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Cinderella |
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| Like the fairytale namesake he would name his band after following his eventful escapades up until this album was released, young Tom left his job in the meat processing plant one day after an especially tough time getting stick from the boss man about his girly hair and coming to work late after he'd been hanging out with his buddies, knocking back a few cans, smoking a bit of dope, having wheelie competitions on their BMX's and the like, to find a pair of stack heeled boots along the way home. Now, being a self-centered youngster with dreams of Rock'n'Roll, Cars and Girls, Barroom brawls, Dee Snider as hairdresser and living dangerously, dicing with Dr. D every time he lit a cigarette - |
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for such was his colossal misuse of
hairspray even at this early stage - Tom (or Tommy as his mother still
calls him) didn't once think to trail around in the hopeless pursuit of
whoever owned such magical boots, for they did look to be the perfect size
for Tom's road hungry feet. And anyway, Tom instinctively knew he
wasn't put on earth to follow the rags to riches fairytale but to
intrinsically rewrite it. And so, taking off his battered baseball boots
Tom slid the shiny, ace of spadesly pointed glories of finest Italian
leathered footwear on his fungus ridden tootsies and before he could so
much as slip a scarf around them Tom found time and space collapsing and
folding in on itself. As though being mildly anaesthetized, Tom was thinking "Whoa, this is like Scooby Doo" when he found himself suddenly in a strange and mysterious place. Rubbing the dust from his eyes, and looking aghast at his mascara bespattered hand ,he peered around him (after he'd adjusted his skull bandana and pulled the hair out from front of his wide open eyes that is), to his relief as he couldn't remember doing any poppers after work, to behold a fat man in an expensive suit, with a greasy pony tail and a big fuck off Cuban cigar, seated with legs across a wide marble type desk. He was holding a pen and a clump of papers that made Lord of the Rings look like it was written by Napalm Death. On Methedrine. This, thought Tom, coming slowly to his senses must be like the ghost of Rock'n'Roll future. "No, Tom, that's Bruce Springsteen in 1992...but if you sign right here, and here, aaaaannnd here, you can have glories beyond your wildest imaginings, blazes of them." Our hero recoiled in horror, cos as we all know this was a money hungry schmuck who'd promise everything, then take it all so cruelly away on a mere whim. Every instinct his fading KISS T-shirt could hold told him not to take the pen and sign but he was imagining being like Captain Caveman when suddenly he saw with Christ-like clarity what destiny held in it's skeletal hand for him. For like many true visionaries from Van Morrison to the Venerable Bede, St Paul to David Icke, Mike Scott to Graham Hancock, our hero had been struck by an epiphany like a lightning bolt hitting him from Thor's hammer by way of Thin Lizzy. __________________________________________________________________________________ |
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Like a life flashing before him, Tom
witnessed the future in fast forward freeze frame. Time was running out.
