Motley Crue - Theatre of Pain
(Universal, 1985)
Current
Gemm price: $1.99 - $46.95
Price Sleazegrinder paid: Anything past "Too
Fast For Love" ain't the Crue, baby.
Price Pepsi paid: Whatever his soul was worth
in 1985.
Worth: One glam kid's soul.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Slide down my knees, taste my sword, can you
feel the power inside tonight?"
A
poster on the wall of some military-fatigued upper classmen's room, in the
boys dorm, of the Southeastern Hitlerian Baptist boarding school I'd been
shipped off to, sometime around '83 or '84. A concert shot, probably from
the US FESTIVAL, is the first time I remember being exposed to
MOTLEY CRUE. Pictures of Nikki's thigh-high black S.S.
storm-trooper boots and red leather pants ablaze, and that evil lookin'
Warlock bass, Mick Mars spitting blood in HIT PARADER
magazine... I got "SHOUT AT THE DEVIL" first. The evil, shiny
pentagram on the cover, the horror movie, post apocalyptic, Mad Max in drag,
new wave hooker freaks staring out from the gatefold cover. At 13 or 14
years old, relentlessly being pumped full of hell and brimstone, Baptist,
fear-based theology, they were almost downright scary-all the devil shit.
How many latch-key kids from broken homes in America locked their bedroom
doors and violently air guitared along to "BASTARD! CONSIDER THAT BASTARD
DEAD!", railing along with the Crue about their management problems,
but energetically directing all that same fury and animosity towards the
abusive step-father on the other side of that door? It was impossible NOT
to fall in love with the early Motley Crue/HIT PARADER fantasy
if you were a kid. They defied authority and fucked chicks all over the
place, and they ROCKED man, and always got away with everything. This
is the part that seemed to effectively corrupt these guys beyond any
forthcoming redemption that ain't from the divine. In spite of NIKKI'S
undeniable knack for cadging ideas from everybody else and artfully sewing
them together into a leather frankenstein all his own, his up until very
recently, always previously-outstanding fashion sense, and occasional gem of
a well-crafted pop song, these four just weren't real cerebral dudes,
ever.
In
retrospect, when you listen to the lyrics of "Shout", their unsavory
mission statement's pretty clear, they made few bones about what assholes
they were, even back then, dunno how I missed that, but in truth, I just
wanted to dress like 'em, play hard rock, and get laid, like the Crue.
I didn't give a lot of thought to the sadly obvious truth, that just behind
the cool threads and "Goin' On With The Show", were a buncha fuckin'
natural born jock-strap dickheads, who were just using glam rock to further
their predatory jock-strap dick-heads agenda. Lifeguards in misfit's
clothing who kick-started the currently prevailing heartless precedent of
winning ugly, who permanently ruined half the world's ideas about what
ROCK IS. Just look at half the sleaze-metallers on this website
who are still gettin' it all wrong, courtesy of Nikki and the
boys. Real rock'n'roll is not taking delight from hurting people, or
seeing how long you can get away with inflicting heaps of thoughtless abuse
on everyone. Real Rock'n'roll is NOT about kicking anybody's ass, ok?
Hate to break your goat-horned lil' hearts. If you ever heard the uplifting
call of authentic rock'n'roll, you know that it involves aspiring to
somethin' more than the lowest common denominator, dumb and dumber,
date rapist frat boy behaviors. Rock'n'roll is not for Republicans. Listen,
I'm just stating the facts here, I don't make the rules. Rock'n'roll is
about Love and Integrity. Fun and Excitement, but also, mercy and
compassion. NOT JUST HAIR-CUTS AND DUMB SLUTS AND INSATIABLE GREED-HEAD
COMPETITION! Music is NOT SPORTS,
you lil' Crue-heads. No Shit. I Swear to Ian Hunter. If you
find any of this hard to believe, it's because of macho goons like Nikki
Sixx and Vince Neil and Doc McGhee and that jive 80's
propaganda, Tom Cruise movie "TOP GUN", and nowadays, Fred
Durst and Toby Keith, all lying to you for so long. You'll
probably need to go listen to some Cult or Mother Love Bone or
Circus Of Power or Mott The Hoople records, if these truths we
hold to be self-evident, are makin' you bully-boys or wannabe-bouncers at
all uptight. Motley Crue have so much bad shit to answer for, I
almost feel sorry for 'em. I got bad shit to answer for, too.
