Author's Note: This review originally appeared on 411Mania.com. It can be found here:
http://www.411mania.com/music/album_reviews/60383/Ratt---Tell-the-World:-The-Very-Best-of-Ratt-Review.htm
Arriving on the coattails of Motley Crue in 1984, Ratt was the epitome of the first wave of ‘80s hair metal. The songs were poppy, but there was a sleazy undercurrent that made them seem tough. As the ‘80s wore on, they lost the sleaze and just followed the typical ‘80s metal formula. By the time they released Detonator in 1990, they were indistinguishable from Warrant. The band’s new hits collection, Tell The World: The Very Best of Ratt makes this painfully obvious.
The album’s track list is virtually identical to 1991’s Ratt n’ Roll 8191 but is out of chronological order. This seems ideal at first, since Ratt n’ Roll’s chronological approach dragged towards the end. Unfortunately Tell the World is so poorly executed, the best moments nearly get lost in the shuffle.
The album kicks off with “Dangerous But Worth the Risk and “Back For More.” These songs are ideal choices to open a compilation because they show what Ratt was at their best: a killer pop metal band. Both songs have raw production, huge hooks and impeccable guitar work. The momentum is ruined by “Loving You is a Dirty Job,” an overproduced, underwritten attempt at mainstream acceptance. The mediocrity continues until things pick up with “You’re in Love.” Once again, the momentum is ruined by “City to City,” the unremarkable opener from 1989’s Reach For the Sky
This is a shame, because a lot of the songs still hold up. The band’s signature tune, “Round and Round” is as infectious today as it was in 1984. “You’re in Love” and “Lay it Down” contain monster riffs and white hot shredding from guitarist Warren DeMartini. “Slip of the Lip” contains a sexy groove and one of the best choruses of the 1980s. It’s obvious the band didn’t want to go the chronological route again, but they could have arranged the songs in a way that emphasized their strengths. There is no logic in putting the songs from Detonator up front and putting most of the songs from Out of the Cellar towards the back. By making this careless decision, the band alienates the target audience for a compilation, the casual fan.
Although the sequencing is especially inept, the choice of songs is also flawed. While all of Ratt’s major singles are present, there are no tracks from the 1983 self-titled EP. There are two versions of “Way Cool Jr.,” but no “You Think You’re Tough.” The album is called Tell the World,, but “Tell the World” is not on the compilation. How do you name an album after a song and then not include the title track? It defies all logic.
Ratt intended Tell the World to become their definitive greatest hits album. Unfortunately, poor sequencing and missing tracks make it a subpar overview of one of hair metal’s greatest bands. There are some great songs on this disc, but there are much better ways to get a fix of Ratt n’ Roll.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Dimestore Haloes- The Ghosts of Saturday Night
Author's Note: This review was originally published on The Label Project. It can be found here:
http://www.labelproject.com/fullbreachkicks/fbk002.html
http://www.labelproject.com/fullbreachkicks/fbk002.html
Nothing will ever sound as good as the music coming from your first stereo. The sound quality was terrible, but the music coming from those speakers is the most important music of your life. In those early teenage years, your first cassettes and CDs shape your musical taste. These bands help you become who you are, which is why people become so nostalgic for the music of their youth. It’s the kind of experience that every human being has, but it’s almost impossible to capture on record. The Dimestore Haloes have found a way.
The Ghosts of Saturday Night is an album of teenage romance, alcohol fueled nights on the town and reflective laments. A large part of the band’s appeal is their sound, a mixture of Hanoi Rocks style glam and ’77 punk. The music sticks to that early punk ethos. Songs are kept short and simple, with attention to melody. Unlike a lot of so-called punk records, the production is basic. There is no overdubbing, no fancy effects and no cameos from Jay-Z. What you hear is what you get: guitar, bass, drums and a bit of piano thrown in for good measure. A large part of the band’s sound is guitarist Chaz Matthews’ whiskey soaked vocal cords, which give his words a layer of authenticity.
