Johnny (Rotten) Come (On Feel the Noize) Lately: Part 3

Stephen Hines | Author of Hocus Focus and Valedictorian USA

Posted by stephenhines at 05:43 PM on December 28, 2008

      Last time I finished up by singing the praises of the mighty Wildhearts (who just posted a new, free track on MySpace & Facebook as an X-mas present to their fans by the way...and it rocks!). Once the Wildhearts dominated my heart, mind, body and soul, I began to seek out other punk bands who might tickle my fancy. Luckily, Ginger (lead singer & main songwriter for the Wildhearts) gave me a great place to start with his song "29X the Pain". If you haven't heard the song, it's the catchiest laundry list of an artist's influences ever recorded. Not all of the artists listed in "29X" caught my ears, but many of them began to deplete my checking account quite quickly.

      Husker Du didn't rip my pasty white face off instantly, but when I bought their posthumously released live CD The Living End I finally got them. Husker started out as a straight-forward hardcore punk band (on Black Flag's SST Records) but evolved quickly into an ingenius, melodic rock band with uncomprimising integrity and songwriting. Check 'em out. They aren't just a type of firework mentioned in Joe Dirt.

      My wife has been a Ramones fanatic for years. Being the idiot that I am, it took quite a while for me to catch on. Now that I've finally removed my cranium from my rectum, I can't believe how long it took me do the Cretin Hop. I won't say a lot about the Ramones because they're finally getting the credit they so richly deserve, but let me just say that VERY few bands can pull off writing nothing but three to four chord songs over and over without making me want to puke. AC-DC has a few brilliant albums, but they've been regurtitating the same mediocre, bottom-of-the-barrel dregs for years. Somehow, the Ramones were able to consistently write great lightspeed 1950's music (with a few clunkers here and there) with melody and aggression. Personally, I attribute most of their staying power and consistent genius to Joey Ramone's vocals. The man had such a crystal clear set of pipes and his melodies were memorable and classic. 'Nuff said.

      The Sex Pistols also took time to grab me, just not as much as the Pinheads I just finished discussing. Granted, the Pistols only put out one album, but Nevermind the Bollocks is one of the most intensely hostile and ironic works of art ever. Some folks will try to tell you that the Pistols were a manufactured band created by their "genius" manager Malcolm McClaren. Don't listen to them. McClaren helped them get together and get off the ground, but he certainly didn't manufacture them like a boy band. In fact, they probably would've lasted a lot longer if he hadn't been so full of himself. Chances are, if you've at least played Guitar Hero you're aware of some Sex Pistols' tunes ("God Save the Queen" and "Anarchy in the UK") so I'll move on.

      Another great band mentioned in "29X the Pain" is the Damned. Listen to classics such as "New Rose" (covered by roughly a million bands so far) and "Neat Neat Neat" and I'm sure you'll want to join Captain Sensible and Rat Scabies on their fiery descent into gothic punk madness.

      Ginger also mentions Stiff Little Fingers (SLF) and I won't say much about them, except I love what I've heard and I should be slapped for not buying their stuff. Or, you could always send Amanda Palmer from the Dresden Dolls over to spank me for my sins. Please. I've been bad. I deserve it.

      And why would I mention a band that I've failed to properly investigate? Good question. I guess it's because I've only just begun scratching the surface in my endless pursuit of rock gems. That's one of the few types of greed I possess. Other than the constant lust for more and more books that will blow my mind and change my life, I will never stop seeking out music that gives me goosebumps. It isn't a hoarding of riches thing but an insatiable hunger for any musical flavor left untasted.

      And hopefully someone will put me out of my misery if I ever become one of those pathetic losers who think there hasn't been any great music since "the good old days".

Johnny (Rotten) Come (On Feel the Noise) Lately: Part 2

Okay, in part one I neglected to mention that I listened to a lot of Anthrax in high school as well. It took a while for their music to totally click with me, but, once I saw the video for "Indians" I was hooked.

