Book Review: The Stooges Head On

Book Review: The Stooges Head On
Author: Brett Callwood
Wayne State University Press, Painted Turtle
All Access Review:  B+



Sorting through The Stooges’ trash to dig up whatever dirt is left to uncover about the Ann Arbor proto-punks has become a sort of blood sport with rock journalists. By now, though, it would seem that every lurid tale of debauchery and mayhem involving Iggy Pop and the boys — especially, Iggy — has been told and retold to the point where nothing’s shocking with them. 

The whole ugly, unvarnished truth has been exposed, and if there is more out there hidden by the fog of time and fading memories, it probably wouldn't add much to a mangy mythology built on The Stooges' violent appetite for self-destruction. With the heart of a fan, then, author Brett Callwood, who is familiar with the terrain having written about the MC5, smartly rises above the fray with “The Stooges: Head On,” preferring to tell the band’s story without a great reliance on sensationalism, and that's to be celebrated. 

And it is The Stooges’ story that Callwood sticks to. This is not a band biography masquerading as an Iggy tell-all. In fact, Iggy’s part in this tragic-comedy is muted in Callwood’s book. Relying heavily on in-depth, and often very funny and insightful, interviews with both Asheton brothers, Ron doing his before he died in 2009, and all the other Stooges, including Iggy, James Williamson, Steve McKay, Mike Watt and Scott Thurston, Callwood paints a broad, graffiti-splashed mural that encompasses the band’s entire history without getting bogged down in unnecessary details. Other offbeat characters, underground journalists and Detroit-area musical revolutionaries, like the MC5’s Dennis Thompson make sure the weirdness never ends.

In drawing and developing fully realized portraits of each Stooge, Callwood doesn’t play favorites. His solid, substantive writing humanizes and spotlights every character in The Stooges’ epic, giving them all equal time. Callwood’s interest in The Stooges is undeniably genuine, as he dissects the recorded violent they put on wax and walks through the fists-flying riots they spawned in concert. He traces The Stooges' origins in bleak, rusted-out Michigan and follows each band member's life prior to The Stooges on through the band’s 1970s implosion and all the way through the post-millennial reunions. Of particular interest is the thorough excavation of Ron Asheton's musical adventures in Destroy All Monsters and the New Order, the post-Stooges' groups that he took part in to fill the void in the wake of the breakup. Perhaps no other Stooges' book has paid more attention to Ron, including the deep disappointment he felt in being replaced by Williamson on guitar for Raw Power.

While there is much to digest here, Callwood organizes the book in a free-flowing fashion that makes it an easy read. Much of the content is delivered in long, well-chosen quotes that, when pieced together with Callwood's light transitional touch, carry the story along like a fast-moving river current. A black-and-white photo section in the book's midsection seems like a dysfunctional family album, one awash in the white-trash environs that birthed the Stooges. And, even though Callwood doesn't dwell on the scary chaos that surrounded the band, he doesn't run from it either. There's enough violence, hilariously mean pranks and borderline insanity to fix any reader who comes looking for it. 

- Peter Lindblad

DVD Review: Ozzy Osbourne "God Bless Ozzy Osbourne"

DVD Review: Ozzy Osbourne "God Bless Ozzy Osbourne"
Eagle Vision
All Access Review:  A+


In retrospect, that bubbly, tongue-in-cheek lounge version of “Crazy Train” – served with off-the-charts levels of irony – that became the theme of “The Osbournes” reality TV show wound up being more telling than its creator, Lewis Lamedica, perhaps intended. His speech largely unintelligible, except for the omnipresent swearing, Osbourne seemed to have difficulty mastering the simplest of everyday, domestic tasks, a fact borne out by the famous scenes of him befuddled by that dastardly TV remote. 

This was heavy metal’s crowned “prince of darkness”? This was the man regarded by God-fearing, Bible thumpers as evil incarnate? Surely, Satan had more capable henchmen to do his bidding. At home, everybody was laughing at the bumbling, semi-coherent mess train wreck they watched from their living rooms, making light of a family’s seemingly benign dysfunction. What they didn’t know was that, behind the scenes, Ozzy – as well as two of his children, Jack and Kelly – was a drunk and a drug addict seriously in need of help. Ozzy was going off the rails. 

In truth, Osbourne has always been more of a court jester than a powerful master of the dark arts. And like most clowns, underneath the greasepaint, there was sadness, crippling insecurity and a deeply flawed human being who needed to be the life of the party. His son, Jack, has seen Ozzy at his worst, and he produced the warts-and-all documentary “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne,” an unflinchingly honest portrayal of Ozzy’s wild life and times that pulls no punches in telling the whole unvarnished truth. And those who come to “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” with a mighty thirst for tales of rock and roll excess and debauchery shall be sated. Black Sabbath’s Geezer Butler talks about the bags of cocaine the band had at its disposal after its early brush with success, while Motley Crue’s Tommy Lee relates the revoltingly funny stories of how Ozzy, in a game of one-upmanship, once licked up Nikki Sixx’s pee and snorted lines of ants before regaling us with another that has Ozzy smearing his own feces over a tour bus’s walls. 

But, Ozzy is, for the most part, the main storyteller here, and before launching into confessionals of his less-than-stellar parenting skills, the film details Ozzy’s failed teenage criminal enterprises, his troubled working-class upbringing, Sabbath’s rise and fall, his unexpected rebirth as a solo artist and the emotional torture he experienced after the death of his musical soul mate Randy Rhoads. All of this is well-traveled territory, of course, but it is skillfully and compelling traversed in “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne.” When Ozzy and Sharon, once again, are prompted to explain how, in a fit of drug-addled madness, he came to bite the head off a dove during a pow-wow with record label executives, they hold nothing back, and the filmmakers follow it up with a nicely edited montage of hilariously clueless TV news reports about Ozzy coming to their town to slaughter cats during a concert and, predictably, the bat-biting incident. Directors Mike Fleiss and Mike Piscitelli, with Jack’s help, are no slouches when it comes to crafting a visual biography – the endless stream of black-and-white home-life stills, Ozzy party shots, vintage interview and Sabbath and Ozzy concert video pieced together so cleverly that it all just flows from the screen. The vast amount of interviews done with Sabbath cronies Tony Iommi and Bill Ward, plus sit-downs with Henry Rollins and others in Ozzy’s inner circle, flesh out the story, as does the footage culled from two years spent following Ozzy on the road. 

If that was all to “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” – there are plenty of extra scenes from the cutting room floor included in this DVD, plus an in-depth Q&A with Jack and Ozzy – it would fall just short of expectations, but this isn’t so much about Ozzy the rock star as it is about Ozzy the damaged addict, still reeling from the deaths of his beloved father and Rhoads and unable, or perhaps unwilling, to salvage his first marriage or establish much of a relationship with the two children it spawned. This is about repairing the devastation wrought by Ozzy’s almost inhuman substance abuse and how Jack’s sobriety became the model by which Ozzy would get clean himself. There’s a clip where Kelly, while admitting her own drug abuse, explains how she found her daddy’s stash of booze in the oven at the family home, and it illustrates just how far Ozzy had fallen and how chaotic the Osbournes’ family life really was. But, this is a story of redemption, and Ozzy’s moment of clarity does come. When the exasperated rock god relates how he asked Jack how he could be so angry when he and Kelly and Aimee, the one Osbourne with enough self-respect not to participate in the circus that was “The Osbournes,” wanted for nothing, Jack responded by saying that maybe he had lacked a father. That, Ozzy reveals, was the catalyst for his rehabilitation. In the end, there is a faraway shot of Ozzy in his dressing room bowing to his knees to pray. It’s a poignant moment, one that engenders a great deal of sympathy for this particular devil. 