Hair metal would die, killed off by an evil conspiracy of which this "man"
in front of him with the pen and the slick smile was one of the main
instigators. But at the same time, Tom knew this was a double edge sword,
and with such a short space of time available, he had to fulfill his
destiny. And this man would be the one to help him on the way. He was
chosen. He was to be a martyr for a holy cause. Yowzer, he was Eddie
Murphy in The Golden Child! And with enough luck and pluck he
would fight to the end, and who knows they may be able to survive
underground, but for now glory, and Captain Caveman, was all. For
what our hero had seen was truly shocking to him, a seismic event so
strong he knew it were true. Evil hordes - like the Orcs - underground, mass making lumberjack shirts, their evil whores making hooped tights and voodoo dolls of Axl Rose and Taime Downe - who they merely cursed with becoming a Marilyn Manson clone (they appear to have left Jon Bon Jovi alone, so bowled over were they by his charms, despite his allegiance to Cinderella. In fact, JBJ has since been outed as a double agent, his terrible drivel - |
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except Keep The Faith - can't have
been allowed to survive the Armageddon that was to come otherwise), and in
their time off attending Nazi style mass burnings of leather, lace, silk
and cowboy boots (this showed their arrogance in believing they could take
on Nashville AND village people) while the men at the top skulked in the
shadows amidst hushed conversations about such arcane topics as The Black
Album and Nevermind. Followers could be severely punished for leaking secrets about these works (such as going to a Whitesnake concert) in the pre-Master of Puppets days and a full 2 years before Nirvana would form (after Kurt Cobain was taken by stealth for re-education and told to proclaim his love for The Dickies and The Misfits and had his love of Cinderella and Poison eradicated. Rumour has it he was even infected with a new CIA sponsored serum that made him find Courtney Love attractive, and for 4 fucking years at that. Scary stuff indeed, folks. Truth, as they say, is stranger than fiction). Tom would also tell his own bewildered apostles about the reduction of CFC's in the atmosphere as just one way they were trying to stamp out hair metal, by emasculating the hairspray, the very lifeline of the music, for fuck's sake. Over time, Tom's outbursts would alienate many people, even to the extent where his friends wouldn't come out to play anymore. No matter how much he asked them and how many nice things he'd buy them out of his royalties once he'd paid his board. In fact, his theories would lead directly to the disintegration of Cinderella in later years (see below), Tom having unwittingly being the bearer of a power so strong he couldn't withhold it anymore let alone withstand it. But back to the tale.... _____________________________________________________________________________________ |
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....Tom's visions started to disappear in a welter of brilliant bright lights before he could snatch the pen like a starving urchin. Lights like those at a Van Halen arena show reflected off the thousands of gold, platinum, and silver discs lining the office wall. Tom was dazzled by the brilliance of the light, the names on the discs searing into his addled mind - Ratt, Twisted Sister, Scorpions, Motley Crue, Iron Maiden, REO Speedwagon, Chicago (yes, sadly, our hero was bullied a bit at school, but that only fermented his desire to write the tunes that formed Night Songs, he wasn't going to let THEM shake him), and Boston, his heroes who adorned his bedroom wall. |
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The lights started to fade, for which Tom was
thankful when he realized it was clouds passing over the sun, and he was on
the street, on his way back home again. Tom stood up and shrugged, Bill and Ted stylee, gathered himself and walked merrily on his way, happy in his new boots and with a steely new resolve in his heart. For Tom only recalled snatches of his life changing yet affirming experience, sometimes in dreams, other times from pure instinct, often telling interviewers he had no idea were his tunes came from, he just heard them all around him and they came to him and he breathed life into them with his fingers and his heart. He merely received them as a conduit. They were like his children, let loose into the world. On this day tho Tom new there was but one thing he had to do. No, let's not get ahead of ourselves, our determined young hero didn't go home to ding a ling long his dang a long ling long, even tho he knew in his heart of hearts more than ever that this rock thing was true. (In fact, in case you didn't a'ready know Al Jourgensen actually wrote "Jesus Built my Hotrod" about Tom after Al broke down on his way to a 1,000 Homo DJ's show in Alabama. Tom appeared from behind a wilting bush, with guitar in hand, leapt atop the bonnet of Al's motor and began his inexplicable guitar histrionics. The bitch gunned again in no time, and an