalhead, defying standards both artistically and socially.
In 1979, Lemmy invited a little-known band from Wandsworth on tour with him. As he remembers, in his autobiography:
"I listened to a single called 'Take It All Away' that they'd put out on some little label and thought they were fucking excellent. Plus I liked the idea of girls being in a band--I wanted to stick it up these pompous bastard guitarists' asses, because Girlschool's guitarist, Kelly Johnson, was as good as any guitarist I've ever seen in my life. The nights when she was really on, she was as good as Jeff Beck. So I went down to see them at a rehearsal they were having. I thought they were great, and I went back and told the others, 'They're coming on tour.' The boys were a bit weird about it at first, but after the first night they played with us, they shut up."
I won't give away the ending, but the best-remembered relic from Motörhead and Girlschool's team-up is deservedly the St. Valentine's Day Massacre EP, with the two bands covering each others' songs and collaborating on Johnny Kidd and the Pirates' "Please Don't Touch." Not only does the remake crush the original, it gets my vote for the best psychobilly song of all-time.
In 1979, Lemmy invited a little-known band from Wandsworth on tour with him. As he remembers, in his autobiography:
"I listened to a single called 'Take It All Away' that they'd put out on some little label and thought they were fucking excellent. Plus I liked the idea of girls being in a band--I wanted to stick it up these pompous bastard guitarists' asses, because Girlschool's guitarist, Kelly Johnson, was as good as any guitarist I've ever seen in my life. The nights when she was really on, she was as good as Jeff Beck. So I went down to see them at a rehearsal they were having. I thought they were great, and I went back and told the others, 'They're coming on tour.' The boys were a bit weird about it at first, but after the first night they played with us, they shut up."
I won't give away the ending, but the best-remembered relic from Motörhead and Girlschool's team-up is deservedly the St. Valentine's Day Massacre EP, with the two bands covering each others' songs and collaborating on Johnny Kidd and the Pirates' "Please Don't Touch." Not only does the remake crush the original, it gets my vote for the best psychobilly song of all-time.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Lemmy
One of the best documentaries that I saw last year, and one of the best metal movies that I can think of, is Greg Olliver and Wes Orshoski's depiction of Lemmy Kilmister. I didn't want it to end.
It's no surprise to watch Lemmy being a badass. People who never have heard a Motörhead song can tell you that. But Lemmy does a terrific job of revealing what a pro he is--practically living on the road, touring and putting out albums for 40something years and leaving any room that Motörhead plays in tatters. Watching everybody from James Hetfield to Steve Vai, Ice-T, Joan Jett, Slash and Henry Rollins show up to fawn over Lemmy reminds me of the quote about how The Velvet Underground's first album sold only ten thousands copies, but everyone who bought one formed a band.
Enjoy the performances, anecdotes and insights in Lemmy right below.
It's no surprise to watch Lemmy being a badass. People who never have heard a Motörhead song can tell you that. But Lemmy does a terrific job of revealing what a pro he is--practically living on the road, touring and putting out albums for 40something years and leaving any room that Motörhead plays in tatters. Watching everybody from James Hetfield to Steve Vai, Ice-T, Joan Jett, Slash and Henry Rollins show up to fawn over Lemmy reminds me of the quote about how The Velvet Underground's first album sold only ten thousands copies, but everyone who bought one formed a band.
Enjoy the performances, anecdotes and insights in Lemmy right below.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Rorschach at Le Poisson Rouge
Taking your heroes out on tour is a mixed blessing. I'm glad that U2 gave Patti Smith a stadium-sized audience, but does anyone think that "Dancing Barefoot" is best heard in a 20,000-capacity arena? Does anyone remember anything about AFI's 2006 US tour, except that The Dillinger Escape Plan opened? Touring with your favorite artists is honorable, but it can also be dangerous.