-            Peter Lindblad

Ozzy's Official Website: http://www.ozzy.com/us/home

CD Review: John Doe "Keeper"

CD Review: John Doe "Keeper"
Yep Roc
All Access Review:  C


Old punks like John Doe aren’t exactly expected to be little rays of sunshine and happiness. Doe’s last four records saw the grizzled veteran probing the darker aspects of human behavior with the eye of a black-hearted cynic. And as one of the driving forces behind X, those feverish, Americana-loving punk desperadoes that reigned as L.A. underground royalty in the late 1980s, Doe shone a flashlight on the corrosive desperation and fear bubbling up under the fragile façade of Ronald Reagan’s “morning in America” in raw, fierce, tension-filled songs like “Johny Hit and Run Paulene” and “The Phone’s Off The Hook, But You’re Not.”
With Keeper, his latest solo outing, Doe seems to have found the joy he’s been missing for so long, and it doesn’t take long for him to express it. Deeply romantic and full of heart, the guileless “Don’t Forget How Much I Love You,” the upbeat opener to Keeper, is awash in golden slide guitar and jumping rhythms. It drives headlong into the rolling, energetic romp “Never Enough” and its searing indictment of American consumerism, before Keeper settles down with the acoustic “Little Tiger,” a tender, lovely coming-of-age sketch that pines for the innocence of childhood.
Somewhat uneven and not quite as eloquent or edgy as A Year in the Wilderness, Doe’s critically acclaimed 2007 effort, Keeper really swings when Doe and company pound the keys and let it rip on the rollicking honky-tonk juke joint “Walking out the Door” and “Jump Into My Arms,” a hot nugget of rockabilly fervor that would get Jerry Lee Lewis all worked up. However, the smoky “Moonbeam,” immersed in late-night bluesy atmospherics, sucks the life out of Keeper with its ponderous clumsiness and lack of sexual heat, as does the long, drawn-out “Lucky Penny,” which has all the action and suspense of a blinking traffic light. “Sweetheart” is a country-tinged lightning bug of a song, with a light glow and porch-swing ease, but it’s nothing you haven’t heard before.
All three are pretty and lyrically clever in spots, but what Keeper, as a whole, does is it fails to raise the stakes for Doe. He’s become too comfortable in that role of a smiling, mature country troubadour with the troubled punk past. And some of his songs seem as worn and tired as a middle-aged waitress working in a greasy-spoon diner.
-        Peter Lindblad

CD Review: Slash "Slash Live" Featuring Myles Kennedy

CD Review: Slash "Slash Live" Featuring Myles Kennedy
Made in Stoke 24/7/11
Armoury Records
All Access Review: A-



Slash has always had a soft spot in his Jack Daniels-soaked heart for Stoke on Trent, England. Getting back to the place where he grew up has proven more difficult than the rock god imagined, however. A long way away from the boozy, debauched madness and danger of the Sunset Strip club scene that spawned Guns N’ Roses, Stoke, as it is more commonly referred to, has nowhere near the reputation for hedonism and lawlessness that Slash’s other hometown has. At one time it was an industrial city, and it still boasts a booming pottery business. Well, maybe “booming” isn’t the right word, but you get the idea: this is a town that rock ‘n’ roll forgot. If “Mr. Brownstone” ever visited, he’d die of boredom.

Touring the world over, in marauding fashion, with Guns N’ Roses, Velvet Revolver and his own solo projects, Slash, the sleaziest of sleaze-rock merchants – and that’s a compliment, by the way – has never had the chance to perform his special brand of gritty, street-level, electrified blues and bare-knuckled, STD-infected hard rock for the home folks in Stoke. When hitting the road in support of his all-star studded, 2010 solo release Slash, one of the most expressive and technically proficient guitarists of our time made damn sure Stoke was on the schedule. And, as luck would have it, there was a big, ornate venue – historic Victoria Hall – waiting to welcome Slash’s rock ‘n’ roll circus to town.

Recorded and filmed for posterity, the sold-out show, which took place only months ago, has been documented as a double CD and a two CD-DVD package, and it’s a feast for the eyes and ears. The sound is intensely vivid, matching the visceral performance Slash and company pull out of that grimy black top hat of his. The secret weapon here is vocalist Myles Kennedy, the Alter Bridge singer whose alley-cat phrasing and switchblade tonality bear more than a passing resemblance to one Axl Rose. Joined by bassist/backing vocalist Todd Kerns, drummer Brent Fitz and guitarist/support vocalist Bobby Schneck, Kennedy and Slash take the audience down memory lane, evoking memories of Guns N’ Roses’ salad days with a roaring, white-hot version of “Nightrain” that’s as thrilling and scary as a night of horrors in a crack house. Slash’s guitar has never sounded so lean and mean, spitting venom and bile with every note, and his band slithers through every tight, sharp-as-broken-glass hook. Played with wild abandon and dynamic vigor, “Nightrain” leaves the audience breathless, and it almost ruins Made in Stoke 24/7/11 for everything else that comes after it because it is so gripping and deliciously nasty. But, hold on everyone. Slash and his band have miles to go before they call it quits.

One of a handful of Guns N’ Roses favorites on Made in Stoke 24/7/11, “Nightrain” almost makes one forget how rugged and soulful the riff-heavy opener, “Been There Lately,” off Slash’s Snakepit’s second LP, Ain’t Life Grand, is. It pops the cork on Made in Stoke 24/7/11 so dramatically that you can’t help but salivate over what’s to come. And Slash still has plenty of gasoline left in the tank by the time the meaty riffs of “Mean Bone,” also off Ain’t Life Grand, and the solar-powered soul of “Back from Cali,” picked from his latest effort, arrive. Digging back into Guns N’ Roses’ misanthropic catalog, Disc 1 lets it bleed with a rough-and-ready “Rocket Queen” setting up the raging epic “Civil War,” before the bands lays into “Nothing To Say,” “Starlight” and “Promise” – all from Slash – with relish and stabs swords into this mighty sonic bull to finish it off.

Not done by a long shot, Slash and his musical outlaws inject the heart of “Doctor Alibi” with a shot of adrenaline to jumpstart Disc 2, and the track off Slash slams headlong into the growling thrash- metal monster “Speed Parade” that lies in wait. Given the Aerosmith treatment, with its slide guitar and Kennedy’s world-wise singing, “Beggars & Hangers On” plays with the toys in Joe Perry’s attic, while “Patience” breaks tattooed hearts and “Sweet Child O’ Mine” pines for innocence with a revitalized crowd loudly singing along. Still, it’s Velvet Revolver’s “Slither” that steals the show on a Disc 2 that’s slightly more subdued than its predecessor. After the band is introduced, they rip into a powerful display of furious riffage and satisfying, face-down-in-the-gutter hooks that ignites an audience on the verge of storming the stage. And that’s before the blistering “Paradise City” threatens to blow the roof off the place with that song’s riotous conclusion, giving Slash and the boys a chance to finally take their leave.

Though there are brief moments when the driven, manic energy subsides, Made in Stoke 24/7/11 is mostly an all-out assault of fearless, gutsy rock ‘n’ roll. Slash’s solos are piercing, transcendent and wonderfully agile, proving once again that his hands haven’t lost a lick of speed or nimbleness. He remains a sublime talent, and Made in Stock 24/7/11 is a homecoming not only for Slash, but also those fans of his who haven’t given up hope that, one day, he’ll be back to conquer a music world that desperately needs his fire and recklessness, even if he is clean and sober and no longer the wild poster child of sin and degradation we all wanted to party with back in the day.  

-          Peter Lindblad


  

CD Review: Megadeth "Peace Sells...But Who's Buying" & "Thirteen"

CD Review: Megadeth "Peace Sells...But Who's Buying"
Capitol Records
All Access Review:  A-


CD Review: Megadeth "Thirteen"
Roadrunner Records
All Access Review: B+


Getting booted from Metallica put Dave Mustaine in a foul mood for … oh, about 30 years. Chip planted firmly on his shoulder, the surly, snarling Viking – practically besotted by alcohol and drug problems – plotted to usurp the crown from thrash metal’s mighty kings when he formed Megadeth around 1983 and he almost succeeded twice. The first attempt at revolution came in 1986, when Megadeth offered heavy metal a deal it couldn’t refuse, the thermonuclear warhead Peace Sells … But Who’s Buying? Four years later, Megadeth brought forth Rust in Peace, and it was a great leap forward for Mustaine and company, what with its mind-bogglingly complex arrangements and sheer musicality. But then, in 1991, came The Black Album and Metallica, in short order, squelched any hope Mustaine had of an insurrection. The throne was firmly in Metallica’s possession, and they weren’t going to share it with anybody.