They were all basically dumb, cocky, jockish surfer dudes, who got rich too
fast to ever learn how to handle it, except for maybe the old man, MICK,
who was probably just overjoyed to be getting away with being in this hip
young band, and passing himself off along side 'em, what with all the hair
dye and kabuki make-up, after sloggin' it out in bar bands, playing
Doobie Bros. covers every night for 35 years before he finally put the
famous "rude aggressive guitarist available" classified in the Recycler,
hell, they even let old MICK play a Dungeons & Dragons-influenced
solo instrumental, "God Bless The Children Of The Beast" on Shout.
Unfortunately, the always getting away with everything, seemingly continues
to be this band's undoing.
TOO
FAST FOR LOVE is undoubtedly somewhere in the top 100 rock'n'roll
records of all time. Fuckin' awesome songs, an inimitably razor-raw,
original, punk-metal sound. Really fucking energetic and cool, seemingly
even somewhat heart-felt back then. "Public Enemy #1" (OH YEAH!),
"Starry Eyes" , "Merry Go Round", "Toast Of The Town",
"Take Me To The Top", "Come On And Dance", were all
revolutionary flash metal perfection, even with Vince's whining,
peroxided-sewer rat vocals, and Grandpa Munster on lead guitar! The way they
looked on TOO FAST FOR LOVE is still, by far, one of the most iconic,
cool as fuck rock'n'roll images of all-time. To me, anyway, they just
fucking looked like totally bad ass, sci-fi super-heroes, and better than
that, they looked exactly how they sounded, but I'll wax nostalgic
more in-depth about TOO FAST some other time. I just want to
establish that I loved vintage Motley Crue songs a lot. All of "Too
Fast". Much of "Shout". "Danger", esp., offa "Shout
At The Devil" still haunts me. It's still one of my favorite guilty
pleasures: "HAD WILD DREAMS, WALKIN" THE STREETS/ HELL, WE WERE YOUNG AND WE
NEVER LOOKED BACK"! I even love "Don't Go Away Mad" from "Doctor
Feelgood" to this day. Cheap Trick radio bubblegum-excellence,
babies! "If you don't like bubble-gum, then why are you blowing me?". But
we're really here today to talk about "THEATRE OF PAIN", cos this is
where we first started to get to know the REAL Motley. "HOME SWEET
HOME" became to most requested video of all time, and yep, even I
succumbed whole-heartedly to it's syrupy sentiment. This is where the
freshly-minted millionaires first started to pass off any old shit,
releasing absolute turds like, "Keep Your Eyes On The Money" and "Raise
Your Hands To Rock", and nobody was supposed to take notice, drunk with
our excitement over their obligatory lonesome on the road power-ballad, and
their new white spandex jumpsuited, man on the flying trapeze, circusey-sideshow
appearance. With THEATRE OF PAIN, longtime fans had to start lookin'
inside themselves, and askin' hard questions about their former heroes,
these unrepentant shit-heads who don't know when to ever quit fucking people
over, to make another cheap buck, no matter what. This is where we, somewhat
heartbreakingly, found out- they really were the kings of sleaze they
always proclaimed themselves to be. (Look UP, Motleys. I can't help
yas.) AND ALWAYS GETTING AWAY WITH EVERYTHING. Not only getting away
with "We Need A Lover Tonight" and "Louder Than Hell" and "City
Boy Blues" and "Fight For Your Rights": "Oh people, people is the
scar too deep/You can't hold a man's soul by the color of his keys" (???)
but even getting away with a drunk driving related vehicular homicide.
