Joe (Did I Make the Deadline?) Fernbacher, Creem, 7/88
Ampheti-metal is all well and good, and it’s great to see real teenagers once again highballing their way across the sonic-tundras of fabled teenage wastelands, but too much of the same thing tends to stretch the rubber band a bit thin--especially when you're my age and so close to rock senility. So it is with little difficulty and some wistful sighing that I suck on the 10 pound ’lude-ring I bought back in ’73 and lie back in my low-rent wikiup down on the edge of lonely street and serve up some good, old-fashioned muzzy-headed accu-metal that’s lower in velocity and somewhat more refined in decibels...yet still, y’know, warm and violent.
AC/DC have long been a fave of mine, especially in those bygone dog days of Romilar ’n’ Bud carnivals, when metal was more blues-oriented than buzz-oriented. And, as the song goes, they’ve certainly come up the years in a lot better shape (excluding Bon Scott) than me. This all being evidenced with ball-peen hammer to the balls certainly on the latest, and perhaps greatest, Blow Up Your Video.
First off, what a noble sentiment, that title; an act of retribution I’m sure a lot of us would like to do. Excuse me, I just lit three M-80s and stuck ’em in the front loader...ahahhahhaha...now where’s that Kevin (This Guy’s GOTTA Die) Seals and...
“That The Way I Wanna Rock ’N’ Roll” is the song this vid-sentiment emanates from and it’s a blistering homage to the sonic-paganism that reiterates the concept of noise without eyes. Face it: it’s much more fun to cranially envision the cosmic noisestomp of Angus Young as he takes his shamanistic walkabout through the backstreets of rhythm than have it fed to you, like some invisible milk-ray, through the glass teat of your Trinitron.
After “Rock ’N’ Roll,” the boys sit back, down a few loud, slurping golden throat charmers, and hit the groove that is theirs and theirs alone. “Meanstreak” hits your ears like a ’Roo hitting a truck, “Go Zone” is quintessential AC/DC and “Kissin’ Dynamite” is dangerous, if not good fun. Side two comes whiffling at ya like a Volkswagen-sized boomerang with “Some Sin For Nuthin” and “Ruff Stuff,” both crunchers of anthemic proportions. “This Means War” is like having Ayers Rock dropped on your left testicle while being forced to watch yet another “charming” interview with Paul Hogan and is without a doubt as much an AC/DC classic as “Who Made Who” and “For Those About To Rock,” which just might be my closet fave of faves because it’s so...y’know, gladitorial.
“Blow Up Your Video” (which I just did, and it felt WONDERFUL) is primal metal screaming in the outbacks of your mind and AC/DC at their finest. By the way, it was produced by Vanda and Young, who used to be the Easybeats...had to throw in a 60s reference ’cause that’s hip these days...just wait ’til it’s hip to throw in those disco references. Then it’ll be time to give up the ghost.
Speaking of giving up the ghost, is Ted Nugent actually serious about still making records? I’d’ve thought he’d be starring in Tour Of Duty or Wiseguy by now, or some other TV-com too intense to watch, especially after his stint as little Mr. Dangerous on Miami Vice.
But to answer the question posed, I guess Ted really is still serious about making records. Ergo, If You Can’t Lick ’Em...Lick ’Em, an unspectacular yet efficient dip into Ted’s bottomless vortex of noisesome ramblings. The thing you gotta remember about Nugent records is that: (a) Ted’s forgotten more riffs, licks and noise than most current metalkhansters would ever hope to learn, (b) You don’t go into a Nugent LP expecting the lyrical outpourings of a Dylan or Springsteen, and (c) Ted can’t sing, shouldn’t sing, and, unfortunately, sings. He should just zip his lip and let his guitar do the talking.
Point (c) is a major moan on this LP. Ted sings and all it does is distract and annoy. When he doesn’t sing, what we have is a pretty solid exercise in machometalmisogyny, if a bit dated and slightly out of touch with current metaltudinizing.
Side one just sort of lopes along like a dog with mange lookin’ for a bullet. It only lifts its leg on the title song, which is inherently goofy but survives long enough to be OK, and “She Drives Me Crazy,” which is what young, teenaged girls do to us guys hitting the launch pads of middle-age.
Side two is, on the other hand, vintage Nuge. “Spread Your Wings,” is, of course, Ted’s paganized version of that lilting homage to archaic planet love, “Little Wing,” even down to the Hendrix-tinged rhythm chords and ethereal leads. It’s the best thing on the LP, whether by inspiration or intent. I guess even predators have to sing the blues, especially when meat and trophies are scarce.
“The Harder They Come (The Harder I Get)” is well, Ted, showing a little sign of being that 80s man we all know lurks inside us, and I do mean all of us. On this Nugetoon he actually acknowledges the female orgasm--what next, Ted Nugent surrenders blazing G-chord for a dripping G-spot? Naw--never freekin’ happen.
The next three songs kinda blend together, but hold the same pose. “Separate The Men From The Boys, Please” is femacho strutting, “Bite The Hand” is blue-collar cock swinging down at the local bar, and “That’s The Story Of Love” is a tongue-in-cheek answer to the wild call of manliness Ted pisses out on “If You Can’t Lick ’Em...Lick ’Em.”
My last comment on this...hey, Ted, get hip, hire Sam Kinison as your lead singer--now that would be interesting. Which is something, ultimately, that this latest record just isn’t.
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