Flash forward to 2011, and Metallica seems hell-bent on throwing away its career with Lulu, its disastrously bizarre and barely listenable collaboration with Lou Reed. Megadeth, meanwhile, is on a roll. Rumor has it that Megadeth’s performances during the Big 4 tour trampled the competition, including Metallica. As if that weren’t enough to put a weak smile on Mustaine’s face, Peace Sells … But Who’s Buying? has been reissued in celebration of its 25th anniversary, and the treatment it’s been given is worthy of royalty. And then, there’s Thirteen, the well-received new album from Megadeth that finds longtime bassist Dave Ellefson back in the fold. Suddenly, Megadeth again has regime change on its mind.

A remastered version of the original album that packs on sonic vigor and enhanced clarity, this particular species of Peace Sells … But Who’s Buying? attacks with all the unbridled rage of a pack of wild dogs. Exploding out of the gate, with a short, but bad intentioned, burst of drum artillery, “Wake up Dead” is a pummeling jackhammer of a track that, without warning, seamlessly downshifts to navigate a series of tight guitar switchbacks before being swallowed up in a chaotic skirmish of head-spinning guitars, drums and bass, and then joining in a stomping, rhythmic infantry death march. Unrelentingly heavy and more ferocious than ever, Megadeth gallops darkly through “The Conjuring” and the shouting of “Devil’s Island” like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, both tracks seething with menace. The beautifully drawn guitar intro to “Good Mourning/Black Friday,” its etching more pronounced on the reissue, gets blown to bits by aggressive riffing and a blinding speed-metal riot that no cops could quell; it all sounds so violent and yet controlled, as if Mustaine knows just how far to push it before the whole thing will collapse on itself. Somehow managing to come off even meaner and angrier, the ubiquitous “Peace Sells,” with that familiar nimble, rumbling bass line that MTV nicked for the opening of its news slots, finds Mustaine breathing fire and growling with fangs bared. “Peace Sells,” as he writes in the well-written reissue liner notes, “ … was something different … because it told a story about my faith; my beliefs; my distrust of government; my work ethic; my integrity,” and that’s why it connected with an audience as disaffected and marginalized as Mustaine. Peace Sells … But Who’s Buying? not only made Mustaine a guitar hero – his soloing so sharp and precise, and yet completely unpredictable here – but also a messiah for the misanthropic. His is a voice not crying in the wilderness, but rather, it is one that steadfastly and bravely expresses discontent and rebellion. Metallica’s Lars Ulrich’s assessment of Peace Sells … But Who’s Buying? in the liner notes, augmented with a few classic Megadeth photos, is that it was something fresh and new that turned the trash scene on its ear. And the scene still hasn’t recovered.

 In 1987, Megadeth played the Phantasy Theatre in Cleveland. Never before released, the recording of this fiery show is not of the best sound quality – Megadeth seems to have performed in a Campbell’s soup can that night – but the band’s raw energy is undeniable and frightening. In contrast with the album versions, “Wake Up Dead” and “The Conjuring” are brutal street fights of sonic mayhem, Mustaine’s stiletto soloing knifing through the night air. In rare form, Mustaine’s vocals are scratched up and battered, and in a bludgeoning speed-demon killing machine like “Rattlehead,” they sound as if they were made for metal, while “Killing is My Business … And Business Is Good” ratchets up the intensity to unsafe levels. Never taking a breath, Megadeth stampedes through a volcanic set that boasts blazing solos, complex guitar puzzles, and bone-crushing riffs, the disc including furious remakes of “Looking Down the Cross” and “My Last Words,” along with a sped-up “Peace Sells” that’s simply vicious and unapologetically pissed off.

And so, into this boiling cauldron, walks Thirteen, an album that couldn’t possibly live up to Peace Sells … But Who’s Buying? could it? “Sudden Death” doesn’t back down a bit, however, as the opening track – melodic in parts and hard-hitting in others – is whipped around by an awe-inspiring maelstrom of guitars, and “Public Enemy No. 1” is a satisfying and nasty grinding of Mustaine’s boot heel into one’s throat, while the snaking crawl of “Guns, Drugs & Money” seems as deadly as a rattlesnake’s bite.

Thirteen is not plagued by bad luck. It is, instead, a showcase of Megadeth’s ability to shred (as the traditional trash-metal flurry of “Never Dead” proves) and newfound playfulness with melody. Shrouded in mystery and nightmarish atmosphere is “Deadly Nightshade,” which features one of the most fearsome, well-constructed and compelling choruses in the Megadeth canon, and it’s almost as potent a poison as Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” Almost as gothic, “Black Swan” doesn’t quite rise to the same level, it’s “churchyard shadow” not quite so imposing. “Wrecker” also seems to fade away, instead of burning out. But, “Millennium of the Blind” is one of those stinging political diatribes – “We The People” and “New World Order” are others – of Mustaine’s that should rock the foundations of Congress, and “13” reveals another side of him, one that is reflective of the rocky journey he’s walked all his life. Thirteen may not knock Metallica off the mountaintop, but it will add to Megadeth’s street cred – something Metallica, sadly, is losing.

-          Peter Lindblad

CD Review: Lou Reed and Metallica "Lulu"

CD Review: Lou Reed and Metallica "Lulu"
Warner Bros.
All Access Review: D-


Destined to become one of the most controversial albums of all-time, Lulu never had a chance. When news first broke of a Metallica-Lou Reed collaboration, on a record of songs for two plays by German playwright Frank Wedekind no less, critics from here to China were sharpening their knives to mercilessly skewer this pretentious pile of avant-garbage and then toss its bloody carcass into a landfill. No amnesty for past brilliance was promised, nor has it been given. To say the careers of Metallica and Reed are on suicide watch might be overstating the issue, but the reputation of both parties has been irreparably harmed in the making of Lulu. And hardly anybody is feeling sorry for them.

The die was cast as soon as Reed proclaimed Lulu the best work of his career. That declaration alone seemed like the delusional ravings of a once-genius artist gone completely mad. For Metallica’s part, the Bay Area thrash gods haven’t shrunk in the face of heavy criticism either. Lars Ulrich even went on “That Metal Show” and implored people to give it a chance. And they should. They ought to judge it for themselves without the white noise of critics’ drowning out their own thoughts. It is an important work for both, a crossroads record that will either point to a bold new direction that will shock and awe the world, or it’ll be an unmitigated disaster. So, what’s the verdict? Well, let’s put it this way: that therapist from “Some Kind of Monster” might have more work to do on Metallica … and maybe Lou, too.

It’s not lack of ambition that dooms Lulu. The problem has more to do with communication. It’s as if Metallica and Reed are speaking in foreign tongues and neither party understands what the other is trying to convey. Never has Metallica sounded more uncertain of itself, and part of the problem is, nobody knows where Reed is going with his senseless poetry. In a wobbly voice ravaged by age, Reed spits out ridiculously silly lines such as “I would cut my legs and tits off/when I think of Boris Karloff and Kinski/In the dark of the moon” and clumsy rhymes like “It made me dream of Nosferatu/trapped on the Isle of Doctor Moreau” – both from the opener “Brandenburg Gate” – in a spoken-word hemorrhaging that ought to be disinfected and bandaged.

And it’s tricky for Metallica, known for its aggressive, lightning-fast riffing and crashing rhythms, to figure out what mood to set. When Lulu’s first single, “The View,” was released, all you could hear was the chirp of crickets, and there’s a reason. It’s a grim death march from beginning to end, and “Pumping Blood,” with its violent, gory imagery of a rape or a murder, should be filled with tension, rage and desperate energy, but instead, it sounds impotent and mechanical, with Metallica pressing forward tentatively and then pulling back as if James and the boys are waiting for a cue from Reed.