"Once we had taken clothes from a homeless girl, there were no taboos..." (-Nikki
Sixx; The Dirt)
The
first time I remember innately really understanding what spin-doctoring was
and how money-makers relentlessly use the press to change a story to better
suit their corporate pay-master's sleazy as shit interests, was when I read
whichever magazine printed the caption, "The Day Hanoi Rocks Shook The
World: While Motley Crue Looked On". They WEREN'T referring to how
Hanoi shook all that real-gone, real rock'n'roll action and Motley
looked on, and ripped off a lot of their ideas, what the caption was
actually implying, is that these Finnish fags had somehow upset business as
usual with the inconvenient death of their drummer and intended to portray
these utterly unapologetic cash-cows, Motley Crue, as innocent
by-standers (?!!!) who were merely "looking on", not behind the fucking
wheel, when Razzle's untidy death seemed to jeopardize the whole
thriving, ka-ching, ka-ching capitalist Motley Crue empire for a minute,
before their drug-dealer mgr., Doc McGhee, sussed out how to pay
everyone off and get their boy off the hook. Unfuckingreal.
(CUE: Johnny Thunders "Can't Put Your Arms Around A memory.)
The first two albums had been undeniably great, and wildly inspirational,
junk-metal, comic book hero, rock'n'roll masterpieces. This was where we
really started to get to know more than we ever really wanted to about the
REAL Motley Crue, and it all started unraveling. NIKKI SIXX
has been lying to people about rock'n'roll for so long now, setting such an
unforgivable example, many dupes are under the mistaken impression that
Kid Rock actually rocks. Opportunist frauds like NIKKI SIXX
have been misleading sad fools everywhere, for so long now, it's hard to
believe he's the same guy who wrote their early songs. "Theatre Of
Pain". Nikki and the boys just have no shame, do they?
Rock'n'roll's powerful stuff, and these soulless dicks just never lived up
to the responsibility. They never seemed to grow, they're STILL
flat-lining, punching hookers, chasing fads with their homeboy-Kangols and
pandering, hip-hop and grunge excursions, selling their home-porn on-line,
kids drowning in their pools, hangin' tough with Justin Timberlake
and Pink and the gang, AND they're still CAPITALIZING $$$,
on Vince Neil's auto accident-that permanently injured two innocent
human beings, AND snuffed out the life of an admittedly reckless,
himself, 24 year old HANOI ROCKS drummer, Nicholas "Razzle" Dingley,
whose enthusiastic life (and needless death) impacted many, many others
forever. These tattooed millionaire, shit-for-brains hard-ons just dunno how
NOT to be completely despicable, low-life cretins, only ever out for
themselves, unabashedly PROUD to have left a trail of carnage, death
and devastating heartbreak in their wake. Ruthless, never-ending,
territorial pissing-contests, "All In The Name of Rock'n'roll." They fucked
it all up good, didn't they? Thanks again, you rock'n'roll junkieeeeeeezzzz!
"BUT THEY WERE HOLLYWOOD VAMPIRES, BANGIN' STRIPPERS, DUDE, AND KICKIN'
ASS ON THE WILD SIDE, MANNN!! YOU EVER SEE THE HOME VIDEO WHERE T-BONE AND
VINCE ARE LIKE, BANGIN' THOSE CHICKS IN THE LIMOUSINE HOT TUB, AND TOMMY LEE
TURNS TO THE CAMERA AND SAYS, 'WE MIGHT WEAR MAKE-UP BUT WE'LL STILL KICK
YOUR ASS!' THAT'S LIKE ME, TOO-DUDES, THAT'S WHAT ROCK'N'ROLL IS ALL ABOUT,
MAN."