overawed Al penned the tune in his honour, changing the title slightly as "Tom Keifer Rebuilt My Motor" was vetoed by Chris Connelly.) No, young Tom returned home and picked up his guitar, one and the same thing for Tom, and began the process of practice and gigging in shitty venues to a set of twats alongside a bunch of horrible synth pop bands. At first the surety he felt inside after his trip to the flip side of the coin oozed out of him as sheer star power and charisma, attracting band members, groupies (which Tom took most advantage of, knowing in a few short years they would all be wearing sackcloth shirts and hooped tights with crusty Doc Martens and fancying guys in baggy trousers and Rage Against The Machine tops), and most importantly cheque book waving A'n'R men. And the rest is, of course, history. ______________________________________________________________________________________  Over the years though Tom's thought processes (and hence his songs)
alienated a lot of folks, and he spent a long time adrift in the
wilderness. For instance, the end of Cinderella came effectively after Tom
mentioned he was venturing out across the Atlantic on his home made raft
(crafted from BC Rich guitars, a few hundred Marshall cabs and some old
boots) to find spiritual equilibrium and renewed zest for the quest to
reinstate hair metal by becoming a Jedi Knight under the tutelage of
Yoda,
on his remote Scottish island where the old warrior was in semi-retirement
with his own malt whiskey distillery. When Jeff LaBar mentioned discreetly
that this was, in fact, a high grossing box office movie, he was summarily
sacked. On the spot. Without pay. Rumour has it he was lucky not to be
sacrificed for the cause and sent into the moshpit at a Korn concert, or
left stranded in a recording studio with just one guitar, one amp, and no
effects pedals and told to come up with some songs. But, dear readers and seekers of truth who've ventured bravely thus far, we do get ahead of ourselves, for that is another part of the legend, and a most puzzling one. And we haven't even got to Long Cold Winter yet. This was Tom's album about the oncoming ice age, apparently we're long overdue one, and Tom thought it would come in Oct, 1988. Such inaccuracies have led him to spend time in a Buddhist meditation centre in California with Leonard Cohen, who is his new earthly guru, re-evaluating his earlier self. His book of poetry may or may not be coming out soon. _______________________________________________________________________________________ Weeeeellllllllll, that account may skirt around the established facts a little, but it does contain the essential elements of what made, and makes, Night Songs such a jolly good listen. A'right, does it fuck, but what the hell. I first heard The 'Rella on The Friday Rock Show over here on our beloved BBC, the very flour from which all of British culture is formed, flowers, blooms, and rises, when DJ Tommy Vance aired their set from Donnington 1987. As a wee 10/11 year old, I dug the tape I had of this, and I wish I still had it, as live they didn't have the hideous 80's drum sounds, and they bore fruit to the oft repeated line about them being a "bluesier" proposition than their contemporaries, but in such a climate it wasn't hard to be. Ooooh, there's a bit of slide on the opening track before he comes in with "Working this job ain't paying the bills / Sick and tired of madness taking my thrills" like a glam Springsteen...and he does play some godawful bottleneck gubbins at the start of Long Cold Winter. My initial love of the tape paled a bit when I got a copy of Night Songs, oooh, when I was about 13, and saw the cover - y'see all the overtly made up glam shit never really washed with me, can never get used to bands with tracksuits who then change into the kinda stylist picked shit Cinderella wore along with the list of bands that were real dogshit like Bullet Boys - and also realized that the songs not on the Donnington set were pretty shitty. F'rinstance "Nobody's Fool", which, frighteningly, became quite okay after I'd played this album umpteen times whilst working out some ideas for this piece, and "Nothin' For Nothin'" which is a bit of a lumpy, cold custard cut of a school dinner song. _____________________________________________________________________________________ |
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| But, Stu, you may be asking, is any of it actually any good? Y'know, does it stand the test of time, old bean? Well, yes, ultimately, cos I still play it. Okay, I don't think I'd have paid much more than the 50p for it (LCW was same price), especially as I was a dole hound at the time, but it's got some cracking songs on it. Good enough for me to ignore any slight Bon Jovi-ishness, tending as it does to a more AC/DC and KISS kinda style....but without as much wit. (Maybe that's where AC/DC disappeared to in the mid-80's, Tom divined all their good ideas out of Malcolm Young's beer can). Some seriously tasty deep fried guitar is wheeled out on songs like the hilarious "Push Push", "Once Around The Ride", ("Whole Lotta Rosie" -esque, so you can't |