There are moments when it seems as if the real Metallica will rise from the dead and let loose a whirling storm of chords that would trigger tornado warnings. And “Mistress Dread” starts out whipping around with serious intensity, but it just keeps whirling in the same direction and never gathers strength. Where Metallica feels lost at sea on “Mistress Dread,” they try to stage a pop-oriented surprise on “Iced Honey,” and it just might have a chance if not for a laughably disjointed duet between Reed and James Hetfield.

Putting the Disc 1 in the rearview mirror, the partners go for broke on “Frustration,” one of four tracks on Disc 2. Constructing a gargantuan wall of guitar sound and thick grooves that seems to blast upward through cold, dead, droning earth, Metallica appears to have righted the ship. It’s heavy, a thousand yards wide and satisfying, given everything that’s come before it. Then, suddenly, the action comes to an abrupt halt … for these head-scratching, disconnected interludes that interrupt the flow of the piece and let Reed prattle on about male sexual frustration and misogynistic hatred. Quietly muddled, “Little Dog” spends a lot of time mucking about with atonal stabs in the dark, and it seeps into “Dragon,” which could have been just as bloodless. Again, Metallica tries to propel the track with weighty, pounding riffage, and Kirk Hammett and Hetfield strongly assert themselves with crushing guitar and a tendency to toy around with Sonic Youth-style experimentation – something they do a lot of on Lulu. The problem with Metallica here, and almost everywhere else, is that once they take their bats to a riff, they beat it into the ground. And then they pound on it some more, just to make sure it’s dead.

There are ideas worth exploring on Lulu, and not everything the very elderly sounding Reed – and startling so – pours out onto the page is excrement. Scary, confrontational, ugly and dramatic, Reed’s words capture, in very stark and dangerous language, the abused, exploited life of tragic characters caught up in horrifying circumstances, and he tackles big themes. But, Lulu is too repetitive, too imbalanced, too directionless and too … well, boring and needlessly long, and Reed often commits egregious poetic crimes. Metal Machine Music now has some competition for the title of “most unlistenable album of Lou Reed’s career.” As for Metallica, one gets the sense they’re searching and trying to add layers of depth to their identity. Suddenly, however, St. Anger doesn’t look so bad.

-          Peter Lindblad

CD Review: Chickenfoot "Chickenfoot III"

CD Review: Chickenfoot "Chickenfoot III" 
eOne Music
All Access Review: B+


Now we know why Sammy Hagar can't drive 55. It's because he's got some hot little number waiting somewhere to give him the time of his life, and Hagar is hours away from a steamy rendezvous. With Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy blasting from the stereo, Hagar's going to drive all night at dangerous speeds to get there, state troopers be damned.

That's the gist of "Big Foot," the first single off the head-scratchingly titled III, the second LP from Chickenfoot, a much-ballyhooed supergroup of Hagar, guitar god Joe Satriani, ex-Van Halen bassist Michael Anthony and Red Hot Chili Peppers' drummer Chad Smith. Another in the long line of car songs that have made Hagar the lead-footed hero of scofflaw drivers everywhere, it may be the best of the bunch. Rooted in Satriani's thick, meaty guitar grooves, "Big Foot" stomps and beats its chest like a testosterone-crazed Tarzan eyeing up a naked Jane.

A manly expression of heated desire and need for speed, "Big Foot" paces a strong set of heavy, skull-thumping rockers and occasional surprises — see the Nashville-flavored country stylings of "Different Devil" and the spoken-word, "all hell's breaking loose" fury of "Three and a Half Letters," which bemoans the dilapidated state of the U.S. economy. Pushed to the fore are the signature vocal harmonies of Hagar and Anthony — more muted in Van Halen — while bedrock riffs and crunching rhythms churn underneath such infectious brawlers as "Up Next" and "Lighten Up."

Tender is the soft tear-jerker "Come Closer" and Hager dips down into the lower registers in the smoky R&B-tinged winner "Dubai Blues," but make no mistake, Chickenfoot is throwing big, chunky right hooks of '70s-inspired hard rock on III. Your move, Van Halen ... and David Lee Roth.

-Peter Lindblad


Official Website:
Chickenfoot

CD Review: Anthrax "Worship Music"

CD Review: Anthrax "Worship Music"
Megaforce Records
All Access Review:  A


A dark, evil hymnal for the damned, Anthrax’s Worship Music is a gloriously aggressive monstrosity, frightening in its intensity and yet somehow also melodically captivating. Already anointed by metal’s cognoscenti as one of the New York City bashers’ greatest works, the record is Anthrax’s first with singer Joey Belladonna since 1990’s Persistence of Time, and the long-awaited reunion, brokered for the recent earth-conquering Big 4 tour with Metallica, Slayer and Megadeth, has birthed a thrash-metal masterpiece, a teeth-gnashing symphony of sonic mayhem and beautiful violence that never takes a smoke break.

More than that, however, Worship Music is classic Anthrax. It doesn’t suffer from an identity crisis. Thirty years into a career built on uncompromising, brutal music, Anthrax has stayed true to itself, despite numerous vocalists and other personnel changes. Even when they stretch out a bit, like in the soul-searching, cavernous chorus “The Giant,” where Belladona passionately wails, “Caught between the lines of right and wrong yeah/Caught between the things that I don’t know,” Anthrax stamps its mark on the track with a heavy, furious cyclone of serrated guitars, pounding rhythms and a heaving bridge as clear proof that they’re as grounded and comfortable in their own skin as any metal band that’s ever lived.

To put it another way, Anthrax is, indeed, the devil you know, and the sprawling Worship Music won’t leave anybody wondering if Scott Ian, Charlie Benante, Frank Bello, Rob Caggiano and, of course, Belladonna, have traded in their aggressive, high-velocity riffage, searing guitar solos, hammering drums and quaking, blinding bass lines – not to mention Belladonna’s primal, raging vocal waging piercing through the magnificent din – for a bag of magic beans and glitzy, pop-music stardom. After the haunting instrumental intro “Worship,” Anthrax ignites all-out war in “Earth on Hell,” a hornets’ nest of activity and energy that attacks the senses from every angle. “The Devil You Know” follows, and its momentum is unstoppable. A runaway semi of sound with an instantly memorable chorus (“Gotta go with the devil you know!”) and an impossibly heavy groove, “The Devil You Know” has secured its place among Anthrax’s most revered aural assaults. And speaking of aural assaults, the unrelenting “Fight ‘Em ‘Til You Can” – a song about fending off a zombie apocalypse – is a street fight of Benante’s vicious, martial-arts-style drumming, sharp guitar stabs and Belladonna’s bare-knuckled vocals.

Heavier still is the militaristic stomp of “I’m Alive,” with its thick, crushing riffs and Belladonna delivering the poisonous lyric “heaven lives in every gun” with gut-level urgency and theatrics, while the churning epic “In the End” rises slowly and majestically like a rogue wave that’s about to crash down on a defenseless fishing trawler. Everything on Worship Music boggles the senses. It’s war-like, with a little bit of dark, oaken cello and the occasional church bell for atmosphere. Tempos shift on a dime, and Anthrax’s frantic energy strains at the leash, while Belladonna barks like a Doberman at times and soars to the sun when coaxed to fly, like he does on the retina-scorching supernova “Crawl.” Always ready to do battle in the streets if they have to – as the haymaker-throwing, nose-bloodying riots of “The Constant” and “Revolution Screams” bear out – with Worship Music, Anthrax has come to blow open the doors of cathedrals everywhere and unleash hell.