I
still kinda doubt these too rich to be good, obliviously-insulated skumbags
have any real idea what a violent, redneck fantasy-validating effect they've
had on Middle America, with all their murdered girlfriend power ballads and
thoughtless, unremorseful behaviors--all lovingly embellished in their
best-selling autobiography. The unfortunate influence they've had on all the
arson-inclined, wife-beating, Beavis and Butt-headed, real-life stoner hicks
and Jerry Springer show watchers of this world---or do they? That
DOES seem to be their target audience, the trailer-park, or former
highschool wrestling team, Jerry Springer crowd, but TRACII GUNS
unconsciously understands the fantasy-validating power of the archetypal
image MOTLEY CRUE once tapped into, cos he's practically still ONE
of those gooney Sixx wanna-be tough guy/tragically misled
followers-- and maybe that's what millionaire king of sleaze, Nikki Sixx,
means when he refers to his and Tracii's soul patched and Orgy-coiffed,
daterape-metal and watered-down industrial bandwagon-fumes huffing new
group, THE BRIDES OF DESTRUCTION, as "underdogs", he thinks they're
still somehow down and out victims, ever since GUNS 'N' ROSES came
along and pushed them from the king of the hill stature they enjoyed in
their tinsel years. That routinely continues to make me sick, y'know, how
the powerful always insist on also portraying themselves as powerless
victims---even the war malefactors and Rush Limbaughs and Ann
Coulters and Dick Cheneys and Martha Stewarts and
Enrons and O.J.'s and special interests and oil corporations and
gangsta rappers and pharmaceutical companies cast themselves an under-dogs
in the Toby Keith "Angry American" era. Every last millionaire, or
millionaire son, every single private school-groomed poseur, who's never
wanted for anything, who's never been authentically hungry or cold, or gone
without for one moment, when it was not a conscious choice, a pre-planned
adventure, with a waiting safety net, they ALL seem to blindly,
compulsively cast themselves--simultaneously--as loser outsiders. Outcast
underdogs. They all want to BE everything, and HAVE
everything, at the same time, both perpetrator and prey. Both villain and
victim. Eternal Winner AND beautiful loser. All at the same
time. Right now, more than ever, the macro is the micro. All the young punks
digging gold from rock'n'roll, who grab the mic to tell ya that they'll die
before they're old, seem to give a fuck about nowadays are new boots and
contracts, and to always be in the spot-light at the center of everyone's
attention. They never heard a word Joe Strummer said. If all you
liked about the CLASH were the hair-do's and costumes, why didn't you
just join the marines?
I
saw THE STROKES on Conan O'Brien last night. They were
musically great, but that's what TEN MILLION DOLLARS SEED MONEY WILL BUY
YOU. Their poncey singer's trying so fuckin' hard to come off all
tortured about something, because he imagines that it would be neat if he
was. He'd finally have a problem, meaning he could then get- even more
attention. NEW RULE: IF YOU CURRENTLY OWN MORE THAN THREE PAIRS OF
CREEPERS, OR 100 CD'S, STOP YOUR FUCKING SOBBING. If you got both a warm
place to lay your head, and a disposable income, and you're still
angry as hell and you don't really know why, except it's just not enough,
try thinking about someone other than yourself. There's plenty here for
everyone. Don't worry so much about always winning and maintaining your
tormented-artiste rockstar image, and your current press-release, and ask
yourself what you could maybe do, that wouldn't kill you, to help someone
less fortunate, shit- you could end up having a real relationship, where
honest discourse was eventually being exchanged. You could end up with a
friendship that wasn't based solely on a gratuitously insincere
bartering-system, exchange of commodities. Even you, Nikkis- just as
an experiment, I double dog dare you to count your blessings, just take one
minute, to look around and be thankful for what you have, before you go back
to worrying about how to prevent others from ever acquiring anything, and
throwing your absolute hissy-fit whenever someone else is finally gettin'
some air-time...If you have cable, and beer and food in the fridge, and you
buy shit off E-Bay, you're fortunate, you're blessed, try acknowledging how
lucky you are to be alive, and healthy, amidst all of your elaborate piles
of acquisitions, and just try to quit your petty bitching for 5
minutes. You
can do it. I believe in ya! If you have so much privilege and money and
access and comfort and opportunity and free time on your hands, that your
biggest worry becomes which people aren't willing to pretend to believe
you're also some kind of pained, tortured outlaw, Nikki, fuckin' shut
the fuck up man. We used to call 'em poseurs. PEOPLE ARE SUFFERING