At the time, I had no idea that Anthrax was mixing west coast speed metal with NYC hardcore punk. I just knew that they were very weird and edgy. Plus they had intelligent lyrics, unlike a lot of cheeseball metal bands who talked about dragons, swords, fire (see: Dio). Anthrax, in my humble opinion, is still criminally underrated. Not only did they meld metal and punk, they also pioneered crossovers between rock and rap. Unfortunately, the Nu Metal bands of the 90's would beat that horse until it was a fine red mist. But I digress.

Also around this time, Metallica (who I used to respect) released their $5.98 Garage Days E.P. Yes, I know the above image isn't the cover but I'm too lazy to hunt it down. Anyway, back when Metallica still had street cred and weren't the lapdogs of music business execs (as well as whiny, middle-aged therapist-coddled documentary-making douchebags) they put out an E.P. that showcased their underground influences. They turned me on to catchy punk classics by Discharge, the Misfits, etc. I remember being amazed by how catchy these punk remakes were...even catchier than most of Metallica's tunes at the time. But still, I looked down my huge nose at punk, thinking it was just for politically-minded outcasts who could only play three chords.

Eventually I became a total worshipper of the mighty King's X, thanks to a friend who used to (and does again) live in Texas. King's X had no punk influence whatsoever, but they introduced me to another insanely gifted Texas band called the Galactic Cowboys. GC didn't show any punk roots at first, but by their Machine Fish CD they did. I'm not sure when their bassist (Monty Colvin) became a pop punk fan, but Machine Fish marked a songwriting departure from GC's thrash influences into a more punk realm. All of their music is freakin' amazing, but if you can listen to "Feel the Rage" without wanting to pogo while playing air guitar, you have no pulse. To me, the Galactic Cowboys' albums always epitomized what rock was truly capable of, or at least what I enjoyed most: honesty, melody, heaviness, and intelligence.

Somewhere around this time I also became a huge fan of the Foo Fighters. The first time I heard "Monkeywrench" on the radio (while stocking shelves third shift in a grocery store) my jaw hit the floor with an audible CLUNK. To this day, I love every song on The Colour and the Shape. Some of their later releases have been a little inconsistent, but this CD is flawless. Everything I just mentioned about GC's greatness was also present on these Foo tracks, but the production was a lot slicker and polished. Don't let the big recording budget throw ya...or the fact that Mr. Grohl was Nirvana's drummer. If you hate grunge, the Foos may still appeal to you.
Eventually, with the success that the Foos and bands like Green Day began to enjoy, major record labels began signing every lame-ass pop punk band they could get their grimey hands on. Some of them weren't horrible, but most sucked total donkey balls. I remember constantly complaining and telling people that these bands were not real punk. Even though, at the time, I didn't like traditional punk (whatever that is), I could smell a fake with these corporate rock douchebags. It was obvious that they were money-grubbing trendies. And I've never had any sympathy for such losers.
Then, in 1999 (I think), I logged on to Monty Colvin's website. He had a blog about the VH1's Top 100 Hard Rock Acts of All Time show. While Monty was glad that King's X made the list, he was upset that a band I'd never heard of had been ignored:

Since I'd never heard of the Wildhearts, I quickly searched the internet. Luckily, one fan had posted two of their songs on his website: "Suckerpunch" and "Lilly's Garden". Between those two tracks, I knew I'd found an amazing band that could be heavy and melodic as well as not-so heavy and melodic. So I bought Earth vs. the Wildhearts to see if this band was consistently awesome or just sporadic. As soon as I read their song titles ("My Baby is a Headfuck", "Love You 'Till I Don't", "Loveshit", etc.) their gritty charm had won me over. It only took one listen to Earth vs. before I realized I'd found a debut album as insanely, earth-shatteringly brilliant as Guns n' Roses' Appetite for Destruction. Every track on this thirteen song masterpiece is chock full of catchy melodies, intelligent rebellious lyrics, brilliant musicianship, and riff after riff after motherfucking riff. In short, all of the raw danger that rock n' roll had been missing since 1987 (for me, at least). I listened to this CD nonstop, constantly proclaiming, "THIS is what pop punk SHOULD sound like!" But the lable "pop punk" doesn't adequately describe their sound. Imagine everything that's brilliant about the Beatles, Cheap Trick, Metallica, Motorhead, the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and Kiss...all wrapped up in one insane, British package.
I couldn't believe that no one in the United States seemed to know who these guys were. Before long I'd spent a buttload of money (on E-bay and Amazon.com) acquiring every release the Wildhearts had blessed the world with. Then I stumbled upon an e-mail discussion group dedicated to the band. Fortunately, the Wildhearts' fans were every bit as cool. Newfound friends mailed b-sides from singles to me (since the band is famous for having b-sides that are better than their a-sides, you can imagine how awesome it was to get these tracks without having to buy all of the CD singles) as well as concert shirts, etc. From there, I went after every side project and post-Wildhearts band member's releases. Most of them (The Yo-Yo's, Honeycrack, Supershit 666, and Silver Ginger 5) are ridiculously brilliant as well.

Stay tuned for part 3 of this here blog, in which I detail my further decent into punk madness!

Johnny (Rotten) Come (On Feel the Noise) Lately: Part 1

    

        Yesterday I was out walking, trying to exercise some flab away. My MP3 player was blasting in my earholes and I remembered that I'd been planning to blog about my long and winding path to punk rock fandom. Most of my friends down here in southwestern Ohio know me as a punker, but they only know the most recent installment of my musical saga.  

 

         Back when I was six, the first band to mesmerize me was Kiss. Before Kiss, I'd become a music junkie--thanks to my mom playing the Beatles, Rod Stewart, and old school country around the house. But, our little family had just moved out into the country and our neighbor down the road had invited us over. We had no friends in the new 'hood, so we pedaled our bikes (or walked, hell, I don't remember) to this kid's house. After goofing around outside for a while, this kid had us come into his bedroom so he could play Kiss Alive (on vinyl!). We were all sprawled on the bedroom floor, jamming to classics like "Detroit Rock City" when, all the sudden, my brother (Nick) starts screaming at me for no reason. It must've taken a few panicked shouts to snap me out of my trance, but I remember looking at him and yelling, "What? What's your problem?"  Nick looked me as if I were mentally handicapped, and pointed to my right hand, which was bleeding all over the carpet. There was no pain whatsoever. Everyone in the room was horrified. Except me. I had no idea why my hand was pumping crimson goo all over the orange shag. Until Nick pointed again, at the metal, oscillating fan that I'd accidentally been using as a thumb guillotine. Our new neighbor’s mom had to rush me to the emergency room for stitches. The fan’s blade had cut almost all the way to the bone. Still, I wasn’t really fazed. Later that afternoon I went swimming with a bandaged digit. Such was the power of rock to ensnare my fragile little mind.
         After several years of collecting every scrap of Kiss merch we could get our hands on (the bubble gum in packs of Kiss cards tasted like ass, by the way), our passion for greasepaint gods eventually faded. From there on out, I recall wandering in a musical wasteland, enjoying the sugary sweetness of the different pop rock flavors I heard on the radio or saw on TV. My friends at school would introduce me to an artist, I'd wear their LP's out, then move on again. But nothing ever ripped my face off like Kiss had. It wasn’t until last year that I learned the connection Kiss has to punk. Apparently, they rehearsed in the same building as the legendary proto-punks the New York Dolls. At the time, Kiss wore nothing but blue jeans and t-shirts on stage. When Gene Simmons saw how many groupies the glammed out Dolls had hanging around their practice room, Kiss decided that makeup (albeit in the scary, not pretty direction) was the way to go.