-Peter Lindblad

Official Websites: 


CD Review: Michael Shenker "Temple of Rock"

CD Review: Michael Shenker "Temple of Rock"
Inakustik
All Access Review: A-


A shrine built of molten, rampaging riffs and burning solos – all infused with subtle melodic touches and flourishes – Temple of Rock is an all-out shred-a-thon from one of metal’s most enduring and admired guitar slingers. Pulling out all the stops, Michael Schenker unleashes a fast and furious sonic bombardment that sweetly and majestically explodes on impact in tracks like the “How Long,” “Storming In,” “The End of an Era” and “Fallen Angel,” and if this Temple of Rock is, indeed, a place of worship, perhaps it could also serve as a sanctuary for a man beset by turmoil in both his personal and public life.

A cult hero to serious fans of metal, Schenker is also a cautionary tale, an extraordinary talent whose alcoholism and health issues, not to mention his onstage blowups with UFO and revolving-door personnel changes in the Michael Schenker Group, almost completely derailed his career. There almost at the beginning with The Scorpions, founded by his older brother Rudolf in 1965, Schenker lent his burgeoning axe work to the band’s 1972 debut Lonesome Crow. While on tour with The Scorpions in support of Lonesome Crow, headliners UFO witnessed Schenker’s six-string sorcery. Under his spell, the British hard-rock survivors beamed him aboard as a replacement for Bernie Marsden, himself a temporary fill-in for departed original member Mike Bolton.

Schenker’s tenure with UFO was tumultuous, to say the least, spanning the years between 1974’s Phenomenon and 1979’s classic steamroller of a live LP Strangers in the Night. All the while, critics, blown away by Schenker’s blazing fretwork, lined up around the block to hail this guitar phenomenon, with the rest of UFO becoming engulfed by the large shadow he cast. Tensions ran high, and there were nights when it all came to a head. On a few occasions, Schenker was reported to have walked off the stage in the middle of a show. By 1978, he’d had enough, and for a brief period, Schenker rejoined The Scorpions, injecting Lovedrive’s “Another Piece of Meat,” “Coast to Coast” and the title track with a potent shot of lead guitar Viagra.

In the years since, Schenker has fronted his own project, the Michael Schenker Group, which for a time became the McAuley-Schenker Group. But, when UFO set about making the comeback record Walk on Water in 1995, Schenker couldn’t resist re-upping for another tour of duty. Eventually, though, Schenker would return to MSG, which has had its ups and downs, as has Schenker. Personnel shuffling and Schenker’s continued battles with the bottle led to inconsistent recordings and live performances, but through it all – including a bizarre episode where his wife divorced him and disappeared with his kids, and his manager’s alleged embezzlement of Schenker’s savings – the guitarist has persevered, despite a troubled 2007 tour, riddled with cancellations, that would have killed the careers of lesser artists.

Schenker, though, has apparently come out the other side a better man, and a more focused musician, as Temple of Rock bears out. Despite his problems, Schenker doesn’t seem to lack for friends. The band he assembled for Temple of Rock includes ex-Scorpion Herman Rarebell on drums, Schenker’s old UFO mate Pete Way on bass, Wayne Findlay on keyboards and Michael Voss on vocals. And that’s not all. Among the cast of thousands appearing as guest stars are keyboardist Don Airey, legendary Mountain guitarist Leslie West (who participates in a three-man guitar battle with Schenker and Michael Amott on “How Long (3 Generations Guitar Battle Version), and drum gods Carmine Appice and Brian Tichy – not to mention Captain Kirk himself, William Shatner.

But, go ahead and throw the liner notes away, because a cleaned-up, motivated Schenker was all that was needed to make guitar nerds wet their pants over this release. His solos, so fluid and smoothly executed, are sublime, and those heavy riffs of his have all the powerful thrust of booster rockets, propelling each track into the stratosphere. On the aforementioned “Fallen Angel,” Schenker assembles what seems to be a jigsaw puzzle of neon-lit guitar parts, piecing together surging, shape-shifting riffs and high-flying leads until they form a dazzling picture of an artist who isn’t afraid of complexity. Drag racing ahead is the “The End of an Era,” which showcases Schenker’s ability to combine speed, an impeccable feel for the urgency of the moment and barely harnessed energy, while he punishes “Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead” with power chords and shrouds it in a bluesy darkness that knocks at your backdoor like Perfect Strangers’-era Deep Purple did in the ‘80s.

In the quiet moments of the epic “Storming In,” Schenker adroitly navigates a tricky acoustic prelude, before a deluge of riffs comes pouring down and floods the scene. His solos here bloom like a bush of roses turned black by some demonic hand, setting the stage for the progressive-metal oddity “Scene of Crime,” a track that’s full of sonic menace and muscular rhythms that occasionally detours into Asian gardens of sound that an early Genesis might have planted.

The full breadth of Schenker’s talent and experience are on display in Temple of Rock, as the fist-pumping party anthem “Saturday Night” sits comfortably alongside the red-hot, muscle-car growl and grind of “Speed.” And if you like guitar solos the triple-threat guitar orgy of the freedom-fighting “How Long,” (3 Generations Guitar Battle Version)” featuring West and Amott, is not to be missed. This Temple of Rock is built on a bedrock foundation of classic musicianship and strong songwriting, and it houses one of the finest guitarists metal has ever known.

-Peter Lindblad

Official Michael Shenker Website: Michaelschenkerhimself.com

Chickenfoot: Putting their ‘Big Foot’ on the Gas

Super group returns with a new album full of rock and roll bravado, and a November tour.
By Peter Lindblad



That commanding voice of his, a primal scream surging with adrenaline and horsepower, has taken Sammy Hagar far in life. It got him into Van Halen, when brothers Eddie and Alex needed someone to fill David Lee Roth’s spandex. Its full-throated roar sent “I Can’t Drive 55” crashing through police barricades and barreling up the charts before settling in as a pop culture touchstone. What more could anybody ask of Hagar’s ravaged vocal chords, so beaten up by the hundreds and hundreds of shows he’s played over the years?

Joe Satriani, his Chickenfoot soul mate, thought Hagar was capable of doing so much more with it. “I related to him this experience I had a few months before we started really … or I started really writing for this record, and we were hanging out and I’d just come from another local studio, and I said, ‘Sam, they were working on a song that you sang on,’” relates Satriani. “It was Sammy and Neil Schon and Michael Walden, and other local musicians doing a Sly Stone song for a local film. And I was totally blown away listening to Sam’s vocal performance. He just sounded like a stone-cold R&B singer. And the register was lower and his vibrato was beautiful – his voice was the usual, a thousand feet wide.”

Emboldened by what he’d heard, and knowing that Hagar has a soft spot for soul and R&B classics, Satriani approached Hagar with a proposition for Chickenfoot’s recently released sophomore record, the whimsically titled III. “So I was saying, ‘Sam, that was like the greatest vocal I’ve ever heard. Why aren’t we doing that?’” asked Satriani. “So, he was definitely excited about it, because he remembered that session. And he had a good time doing it, and he started telling me about all the soul music that he loves and how he’d love to do it.”

                But, Hagar figured that this stylistic shift was a two-way street and that Satriani was going to have to go outside of his comfort zone to help Hagar adapt to the idea. “This [record] we thought, ‘Well, what do you think, Joe? What would you like to see from me on this record?’ He said, ‘I would like to hear you sing in a way no one’s ever heard you sing before,’” remembers Hagar. “And I went, ‘Hey …’ And he goes, ‘What do you want from me?’ And I said, ‘I want you to write me a piece of music that makes me sing that way (laughs).’”

                Satriani did just that on the tender, smoky track “Come Closer.” But, first, Hagar had work to do, and he was nervous about it. “Joe said, ‘I wrote these songs … write some lyrics.’ He said, ‘What do you want to sing about?’ So I wrote ‘Come Closer,’” said Hagar. “And I gave it to Joe. I’ve never handed lyrics over to a musician and said, ‘Here, write music to these lyrics.” I wait for the musician to give me some music and I write lyrics and melody to that, and that’s been the way I’ve always done it. That’s the way we did it on Chickenfoot. So anyway, Joe comes back. He loved the lyrics. He came back with a little piano part, and it was just magic, I thought. So we transferred it to guitar and we did a demo of it, just him and I. And God, it was just f**king great. I’m just going, ‘Yeah, I’ve never really sung this R&B before.’ I’ve sung the blues, but I never quite sang like this. And the meaning, the lyrical meaning, is very personal and sensitive, and it’s not typical of Sammy Hagar – you know, yelling and screaming. I mean, I’ve written ‘Eagles Fly,’ and some nice songs, ‘Dreams,’ but nothing quite so personal about a relationship.” And that emotional connection made Hagar a little apprehensive about singing it live.