Thus Rorschach, a New Jersey artcore band whose dissonant punk rock influenced bands like Coalesce and the Refused, recently reunited for a few East Coast shows, supposedly the last that they will ever perform. At best, this reunion will be remembered as an afterthought to the blazing Converge performance that preceded it.
Saluting two of their influences, Converge sandwiched themselves between Brooklyn's Indecision and Rorschach for a Saturday show at Le Poisson Rouge. It was a venue that Converge could have packed on their own, and they nobly sold no merchandise and took second billing to an elder, less-appreciated hardcore band. Yet onstage, Converge didn't shy away from annihilating their forefathers as if they were any other band.
Perhaps fired up by playing alongside their boyhood idols, Converge played the most violent, spirited show that I'd seen in my ten years of fandom. Moshers were constantly flung up between band members as they roared through their last decade breakneck brutality. Unlike Indecision or Rorschach, Converge's recorded history is ongoing, and their newest songs (promised for release this September 11) erupted with vigor. From the classic hardcore of "Bitter and Then Some" to the enraged blare of songs from their recent Axe to Fall, Converge exhibited one of the most unimpeachable discographies in metal history, backed with urgent, flailing performances by all four bandmates. At the end of "Last Light," the stage was packed with moshers, and frontman Jacob Bannon signaled the end of one of the year's best metal shows.
Rorschach, as performers and musicians, were unsuited to follow. Their sludgier, tricky hardcore, while innovative in it's early-'90s prime, has since been reaped from and bettered by newer bands. This would be fine, were it not performed by five dudes who, either from bitterness or ennui, couldn't muster up the energy to give their music the show that it deserved. Don't buy the too-old excuse--anyone who has ever seen Iggy Pop or Lemmy will tell you that punk rockers can thrash way into their 60s. Even Indecision, the middle-aged, politically-conscious hardcore vets who opened the show, brought more verve to their music than the headliners.
Rorschach left Le Poisson Rouge with an admirable legacy and audible influence, but I'd be surprised if they left the club with any new fans.
Thus Rorschach, a New Jersey artcore band whose dissonant punk rock influenced bands like Coalesce and the Refused, recently reunited for a few East Coast shows, supposedly the last that they will ever perform. At best, this reunion will be remembered as an afterthought to the blazing Converge performance that preceded it.
Saluting two of their influences, Converge sandwiched themselves between Brooklyn's Indecision and Rorschach for a Saturday show at Le Poisson Rouge. It was a venue that Converge could have packed on their own, and they nobly sold no merchandise and took second billing to an elder, less-appreciated hardcore band. Yet onstage, Converge didn't shy away from annihilating their forefathers as if they were any other band.
Perhaps fired up by playing alongside their boyhood idols, Converge played the most violent, spirited show that I'd seen in my ten years of fandom. Moshers were constantly flung up between band members as they roared through their last decade breakneck brutality. Unlike Indecision or Rorschach, Converge's recorded history is ongoing, and their newest songs (promised for release this September 11) erupted with vigor. From the classic hardcore of "Bitter and Then Some" to the enraged blare of songs from their recent Axe to Fall, Converge exhibited one of the most unimpeachable discographies in metal history, backed with urgent, flailing performances by all four bandmates. At the end of "Last Light," the stage was packed with moshers, and frontman Jacob Bannon signaled the end of one of the year's best metal shows.
Rorschach, as performers and musicians, were unsuited to follow. Their sludgier, tricky hardcore, while innovative in it's early-'90s prime, has since been reaped from and bettered by newer bands. This would be fine, were it not performed by five dudes who, either from bitterness or ennui, couldn't muster up the energy to give their music the show that it deserved. Don't buy the too-old excuse--anyone who has ever seen Iggy Pop or Lemmy will tell you that punk rockers can thrash way into their 60s. Even Indecision, the middle-aged, politically-conscious hardcore vets who opened the show, brought more verve to their music than the headliners.
Rorschach left Le Poisson Rouge with an admirable legacy and audible influence, but I'd be surprised if they left the club with any new fans.
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