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lose there) and the best of all, for the best
song here, the funky "In From The Outside" which is so funked up and down
with the groove there's even a bit of almost pysch jamming going on in the
extended guitar solo section towards the end. I can imagine Prince
preening 'round to this in a synth pop version. And that's not taking the
pith, I can. And we must all surely remember the glorious "Shake Me",
especially with the entertaining live scenario video, which I'm sure I
still have on an old tape somewhere around, where the two girls from "Step
By Step" go and watch Cinderella, after, like, charming their pretty
little way around the doormen, just to bear witness to Tom's
catch-my-axe-spin-round-and-rock earth saving guitar solo. And it is a
fine solo too, much better that the other guys, which I guess is why he
has the privilege of having someone throw his guitar to him. Interestingly, the chord sequence for "Shake Me" does always remind me of The Sisters of Murky's "Detonation Boulevard". Now, I can't be certain, as Eldritch wouldn't speak on or off the record as is his wont, but I have the nagging suspicion that he half inched it and split with Pat Morrison purely to have an album with riffs, if not hair, as big as Cinderella's, (which of course Patricia did have, and far prettier she was too, and I used to think old Eldritch was something of a genius, yet he lost the member with the hair. Tut.) thus Tom had a benign influence on "Vision Thing" too. One area where he could have been a decisive influence was in world affairs at the time. To the best of my knowledge and extensive research for this article Cinderella weren't used either in the downfall of Cieucesceau (however it's spelt, y'know the old Romanian who got scared of AC/DC and quit) or during the 1st Gulf debacle (AC/DC again) due to fear of igniting the whole Middle East what with Tom's Brian Johnson on lighter fluid squawk being able to skin a whole plains full of rattlers from right across continents. The vocal chord equivalent of a swarm of locusts. And y'know, Georgie Bush Snr had already promised that little affair to Georgie Boy Jnr as a reward for getting out of rehab. Sober or not, just so long as you can find the out door, son. Other back-combed and rigidly hairsprayed highlights are the brooding and moody "Somebody Save Me", a down at heel dig at the norms of this strange place we wake up everyday (usually) to find ourselves in. How you're expected to follow certain paths and act in certain ways and all that, but you don't, and if you don't know why, click on another website. I also love the closer "Back Home Again", Tom's very own take on his route to success, interspersed at climactic moments with possibly the best use of nutty 80's pinched harmonic whammy bar excess pointless widdlesomness ever (along with, hmmmm, Love/Hate's "Blackout in the Red Room" and I'm sure there's loads on "Slippery When Wet", oh and that little bit on Maiden's "Aces High") which led to blissful times of imitation (fuck off, I was 11 or something, tho I did wander about the house this morning squeaking along to it). ______________________________________________________________________________________ |
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And coming to the close, that last piece kinda sums up what I love about
this album, and WASP, Faster Pussycat and all this stuff, is that at heart
it's fun, never took itself too seriously (ha ha we all hope against hope)
and at the end of the day fucking RAWKS. And makes me piss too! But more
seriously if you take the songs apart, well the best ones anyway, and
stripped em down you'd have had something more like The Cult's Electric
album, run the rest over with Billy Duffy's Harley mind. So when
The Cult tried in vain to be American, Cinderella should really have tried to find
some new magic shoes and started, erm, turning English. Funny old game
innit?
Well, I heard a while back that Cinders and other contemporaries like Bang Tango are back out on that road again on package arena tours. All the best with it boys but I think I'll pass on going to the ball this time. |
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PS - "Long Cold Winter" sucks but may I just add that "Gypsy Road" hits
the nail so rightly on the head it's the best piece of carpentry this
curious civilization has seen since Biblical times. As perfect as the
pyramids in fact. Any items in this piece that may be construed as libelous or slanderous are, in fact, not. No animals have ever been hurt making Cinderella's hair either, for the record. |
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www.cinderella.net -Stu Gibson |
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So we come to the kinda dubious glory of
Cinderella. A sort of small town
America version of Slade or Sweet (but actually rather better at times,
especially better than Sweet) being four mainly unlikely looking labourers and
lumberjack-type fellows in spandex and scarves. Oh, and enough hair to
cover the Atlantic and establish colonies of exiled 80's rockers.