“I was afraid of that song,” admits Hagar. “As much as I wrote it, you know, those lyrics came to Joe. When he came back and the sensitivity and emotion of the music, and the openness of it, I’d walk up to the mic and go, ‘Rrrnt.’ I was f**king froze up. It took me a long time to get the courage to do a real vocal, because I was sick … when I did the demo. I had a really bad sore throat and I couldn’t sing at all, but I sang it anyway. It was kind of cool. I was kind of hoarse, and I had no range. But, it had a magic about it. It was like Teddy Pendergrass or something. You know, how his voice always sounded so raspy, and I didn’t. So then I got scared of it. I said, ‘F**k, I don’t know if I can outdo that.’”

Eventually, Hagar got over his fear, and now he croons it with confidence. Still, the trouble that Hagar experienced with “Come Closer” was emblematic of the difficulties he had penning lyrics for Chickenfoot III, a diverse, multi-faceted recording that has its moments of righteous rage (“Three and a Half Letters”), uplifting, emotional swells of pop-metal (“Different Devil”), writhing metallic-funk grooves (“Up Next”) and propulsive, accelerated rockers (“Big Foot” and “Last Temptation”) that swerve and careen like a runaway semi. 

“I really felt some pressure of the success of Chickenfoot I, because no one cared if it was going to be successful,” said Hagar. “No one thought it would be that successful.  I mean, I thought it was going to be successful, but I didn’t think it would go gold in every freaking country. And it was on the charts for a year. I haven’t had an album on the charts for a year my whole life. I have had some No. 1s, but … so that caused some pressure. It took a little bit of the casual, ‘we don’t care’ attitude out of it for me. And I thought, ‘I do care.’ And I really gotta out-do that last record. The first Chickenfoot record was pretty damn solid.”

Wringing his hands and obsessing over every detail took some of the fun out of recording Chickenfoot III for Hagar. Don’t think for a second, though, that Hagar isn’t having a blast with Satriani, his former Van Halen mate Michael Anthony, and Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer Chad Smith. For his part, Anthony found the making of Chickenfoot III thoroughly enjoyable.

“The reason why we even formed the band in the first place was because we didn’t want to have any kind of pressure,” said Anthony. “You know, everybody’s done their stuff in the past, in their respective bands and what they’ve done, so we wanted to do this purely to have fun and make music. In the beginning, even when we first went in the studio back in 2008, we had no intention of even doing an album back then. It was just so much fun getting together and jamming, we just wanted to see musically where it could take us or if anything could even come of it. And then all of a sudden, we’re working on an album, all of a sudden there’s a tour, and obviously, a second album. But we don’t want to have to feel that kind of pressure, because we just want to do it purely for the enjoyment of making music. But we are very proud of what we did. I think we have really evolved as a band, it’s more in-depth now. I think we’re finding our own niche and our own sound, and songwriting and everything else.”

While Anthony and everybody else were living the high life, Hagar was hunkered down trying to put down words that would match the intensity and drive of the music that was flowing out of the quartet in the studio. “For Sammy, I think it was a little more difficult because there were a lot of ideas coming out really quick, and when we actually got into the studio to start recording, jeez, like the first eight songs that we put down, we were like doing two basic tracks a day,” said Anthony. “I mean, we were on fire. And Sammy is going, ‘Hey, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. I’m still working on an idea for this song.’ And I think it was a little tougher for Sammy this time.”

Adding weight to Hagar’s burden was the sadness he was feeling over the passing of his longtime manager and confidante, John Carter. Closer than most managers and their clients, the Carter-Hagar bond was as strong as steel. Almost preternaturally, Carter seemed to know what was best for Hagar, and when there were calls for Hagar to go back in the studio with Chickenfoot while he was writing his book, “Red: My Uncensored Life in Rock,” Carter made sure his client didn’t spread himself thin.

“He was really just the greatest guy, and Carter wanted me to be great, and he insisted … he weeded out my bullshit, and he wasn’t always right, but most of the time, if he wasn’t right, he at least got my attention,” said Hagar. “I’ve got to tell you, he beat me up going into this record. ‘If you ain’t ready, we ain’t making a record. I don’t care,’ he goes. ‘I don’t care if it takes five years. I want you to be the best you’ve ever been.’ And I’m going, ‘F**k. Wow. That’s a big challenge.’ But he did. He postponed this record. We were supposed to do it last year. Chad had a little break. But I said, ‘Carter, I’m writing my book right now.’ And he goes, ‘No. Then forget it. I’m not going to allow you to do anything mediocre.’ He goes, ‘Until you are ready and inspired, then you’re not going in that f**king studio.’ I mean, what manager would tell you that? So, I don’t know. I love the guy. He really pushed me on this record.”

The track “Three and a Half Letters” is a perfect example of Hagar’s ambition. Inspired by Carter, with his manager’s words still ringing in his ears, Hagar took on the challenge of writing a song that would evoke the desperation and anxiety of these times, what with the troubled economy and the still-burning ember of war in Afghanistan glowing red hot. With Hagar intent on writing something with meaning for Chickenfoot listeners, he had a request for Satriani, and that was that the technically brilliant guitarist let loose and go wild. In recording “Three and a Half Letters,” everyone let out any pent-up energy they had left.

“When we finally got in the studio to do ‘Three and a Half Letters,’ by then a lot of things had happened,” said Satriani. “I mean, the record was pretty much done and we had just this one last piece of music that Sam and I had written. And our good friend, co-manager and Sam’s personal manager, John Carter, had gotten ill and passed away during the making of the record. And we were back in the studio after he had just passed doing sessions, and so all of that, together with Sam’s earlier request of letting go, was definitely something that I was feeling at that moment. And that I think allowed everybody to let go, and everybody did on that particular one. It was just a very emotionally charged afternoon in the studio.”

A spoken-word piece in which Hagar reads letters that speak of the hardships people are going through presently in America, “Three and a Half Letters” explodes out of the speakers, sending shards of disenchantment and anger flying in all directions. As impactful and surprising as “Three and a Half Letters” is, perhaps the most memorable track off Chickenfoot III is “Big Foot.” The first single – a driving song, of course – from the new LP is a stomping, hook-filled, heaving beast of a song, and for Hagar, it’s the one where all the pieces fit together almost immediately.

“That was the easiest one. That was the most fun,” said Hagar. “Out of all the songs on the album, that was the most fun to record and it came the easiest. Some of the other songs we worked real hard on. But [with] ‘Big Foot’ we went in that day, Joe presented us with that riff, and I had the title ‘Big Foot’ in my head ‘cause actually Joe called it ‘Big Foot’ before I even had lyrics. But what is Big Foot? I don’t know, but that is it. So, I didn’t want to sing about Sasquatch, about the Abominable Snowman or some shit. So what else are you gonna talk about? My big foot? Where is it going to be? Is it going to be up your ass? Or is it going to be on the gas, you know. So the guys thought, well, let’s go with the gas on this. Here’s a Sammy cartoon. I’ve made a career out of these kinds of songs. And by the time the band had learned the song and recorded it, which took two or three hours, I had the lyrics written and I did the vocal and that song was done. And we all said, ‘This has to be the first song the fans hear from Chickenfoot,’ because this is all-out Chickenfoot. This is the way we work. This is the way we roll. This is the way we did the first album. It was done in no time. And the rest of the CD didn’t come that easy.”

