By New Times
By Derek Askey
By Mark Deming
By Serene Dominic
By Jason Keil
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Jeff Moses
By Serene Dominic
I reach down and touch the right side of my ribs just to make sure. Yep, the liver's still there, all right -- a little bloated, perhaps, but safe within the confines of my hide.
The Bible-salesman type shakes his head and moves toward the bar's exit. I watch him walk out into the night. I shout down for the bartender, I'm ready for another.
Roy Thomas Baker's lips are pried from the Scotch bottle long enough for another putz 'round the proverbial track -- as if his work with Journey and Foreigner didn't already cancel the motors of both the Cars and Queen. Caroline's Spine, whose spineless rawk band nature is echoed best in the utter nuance of its name, burps up this year's best bit of 1992 nostalgia. Worse, they behave as if they don't know that a line like "but your reality has consequence" carries as much pomp as to guarantee that circumstance will once again rout ingenuity. Not that the band even had a chance at the latter.
It was only a matter of months before CBS imprint Portrait reportedly pulled the proverbial (hair) plug on the roster of metalists it had signed -- the ones your big brothers loved. Naysayers, or, rather, insiders claim the label lost millions on new records by Ratt and Great White, even with messianic cheese-whiz and Aerosmith prop-up John Kalodner at the proverbial helm. I mean, L.A. Guns actually turned down an offer from this label.
Here we have the best argument ever for C.C. Deville to have attended community college in lieu of some horseshit music institute. What's more, he sings! And Night Ranger douchebag Jack Blades produces!
Besides, "I Wanna Be Famous" plunders Cheap Trick's "He's a Whore" to such embarrassing levels that it's truly the lowest ebb in the history of rock 'n' roll kypes. And if that don't make you want to crawl into a hole somewhere and wish upon Richard Hell's star, then something is seriously wrong with you. Either that or hollow arena barre chords, nasal vox and nose rings aligned in a vaguely pop manner give ya wood.
2000 Years: The Millennium Concert
It wouldn't even take abundant strobe lights, heavier power chords and songs about anal sex to make Rob Halford a Billy Joel fan. No way, sister.
Nativity in Black II: A Tribute to Black Sabbath
Devotees of pain-racked tumult can frolic in holy night bliss with Nativity in Black II, yet another Sab trib on which earnest-faced slugs like Godsmack and System of a Down offer takes on substance-abuse odes like "Sweet Leaf" and "Snow Blind." What would it take to make us run back to Ozz with arms akimbo and lips pursed in kiss-ready positions? Uh . . . here it is. Oh, Ozzy, how we missed thee!
Le Cock Sportif
Porn star on cover? Check (Raylene).
Band made up of five square-headed mooks sporting Vandykes, backward baseball caps and weight problems? Check.
White guys appropriating ghetto badass/hedonistic rocker personas so as to be tough as revolutionary squall? Check.
Songs that include the words "pager," "hot tub" or "homeboy"? Check.
References to "Sealy Posturepedic embedded asses"? Check.
Track titles like "Don't Speak English" and "Bong Hits"? Check.
Is my promo copy already collecting dust in the used bin at a local record store? Check.