"I first published the novella A Clockwork Orange in 1962, which
ought to be far enough in the past for it to be erased from the world’s
literary memory. It refuses to be erased, however, and for this the
film version of the book made by Stanley Kubrick may be held chiefly
responsible. I should myself be glad to disown it for various reasons,
but this is not permitted. I receive mail from students who try to write
theses about it, or requests from Japanese dramaturges to turn it into a
sort of Noh play. It seems likely to survive, while other works of mine
that I value more bite the dust. This is not an unusual experience for
an artist. Rachmaninoff used to groan because he was known mainly for a
Prelude in C Sharp Minor which he wrote as a boy, while the works of his
maturity never got into the programmes. Kids cut their pianistic teeth
on a minuet in G which Beethoven composed only so that he could detest
it. I have to go on living with A Clockwork Orange, and this means I have a sort of authorial duty to it."
-Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange Resucked
"Cherry Pie" by Warrant is such a colossally annoying song
that I'm hesitant to bring it up. But it bothered no one more than its
writer, the late Jani Lane. Watching a fatter, balding Lane tell VH1 about how "Cherry Pie" ruined his life is sadly affecting and almost inexplicably funny. In some ways, this video redeems Lane, who spent his last tours promising crowds that they'd hear "Cherry Pie" if they sat through some of his new songs first. This short interview stands as his greatest, if not his most seen, artistic statement.
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.
Much has been made of how hair metal bands tried to jump the grunge bandwagon after Nevermind made them all feel as silly as they looked. There was something sad about seeing Warrant and Skid Row struggle to distance themselves from their past and peers, begging audiences and label execs for their attention, but also something fascinating. Watching Bret Michaels drool his way through Sublime's "What I Got" in 2010 may not be anyone's idea of fun, but it's more memorable than the Unskinny Bop.
Nu metal, the hair metal of the '90s, is more complicated. The fad died out equally fast (until its inevitable Rock of Ages-style revival), but didn't have any clear rock trends to latch onto in the early '00s. Thus, many of nu metal's leaders jumped ships to different waters. As with hair metal, their failures are often more interesting than their actual hits.
No one with any sense of time management needs to find out what happened to, say, Powerman 5000*. But if we cap the list at three, you'll get a few funny, bizarre and almost bearable nu metal reinventions that still won't make you pine for a Family Values reunion tour.
1. Jonathan Davis as a Dubstep Clown, "Evilution"
Korn's recent dubstep album was apparently bad enough to make them relevant again, in the way that "F" grade music is better than "C" grade music. You'd never guess from this song and video, where "J Devil" teams up with two electronic losers (Datsik and Infected Mushroom) to get his ass kicked at a birthday party where his name is misspelled on the cake. The soundtrack suggests AOL's dial up sounds, which means it's about as stale as Korn were in 1999. If this is what the kids want to listen to these days, call me an old man.
2. Aaron Lewis as a Country Music Republican, "Country Boy"
In Staind (sic), Aaron Lewis led the world's most boring band, ordinary enough to be popular and too inoffensive to be Crazy Town. Only now has he stepped things up with this manipulative ode to right wing values, particularly the second amendment. The melody is stolen from Bon Jovi and amazingly enough, watered down. A jingoistic monologue from Charlie Daniels and an auto-tuned, lost-sounding George Jones can't help, and we're left with the most appalling sight of a New Englander posing as a good ol' boy since George W. Bush.
3. Kid Rock as Lynyrd Zevon, "All Summer Long"
I have defended Kid Rock, and will continue to do so, as long as he deserves it. But man, does this song suck. It's bad enough to see the brains behind Devil Without a Cause go bad, but hearing the Kid tie his worst lyrics in with the world's most likeable southern rock band and LA's most colorfully sardonic tunesmith truly underscores how far he's sunk. Hearing this song all over the airwaves in 2008 made me sad not for Kid Rock or my own ears, but for every American who had apparently never heard "Werewolves of London" or "Sweet Home Alabama."
*OK, so apparently they've released a tuneless cover of "Jump" and still sound like a rhythmless, computerized Rob Zombie imitating the Cars.