Hopefully, the North American road-test tour Chickenfoot embarks on in November to try out the new stuff onstage will go more smoothly for Hagar and company. However, Smith won’t be joining the rest of Chickenfoot this time around. Touring commitments to the Red Hot Chili Peppers will keep him from going out on the road with Chickenfoot this time around. In his place will be another legendary drummer, Kenny Aronoff. So far, the transition with Aronoff has been seamless, although Anthony was surprised at how Aronoff prepared for his mission.

“Actually when Kenny came in, and he’s got some … well not big shoes, because Kenny, he’s very talented in his own right, but Chad’s so unorthodox the way he plays in this band, and you know, Kenny came in like trying to play it like how Chad did, and we knew as soon as Kenny started getting comfortable with the songs, he’d just kind of make them his own,” said Anthony. “Especially, only having rehearsed a couple of days, all of a sudden it was just really clicking. He was just throwing in a lot of his own fills and making it his tune, which he should, stepping in a live situation. So I think it’s a pretty smooth transition. I think he’s going to do really well. But, you know, when he first came in – he played with us probably about a month ago now – he came up and he goes, ‘Well, yeah, I’ve been listening to these songs …’ and he pulled out … he charted them. He says that’s what does when he plays other people’s stuff, when he comes into … like with John Fogerty, who he’s been playing with recently, that he’ll chart it all out so he knows the song. And I said, ‘Okay, okay, Kenny. You look at those charts, but once you’ve got it down, you throw those charts away. You don’t need them anymore. Do your own thing, man.’ So that was a little strange right at first, but he’s slipped into it really well.”

                As did Hagar when he joined Van Halen, a time of incredible creativity for him and Eddie, Alex and Michael Anthony, when they answered the critics who doubted they’d be able to carry out without David Lee Roth. Hagar recalls the band being “on fire” in the studio during the sessions for the first Van Halen with Roth, 1986’s 5150. Eventually, Anthony and Hagar, in particular, were able to develop some amazing, signature harmonies that made Van Halen soar higher than ever. “It was pretty much an instant mesh, but I’ll say one thing, after doing backgrounds to David Lee Roth, because his vocal range is a lot lower, all of a sudden, it was like, ‘Whoa,’” said Anthony. “I mean, it really pushed me in the beginning, so I was all of a sudden singing in registers that I hadn’t really sung in before. Not that I couldn’t do it. But I never did it with Van Halen, and it was cool. And I think it really inspired me and the fact that I could sing those parts, I was really digging it. We really kind of took it to another level vocally with the backgrounds we were doing.”

                Hagar and Anthony are bringing that same intricate vocal knitting to Chickenfoot, putting more emphasis than ever before on their unique harmonies and bringing them to the forefront in a way Van Halen never did.

“Singing with him, he’s the only guy that I know that could just go above – I don’t care if I’m at the peak of my range; he can get up above me, just squeeze his nuts and get on up there – and right on key, he can mimic my phrasing,” said Hagar. “He’s just … he’s so fast. That’s the thing that people don’t understand about Mike. He learns faster than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. Joe Satriani, Eddie Van Halen … guys come up with riffs, and come on. I can’t f**king play them. I’m sitting here with an acoustic guitar around the house still trying to learn these riffs on this record, and I ain’t got ‘em down yet. Like Joe goes to Mike, [scats a line] and Mike goes [scats the same line] second times he’s done it. Okay, go. I mean, he does that with my lyrics and my phrasing … you know, I’ll go, ‘No, Mike. I’m going [sings a line].’ And he’s just right with me. You know, third take. And I just want to do anything but work. Having a guy like him, to be able to learn Joe’s parts and my parts and get out of the studio to get down to the beach as quick as we can, is like a f**king dream come true. I think that pretty much sums Mike up, right? (laughs)”

With Chickenfoot III out and the band ready to hit the road, the guys are content with how this Chickenfoot project has taken off. Though it wasn’t meant to set the world on fire, in a way, it has, breathing new life into the careers of Hagar, Anthony and Satriani. The music of Chickenfoot is straight out of the ‘70s, influenced by such legends as Cream, Led Zeppelin and The Who – bands that inspired all of the members to become musicians in the first place. And the rest of the world is responding.

“I’ve met tons of people going on the Internet, fans, younger people, that don’t even necessarily know where we come from,” said Anthony. “But they hear of this band Chickenfoot and they like the music, and that’s great. It’s like, wow. It’s not like we’re not just bringing the fans that we have out; hopefully, we’re gaining some of those new fans.”

When asked what he thought the future of Chickenfoot is, Anthony joked, “We can’t even map out what we’re doing a day in advance (laughs).” Turning only slightly more serious, the affable Anthony remarked, “Well, right now the future is getting this album out and going on tour. Unfortunately, Chad can’t be with us. Chad’s still in the band. I know he has a big commitment with his other band now, and he’ll probably be out on the road for quite a while now. And so, what’ll even happen at that point, once we’ve been out on tour, I don’t know. But I mean, right now we just want to get this album out because for me, personally, it’s one of the best albums I’ve ever been involved with in my career. And I really, in my heart … I mean, I listen to this album when I’m at home, and I’m like, man … from the harmonies to the songs and the way everybody’s playing, I just can’t wait to get out on tour and play this. We are going to afford ourselves the time now, or we can, to go out and do a tour and tour as much as we can, or we want. The last time, we go to Europe, we can only play here, here and here. We’ve got to get back to the States, and the whole time, we’re kind of like crossing our fingers that Chad doesn’t have to be called back in to do anything. So we just kind of … we had to look at everyone’s schedules and this time out, I think, everybody’s schedules are going to be on the same track so that we can go out and play.”

To the men of Chickenfoot, getting together to play is what matters most. And as long as everybody is enjoying themselves, Chickenfoot could go on for many years. Or, it could end very quickly.

“I’m pretty confident that the core group – Sammy, Mike, Chad and myself – will make another couple of records,” said Satriani. “I truly believe that. I think that every time we finish a record, I think we all got the feeling like, ‘Wow, this is almost like a step to some new beginning.’ And then, of course, reality steps in and then it’s like, ‘Oh, that’s right. Chad’s in the Chili Peppers. Sam’s got a million things going on. I’ve got a solo career. And Mike’s on a permanent vacation, which he takes very seriously.’ But, we kind of just put that out of our minds, and we just move ahead, one step at a time. That’s what I think. I really do think there’s so much more music to share between the four of us, we will make more records.”

Ozzy Osbourne: The Doctor Is In

The Doctor Is In
By: Jeb Wright - Classic Rock Revisited


Ozzy Osbourne continues to entertain people around the world as one of the top vocalists in Heavy Metal history. Now, Ozzy is back with two new projects, neither of which features him on center stage. The first, a book titled Trust me, I’m Dr. Ozzy, is an advice column where the Prince of Darkness listens to questions about kids, relationships, sex, drugs and anything else on his reader’s mind before giving them advice on what to do in their current situation. It is a hilarious book; however, Ozzy does the unexpected and comes across as actually caring what these people are going through. You get his over the top sense of humor but Ozzy also reveals he is much more in touch with humanity then one might expect.

The other project is a documentary by his son, Jack Osbourne, titled God Bless Ozzy Osbourne. Jack went behind the lens and delivered big with a behind the scenes look at who Ozzy really was, and is, and what it was like to grow up his son. At times this is humorous, but other times it is soul searchingly honest and emotional. Ozzy discusses the project in-depth in the interview that follows.

At the end of our time together, I took the opportunity to ask Dr. Ozzy for some advice with a personal problem I am currently facing. His answer was spot on, so much so that I’m hoisting a piece of pepperoni pizza in his honor as I type these words.

Jeb: Your new book is a collection of question and answers from your advice column that was in the Times in London and in Rolling Stone Magazine. What was your reaction when you were asked to do the column?

Ozzy: What happened was that I was asked to get this test on my DNA because of everything that I had done with drugs and alcohol, and the lifestyle I had led the last forty years. I did this thing called Genomics, which is where they take some of your blood and they go clear back in your bloodline and figure out where you came from, and what diseases and things you could be facing in your lifetime.