TONIGHT FOR REAL, brothers and sisters, a lot of serious shit is at
stake here, a lot of people won't get no supper tonight- and if the coolest
response you can ever think to have is to turn it all into some kind of
joke, so you can immediately get back to all your fucking whining about how
you still don't have every last little thing your black lil' heart desires,
from all quarters, at all times, and even if you did, it would never be
nearly enough, cos in your preeningly narcissistic fantasy, you still
imagine, if you had to ever sleep outdoors, or EVER go without
something, or suffer from any REAL hardship, or loss, or affliction,
or actual trauma, that would somehow net you--even more attention. I
occasionally still have to hear about fuckers like SIXX, who are so
oblivious to how blessed their lives are, sitting on top of vast
collections, just piles, and piles, and piles of privilege and toys, and
whatever they want, who are so delusional, whose egos are so
out-of-proportion, they're actually threatened that if somebody gives a bum
a bowl of soup, a weird panic overtakes 'em--goddammit, that's a bowl of
soup that THEY shoulda had coming, they wanted that bowl of soup, they
deserve it more. It's the All-American ME SHOW, broadcasting 24 hours
a day. Can we talk about ME some more? What persona do you think I
should wear today? All these Anna-Nichole Smith types, thinking to
themselves, "I'm such a fucking underdog". I NEED ALL THE ATTENTION,
EVERY RESOURCE, EVERYBODY'S EVERY LAST DIME, AT ALL TIMES, AND ALL THE
CREDIT & GLORY FOREVER BECAUSE I'M--- ME, ME, ME! Nikki Sixx
wants to be Jessica Simpson. I've heard pathetic tales of people
like NIKKI SIXX, here, whose hyper-exaggerated sense of ennui and
Paris Hilton-like, TV-fed, Redbull Unrest are so appallingly advanced
that they even apparently experience, `like, ADDICTION ENVY. They get
jealous when somebody actually IS suffering, or hurt, or fucked-up
grieving, in some halfway-house somewhere. They find out that somebody has a
real problem, and they're so fuckin' nuts with this bizarre Little Lord
Fauntleroy Complex, they even demand that their Daddy go buy them that
problem RIGHT NOW. The other kids should never be allowed to have any
sort of space at all. Let them eat shit! IT'S ALL FOR ME! MINE,MINE,MINE!
These other bastards have no right to exist, unless they're propping up me
and MY little ego-trip, I just want what anyone else ever seems to
have, to add to my growing piles and piles and piles that I keep
shit-hoarding and lording over, refusing to ever share with anyone who won't
suck my dick, even as I wonder WHY it's lonesome here, and there's no
one left to torture. No, you really don't, kids, believe me. The grass ain't
always as green on the other side as you might think. Just take some deep
breaths, go drink some water, buy some more new CD's on-line with your
credit-cards, but please, please, please, give the obsessive, short-sighted
competition a rest. NIKKI was WRONG. NIKKI'S a
miserable and fucked up dude. Unfortunately, for all of us, jealousy and
greed and competition are now perceived as virtues in Bush's America.
Not only do these George W. Bush brats not appreciate whatever access
and choices they already have inherited freely from their upper-class
families of origin, $$$$$$, but their grotesque, over-reaching sense of
entitlement also compulsively drives them to want whatever you got, too, no
matter how far down the scale you actually are, they don't care, they just
have to take something from you, deny you somehow, chump you, with-hold
opportunities, cause more harm, shut you out, compete, "WIN". They
want their cake AND to eat your heart out and absorb your spirit like
Tecumseh, AND BE THE UNDERDOG, too. Nikki Sixx
is a prime example of this. He might not have been born to privilege
like the Strokes, but he's been so indulged, gone so completely
unchecked, for so long now, he has less-than-zero perspective anymore. I
wanna play him that WANDERERS song, "SOLD YOUR SOUL FOR FAME",
cos he's out of his mind with the over-reaching Neil Bush-like,
grotesque sense of entitlement. He wants it both ways, always: Tuff, Hard
Drinkin', Asskickin' Badass/Misunderstood Fragile Little Artiste. Stripper
Sodomizing He-Man Superstud/Sad Victim. Crass, Cut-throat Capitalist
Model-Fucking Millionaire Rockstar/Somehow Still Wounded And Deprived
Underdog. YAWN. When he refers to himself and Tracii Guns' new
band, BRIDES OF DESTRUCTION, as "underdogs", it's only cos he knows
his style of music isn't as popular anymore as the Strokes or The
Hives or rap or Britney and Limp Bizkit, or whoever gets
shoved down your throats on cable nowadays, and that is just manifestly
unacceptable to his bloated little-boy-you rockstar ego. He still
expects to be Madonna. He wants to compete with Eminem. Why
didn't HE get to fuck "Demi Moore"? Wahhh.