Matthews’ lyrics are what separate The Ghosts of Saturday Night from the pack. His lyrics are complex, evocative and honest. Matthews’ songwriting skills are best represented in “Hot Pink Stereo,” the album’s emotional
Fortunately, the record consistently delivers. The opening track, “Black Glitter Baby Doll” is an addictive number about summer loving and having a blast. Matthews’ lyrical structure is especially interesting in this song, because he sings the first verse, then the chorus and then repeats the same verse again. This type of structure isn’t used very often in the 2000s, so the song really stands out because of it.
Unfortunately, the album nearly derails with the final track. “Adore Me” is the kind of off key punk tune in the grand tradition of Sid Vicious’ “My Way,” sung by drummer Jimmy Reject. The song isn’t necessarily bad, but it’s placement on the album was a grave mistake. The song should have been placed in the beginning of the record, where it could be easily skipped. As the final track, it disrupts the flow of the album and leaves a bad taste in the listener’s mouth.
Despite this flaw, The Ghosts of Saturday Night is full of everything that makes punk rock great. The band broke up shortly after recording this record, and it is a fitting swan song.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Elvis Costello- My Aim Is True (Deluxe Edition)
Date: 9/17/2007
Well, here we are again. Elvis Costello has re-released his debut album, My Aim Is True just in time for its 30th anniversary. This is not uncommon, most bands reissue key albums at some point in their career. It’s a good way to bring new fans into the fold and reward hardcore fans at the same time. However, this is the third time in 15 years that Costello has re-released My Aim Is True. This begs the question, is the new deluxe edition of My Aim Is True worth it?
If you don’t own a copy of My Aim Is True, you should know the answer to that question. Three decades after its original release, it remains one of the greatest debuts in music history. With biting cynicism and an encyclopedic knowledge of pop music, Costello created songs that have become standards. “Alison,” “Watching the Detectives”and“Less Than Zero” have not aged. Like all great debuts, there is a sense of greatness as if you know that the artist will continue to grow. So if you’ve never heard this record, the deluxe version provides the perfect excuse.
If you are already a Costello devotee, the answer is not as clear cut. What sets this reissue apart from the 1993 Rykodisc edition or the 2002 Rhino edition? The good news is that there isn’t much overlap. The demo versions of “No Action” and “Living in
The second disc is a live concert, recorded in 1977. This is the incentive for the hardcore fan to purchase this disc. Costello takes the stage backed by The Attractions, and the concert serves as a bridge between My Aim is True and This Year’s Model. Many of the tunes that would appear on This Year’s Model are on the setlist, and it’s interesting to hear them in their early form. The Attractions sound tight and professional, but haven’t quite gelled. Within a year they would become a force to be reckoned with, but at this point they are still feeling each other out.
The deluxe edition is not without its flaws. Rhino’s 2002 reissue contained a wonderful essay by Costello, along with several paragraphs explaining the various outtakes and B-sides. The booklet in this reissue just contains the lyrics and a few photos. The Rhino edition also contained nine unreleased songs that are nowhere to be found on this set. Because of this gap, there is still no definitive version of My Aim is True.
Despite its shortcomings, the deluxe edition of My Aim Is True is worth a purchase, both for hardcore and casual fans alike. The album itself remains timeless, and the live concert provides a fascinating glimpse of an artist trying to find himself as a performer. One question must be addressed however: Will the album be worth buying a fourth time? I certainly hope not.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Sixx AM- The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack
In 1987, Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx died of a heroin overdose. On a particularly decadent night out with members of Guns n’ Roses and RATT in tow, Sixx let a dealer inject him with a massive dose of the deadly narcotic. Within seconds, he was turning blue and having trouble breathing. Eventually his heart stopped and he was declared legally dead. Fortunately for Sixx, the paramedics were able to save his life by plunging two adrenaline needles directly into his heart. When he arrived home after this ordeal, he recorded a new message on his answering machine: “Hi, this is Nikki. I’m not home because I’m dead.”