The Times in London said, “Why don’t you do a column since you’ve survived everything and give advice to people.” The column is really just common sense. I suddenly found myself relating to a lot of the people writing in. They wrote in about kids and marriage and all of this stuff. If I didn’t know what to say, or if it was serious, then I would tell them to go and see a doctor.

Jeb: When they did the DNA test, I heard they found you were part Neanderthal.

Ozzy: Yeah, yeah, that explains the thick part of my skull [laughter].

Jeb: Did you expect the results to be that in-depth?

Ozzy: I didn’t know what to expect. I did find out one thing that I didn’t like. Every morning, I like to get up and have a strong cup of coffee and I found out I’m allergic to coffee because of this test. I go, “Oh fuck.” I have one cup of good strong coffee a day but that’s it.

I can only decipher about a third of it [the test] because two thirds of it is a lot of technical jargon. It’s not a cheap test; it costs quite a lot of money. It is beyond my fucking brain, what they talk about. It is hard for me to digest information because it may as well all be in Latin.

Jeb: Did you have a lot of fun doing the column?

Ozzy: If it wasn’t fun then I wouldn’t have done it. I suppose people were expecting me to tell them to take a ton of acid, and an aspirin, and go to bed.

Jeb: I think the book has more charm because you’re so open about substance abuse.

Ozzy: I was talking to my wife just the other day about this; most of my old associates, people that I used to get stoned and drunk with, are dead and gone. There are a few stragglers but most are dead. The word moderation has never applied to Ozzy Osbourne. I never went out for a fucking drink; I went out to get fucking crippled. I would say, “I am going down to the local pup, darling. I’ll be back in a little while.” I would show back up three days later in a pair of fucking handcuffs.

Jeb: Now, at age 62, is moderation something you can achieve?

Ozzy: I can‘t drink and I can’t do drugs. I mean, I live in California and I could get a bag of mild marijuana from the doctor but who I am fucking kidding? I’d start out with a mild bag of marijuana and I’d end up with a fucking bag of crack. My mind runs away with the fantasy because one drink, or one joint, or one whatever doesn’t apply to me but my head still thinks it does. I will think about it and my head runs away with the thought.

Jeb: You have tried to quit for as long as I can remember. Why is it different now?

Ozzy: I got fed up with quitting. The first thing I stopped was tobacco, and don’t ask me how I did that. I have been in nearly every rehab around. I have been in rehab with heroin users and they say, “I can put the smack down but I can’t give up tobacco.” I put it down first. My voice would crack in concert and I felt like a soccer player kicking the fucking wall when he was not in the game.

To be honest with you, I was not having a good time. I would make all of these grandiose statements about how I was Mr. Sober, now. In the National Enquirer, the following day, you would see me on the floor in a bog covered in piss.

There is a lot more help these days than there used to be. It is a lot more openly spoken about then when I was a kid. My folks didn’t say, “He’s got a drinking problem.” You just didn’t talk about it. My drinking problem was that I couldn’t get e-fucking-nough. If I knew, and I honestly thought to myself, that I could drink moderately, then I would, but I know I can’t. I never ever did, I never ever will and I don’t want to.

Jeb: I think when someone like you tells people to stop doing drugs it comes across loud and clear. What was one of your favorite questions on drugs?

Ozzy: The one that I remember was this guy who had just come back from a doctor who had prescribed this medication that said on the bottle, “While taking this medication, do not drink alcohol.” This guy asks, “What should I do?” I said, “Well, if you’re a dummy, and you’re fucking nuts, then you will drink alcohol with the medication. If I were you, then I would do what it says on the bottle and not drink any alcohol.” Some people are fucking insane.

Jeb: Oh, come on, I imagine back in the day you would’ve drank with the medication.

Ozzy: I did. If they would have asked me that question ten years ago, then I would have been on drugs and drunk and I would’ve gone, “Dude, this is Ozzy, I’ve just taken this medication and I’m about to down a quart of vodka. Where is the nearest fucking hospital from where I am?”

Jeb: Were there any sex questions that were uncomfortable for you to answer?

Ozzy: The newspaper would get them all in and then just send through the funny things. One guy wrote in telling me that he was worried about his relationship because he used to have sex with his wife three to four times a week. He said, “Now, we are only doing it once a week. I’m 80 years old and I’m worried we are growing apart.” I said, “Stop complaining, man!” I mean fucking hell, he’s doing good.

Jeb: I want to talk about a project your son Jack did called God Bless Ozzy Osbourne. Tell me about how that came about.

Ozzy: He decided to go behind the camera, rather than in front of the camera. He wanted to start a production company and he said, “Would you mind if I did a documentary on you?” I said, “Just don’t make me look like something that I’m not. If I’m bad then say that I’m bad.” I didn’t want him to do one of these documentaries that say, “Look at me, I’m the wonderful one.” I’ve had my wonderful moments but I’ve also had my fucked up moments as well. I said, “Jack, you’ve got the freedom of the camera. Do the best job that you can.”

I must confess, when I was watching it in a theater in New York, part of me said, “Fuck, be careful what you ask for.” I’m not afraid to talk about the bad things I’ve done in my life. So many of us are the great and glorious and never talk about the things that we don’t want to talk about.

Jeb: Was it emotional for you to see you through your son’s eyes?

Ozzy: No, because when I was watching it, I was just watching a film. We’re a very close family. There were parts of it that kind of got me. There was a question that asked if I was a very good father and the answer was no. I thought about it and I suppose it was true because I was always fucked up, you know.

Jeb: I think that would be hard to take now that you’re not all fucked up.

Ozzy: But it’s the truth. I remember one time I was arguing with my son Jack and I said, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re always complaining about what I’m doing. You’ve never wanted for a damn fucking thing.” He said, “Oh yeah?” I said, “Name one fucking thing in your life that you’ve wanted that you haven’t got? If your bicycle broke, you got a new one. If you wanted to go somewhere you got to do it.” He said, “You want to know what I’ve never had? A father.” He stopped me dead in my fucking tracks. Alcoholics and drug addicts are self-centered people. We only care about ourselves.

Jeb: You can’t go back and do it again.

Ozzy: If you could buy love then people would be selling it in gold boxes.

Jeb: Are you at a place in your life where you can finally say that you’re happy and that you’re satisfied?

Ozzy: No.

Jeb: How can that be?

Ozzy: I’m a worrier. I will worry if I don’t have anything to worry about.

Jeb: From the outside looking in, it appears you’re doing great. You can tell that you are really in love with your family.

Ozzy: We do stupid things and we have rows but it’s a family. When we started filming The Osbournes T.V. series people would come into my house and go, “Is it always like this?” I was like, “What?” They would go, “Your son just put a fucking spike in his shoe and your daughter just bought a new party dress. Your wife is coming in with all these shopping bags and the fucking cat is on fire.” It was just how our life is. When we did the show, a lot of people ended up relating to us. We didn’t go Hollywood bullshit.

Jeb: My daughter, Cassidy, watched the show and said, “We are like The Osbournes but without the money and drugs.”

Ozzy: [Laughter] I love it.

Jeb: My last one is asking Dr. Ozzy for some advice. I need some help with an issue that I know you have struggled with. I have discovered a new authentic Mexican restaurant in town and I’m hooked on burritos. What do I do to get off the burritos?

Ozzy: Switch to pizza [laugher]!

Jeb: That’s perfect. I’m getting a pizza today.

Ozzy: I will do that with burritos. I will eat nothing but burritos for about a month and then I will go, “This is fucking boring.” A normal person wouldn’t eat burritos every day for six weeks. If they did then they would never eat one again for the rest of their life.

When I was doing that TV show people were noticing that I was eating these energy bars, and then they got them for me for free. Then, I was eating burritos all the time and I was given a lifetime supply and I never had to buy one when I went to the place to get one. Once they started giving them to me for free, I’ve never had one since. When it was free, I didn’t want it. I have no idea why I’m like that.

For more of Jeb Wright's interviews, reviews and news check out Classic Rock Revisited