 

         Finally, in 1983, Nick came home from football practice with an evil cassette. On the cover were four Kiss meets Mad Max characters, a pentagram and flames. At the time I was wearing out Prince's Purple Rain album, so I scoffed at my brother for listening to a bunch of devil worshippers. But, after a few days of that cassette lying around the bedroom, calling out to me with all of the allure of Eden's forbidden fruit, I gave in. Nick wasn't home. He wouldn't know. Headphones would keep Mom and Dad out of the equation. So, I nervously popped Motley Crue's Shout at the Devil into my Walkman and pushed play, wondering when god was going to strike me down with a bolt of lightening.
         It didn't take long for the Crue to rip my pasty white face off. I was too young to realize that the only good musician in the band was Tommy Lee. All I knew was they had all of the attitude and snotty rebellion that my life had been missing for almost a decade. They flirted with eternal damnation with every power chord and snarled lyric. Nikki Sixx quickly became my hero in life. He could look cooler than any other human being alive without even trying. Some people (see Joe Perry, for example) just ooze rock star charisma. At the time, I had no idea that Nikki considered the Crue's music (at least their Too Fast for Love album) punk. Honestly, at that time, I probably didn’t have a clue what punk was. Growing up out in the middle of sheep fucker Ohio will have that effect on you.
        For the next four years the Crue dominated my every waking moment. My walls were covered with their posters. My wardrobe was dominated by their shirts and back patches (Mom was oh-so thrilled when I wore my jean jacket with their Shout At the Devil back patch sewn on it to church on Sundays). I read every interview I could get my hands on. Nikki Sixx never failed to mention up and coming bands that he thought were cool. The most important one was Guns n’ Roses. As soon as he dropped their name, I was off to buy their stuff.
         I bought Gn’R’s Live Like a Suicide E.P. out of a mail order ad in the back of a rock rag. While it was advertised as an indie-released live E.P., it was actually a camouflaged Geffen studio release with added audience noise. It took a while to grow on me, but I could tell greater things were coming from this group of LA misfits. The cassette lived in my Walkman. My trendy peers at school made fun of me for it, saying such sage-like things as, “Gun n’ Roses? What the hell’s that? Sounds like some kind of gun club.” And I would shake my head and say, “Just wait. These guys’ll be huge.” And they laughed at me.

 

       
         When their first full length was released in 1987, I made Mom drive 45 minutes to the nearest mall so I could buy Appetite for Destruction. Nearly crackling with anticipation, I popped that cassette in on the way home. From the very beginning of the infamous digital delay guitar intro of “Welcome to the Jungle” I felt my face being ripped off. Only this time, instead of a fan also trying to remove a digit, my mother was screaming and yelling about Axl’s lyrics. And I was equally oblivious to the distraction. Not to mention the huge punk influence on these lunatic freaks. Duff McKagan’s entire rock n’ roll being is punk rock to the nth degree. Axl worshipped the Sex Pistols. Slash loved the Damned. Izzy idolized Hanoi Rocks. Stephen Adler? Well, he was the spastic cocker spaniel along for the windows-down ride.
         Along with the Crue, Guns had the biggest impact on me as a music fanatic and musician. My bass playing still resembles Duff’s. His locked into the drums octave accenting style has stuck with me all these years. And I still have a penchant for bands that blur disparate genres. Guns mixed everything that is great about blues, metal, punk, and pop. Dual guitar attacks split into schizophrenic stereo still light my fire. Just listen to Appetite on headphones. On the left Izzy’s sloppy, lazy Keith Richards playing perfectly weaves in and out of and compliments Slash’s Joe Perry meets Metallica riffing. There’s no way those two styles should work together, but somehow they do. They’re like a marriage everyone predicted to go down in flames that ended up lasting forever. And Mr. Adler’s spastic, bubbly drum style still sounds great to me.
         Can you tell I’m reading the new biography of Guns (Watch You Bleed) right now? The author can get pretty heavy handed and cheesy at times, but he’s succeeded in getting me to re-appreciate one of the most, if not THE most, influential album in my life so far.
         Gradually, I was being (subliminally) lead toward a destined collision with punk rock. I just didn’t know it yet.

(To be continued)