In desperation for something new, I bought the second Imperial State Electric CD Pop War. (Was hoping against hope I might find something good in the proposed “Remnants Review Top Albums From 2014” but that never materialized.)
This is guitarist-drummer-singer-songwriter-who-needs-no-explanation-at-this-point Nicke Andersson’s current project on his lifelong quest to eventually morph from pick-a-guy-in-Slayer to Paul McCartney. I bought the first album about a year ago and it’s OK. This is OK too. I think there’s one left. I’ll bet it’s OK.
I post this song because it’s so Cheap Trick even Lawr might like it. This live version is a little rougher than the studio version, but it at least gives us something to watch. Plus I know Peter likes looking at his idol Nicke.
Dregen (the guy who looks kind of like Nikki Sixx) was an important part of the early Hellacopters, the best Hellacopters. Somewhere along the line, Dregen split for the Backyard Babies. I don’t know exactly why this happened and it’s a great mystery to me.
Whereas BB is nothing but a big dog and pony show (dig all the tattoos and weird hairstyles, man), disguising a mostly poppy, dare I say almost hair-metally pile of mush, The Hellas were always the real deal (even post-Dregen).
Why would ol’ Dregen wanna leave The Hellacopters for the vastly inferior Backyard Babies?
Honestly, one of the biggest problems I have with Pandora is it has always tried feeding me the Backyard Babies and, again, you can’t fool me. I know the difference.
Compare BB’s version of “Star War” (probably the best BB song I’ve ever heard):
to the pumped, locked and loaded version by Supershit 666 (half of the Hellas, with Nicke and Dregen, so this counts). S666 even had the courtesy to call this “Star War Jr.” which is ridiculous. Feel free to do the boogie-woogie:
I’m late to the party here, but your Nixon/Bowie conflict the other day reminded me of this Ism gem. Who thought Ism’s A Diet For The Worms (this wasn’t on it) was a great punk album? I did. I’m sure Lawr didn’t.
You figure out the words. The studio version is no more comprehensible.
Spent my last bullet and got the only Graveyard album I didn’t own yet, Lights Out. This song makes me wanna do the boogie-woogie.
(This video doesn’t even get the song title correct, but the pictures are more fun than looking at the album cover for five minutes. Dig that Richie Blackmore mini-solo at 2:30.)
We went out to dinner with my friend Stephen Clayton, and his wife Karen last night (it was Stephen’s 63rd birthday).
While we were waiting to be seated, and after smooching howdy to one another, of course we all checked our phones for messages and other errata.
I happened to have my iPhone open to the Remnants site, and up popped the clip of KISS below, posted by Steve, I guess in defense of a bad band he loved when he had braces on his teeth.
Steve noted that we should, “be prepared to be blown away” (or some like quasi pithy comment), that Flip Wilson’s (the host) outfit was awesome (yawn) and that Joni Mitchell could stick this “up her cootch.”
Aside from that fact that anything in life would only be made better after swimming around in Joni’s vagina, irrespective of her age, I did watch this, with Stephen (with whom I saw KISS in 1979, as I think I have mentioned before).
I can understand 14-year olds being enamored. In fact, aside from the fact that I did take some great photos of the band, there was nothing else I left with other than they were at best a ho-hum group, who did indeed pander to 14-year olds (girls, Steve, even) who would be lost without their make-up (ok, maybe not lost: maybe never even found).
This clip re-affirms it. Aside from some very nice rhythm chords leading into the solo in Deuce, this performance is as meandering and uninspired and tired as it gets. Like the band, who are indeed tight, but neither particularly clean, nor smart let alone original (ooh, make-up, how clever, tell Alice Cooper to try it, and ooh, windmill guitar, maybe Keef could try that and show it to Pete Townshend, and ooh, choreographed guitar dance steps, maybe Paul Revere and the Raiders could pick up on that one).
I have to say I feel the same about Slade, who wore the same stupid shoes, but who were also a completely one-dimensional band in my view.
I get we all have our adolescent loves (I dug the Moody Blues, and still love the Who and the Kinks as much now as I did in 1968), but to suggest this stuff is better than Green Day (I will accept both being equally vapid, but the truth is, I like Green Day and their poppy-punky stuff, which at least sounds crisp, and does whine about teen angst, an essential to rock’n’roll) is just stupid. Like KISS
Anyway, as I concocted a response to the post to put here this morning, the clip (which was called “Breakfast Abortion”) mysteriously disappeared. Knowing Peter, I doubt he cut it because of any form of censorship.
So, I can only imagine Steve thought twice, and yanked it himself (el cajones minora, Steve?).
Truth is, it is more than fine with me to like this shit. As is liking Slade and Hellacopters and Turbonegro and a bunch of loud run of the mill working bands who basically play straight ahead three chord rock. I mean, I like Green Day and the Who and U2, and Joni Mitchell and have never claimed my taste was anything other than things I personally liked anyway.
But, please don’t suggest this stuff is better than much aside from Spirit in the Sky, In the Year 2525, or Incense and Peppermints.
I hate this theme stuff as I also hate the “Breakfast Blend” “Lunch Snack” “Dinner Schminner” nonsense at this point as well. All reminds me of some lame-o radio station’s ideas of “fun.”