What he really means when he constantly refers to his new band as underdogs,
is that he went out of his way to discover an unknown singer, predictably
stage-named , London LaGrande, so he can reenact his old club-days
sexual-misadventures, and early struggles, while simultaneously indulging in
every conceivable advantage; is that both him and his goofy side-kick,
TRACII GUNS, will always sort of be connected, in THEIR deluded
fantasies, to their white trash, carpet-laying, on-probation, minimum-wage
earning, DIDN'T get away with everything audience---even as they
impregnate artificial-breasted, super models in mansions on the beach, and
peddle vanity-lines of cheesy skateboard clothing, and drive-around Malibu
in souped-up classic cars... because, well...they still aren't very smart,
y'know? They probably really could still relate, somewhat, to the misguided
aggression and HOOTERS preoccupations of the hatefully racist,
hopelessly-programmed, gun-totin', rah-rah, war-mongering, blue collar grits
I've had to work with, in spite of their "DECADENT" self-obsessed
life-styles of glorified waste and privilege. "Sensitive underdog", NIKKI
SIXX, just called that box-set or whatever, "Music To Crash Your Car
To."
Fuck that guy. Weren't the other two people----besides Razzle (R.I.P),
permanently injured in Vince's accident? How do you think that makes
THEIR families feel? Nikki's STILL cashing in, not only still
capitalizing on Vince's fucked-up accident, by selling books, where Vince is
STILL (when not busy punching hookers) bragging about how the
correction's officers brought him prostitutes and beer IN JAIL, but
by offensively trying to drum up more press and controversy by calling his
box-set that, always signaling to his world-wide retard fan-base how cool it
is to hurt people---as long as you're getting away with it?!!! That's why
I've always seen the Crude as being more like bullying,
jar-headed jock-straps than outcast, underdog-rockers. When have they ever
done anything to help anybody but themselves? They're essentially
spoilt-brat, dim-witted predators, pompously self-important con-artists,
who've made careers out of sensationalizing cruelty and exploitation,
trading on other people's tears, and forever demanding to have their egos
fed some more. KING BABIES. That's one of the strangest things about
these times. All the jocks and rich kids think THEY ARE rockers.
UNDERDOGS! They just wanna occupy every space at once. They even have to
have what the have-nots had, and they're willing to go to any length to
sabotage anyone else's remote dream.
Yeah, I still love a couple songs from those first two Motley Crue
albums, but you can't shit on people like that-all the time forever, keep
bragging about how cool it is, as long as you're rich and powerful enough to
keep getting away with it-- AND be an UNDERDOG at the same
time, you dumb, rich, motherfucker. Aw, Well... I digress...Before fortunate
son fratboy dickweeds like the Beastie Boys or Limp Bizquik;
or trust-funded, actress-shtuppers, Albert Jr. & Frabrizio, or
whoever, were sending all the wrong messages to the masses and perpetuating
the same ol', same ol' good ol' boy, elitist hypocrisies of the status quo,
confusing everyone about what rock'n'roll is, it was Nikki Sixx and
Motley Crue, who were the original progenitors of rock's sad
decline, but that's a lot to put on poor underdog, Nikki's weary, polka-dot
shoulder-padded shoulders. So let's acknowledge the influence Gene
Simmons had on him, and trace the whole cash-in on your grandma,
ruthless exploitation-disguised-as-rebellious-rock'n'roll trend back to him.
I'm sure HE won't mind.
Do you know how it feels to be UN-wanted?
Go buy another skateboard at:
motleycrue.com
Vince VS. Mr. T
Yo, MTV CRIBS, DAWG!
Tommy Lee
Tribute to Nicholas "RAZZLE" Dingley
This is what
ROCK'N'ROLL SOUNDS LIKE.
-Pepsi Sheen
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