This story sounds like a harrowing tale of rock n’ roll excess, but Nikki Sixx has told it so many times that it has lost all meaning. Despite the over exposure of his overdose, Sixx is taking us on the ride one more time with The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack. Designed as the audio companion to his new book, The Heroin Diaries follows Nikki Sixx from his darkest days to his recovery and eventual redemption
Redemption is the main theme of this record, but there is very little to redeem The Heroin Diaries. The record is marred with lazy songwriting, slick production and goofy interludes. There is nothing that separates The Heroin Diaries from a thousand other rock records to be released this year. It’s a shame, because Nikki Sixx is capable of so much more than this.
The problems begin right away with the opening track, “X-Mas in Hell.” Sixx reads his diary entry from Christmas of 1985, the lowest point in his life. The entry is dark, unflinching and honest. It would be quite effective on its own. Unfortunately, the entry is lost in a metallic version of “Carol of the Bells,” playing in the background. The effect is comical. These spoken word interludes occur throughout the record, each one meant to be a glimpse into the soul of an addict. Unfortunately, these interludes do nothing but break up the flow of the album.
“X-Mas in Hell” leads into “Van Nuys,” the first proper song of the album. The song begins with singer James Michael proclaiming that “he doesn’t want to die/out here in the Valley.” Michael is a major problem with The Heroin Diaries. He doesn’t have a bad voice, but it is completely devoid of charisma. He sounds like a million other rock singers, relying on the vaguely Eddie Vedder-ish tenor that has become an institution.
Michael is not completely to blame for this record. Guitarist DJ Ashba contributes nothing to this record, except for forgettable guitar riffs that are covered up by layers of effects. It’s almost as if Ashba thinks he can cover up his mediocre playing with Pro Tools Editing.
Ultimately, the blame falls upon Nikki Sixx himself. When he is motivated, Nikki Sixx is a great songwriter. It’s depressing to think that he has been working on this record for so long and the best he could come up with are clichés. “Life is Beautiful?” “Accidents Can Happen?” “Tomorrow?” This is all stuff you have heard before, and done in far more interesting ways. At times it feels like Sixx is cribbing lyrics from a Tony Robbins seminar.
The Heroin Diaries could have been a great record, but gets lost in a sea of clichés, Spinal Tap size pretensions and slick production. After 20 years, Nikki’s addiction stories have finally overdosed.
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Joneses- Keeping Up With the Joneses
http://www.labelproject.com/fullbreachkicks/fbk014.html
In 1986, the Sunset Strip was clogged with hundreds of ozone destroying hair bands. Big haired kids from all over the country arrived daily, hoping they would hit paydirt with their own raunchy tales of debauchery. While many bands had an idea of what sleaze was supposed to sound like, most of them failed in execution. On the rare occasion a band succeeded, they were largely ignored by the masses. The Joneses were one of those bands.
Keeping Up With the Joneses succeeds where many other albums of the genre fail: The recklessness of the band’s sound is kept firmly in tact. The production is raw and messy. The band plays each note as if it was the final note they would ever play. There is no pretension, no extended soloing, just straight forward rock n’ roll. This record pulses with the debauchery of the Rainbow and the filthiness of the mud pit at the Tropicana. This record is not sanitized for your protection, this is the real thing.
In the mid-80s, nearly every band that hit the Sunset Strip claimed The
The record begins with “Miss 747,” a roaring rocker in the vain of the early Rolling Stones. The record really gets going with “She’s So Filthy,” a slinky slice of rhythm and blues. Singer Jeff Drake slows the pace of the lyrics, enunciating every word and showing the full effect of his disaffected bratty tone. “Stranded in the Jungle” begins with the intoxicating beat of bongo drums and monkeys before delivering an atomic blast of guitar.
The mark of a truly great rock band is to take something quite familiar and manage to make it their own. The Joneses not only leave their mark on the sleaze genre, they also manage to make a seemingly innocuous pop song sound dangerous.
When Elton John released “Crocodile Rock” in 1973, it was a nostalgic throwback to rock’s most innocent era. Elton and Susie had so much fun, holding hands and skimming stones. It was the kind of song that was meant to make the listener feel warm and fuzzy. In the hands of Jeff Drake, “Crocodile Rock” is turned into an anthem of teenage hormones. “Crocodile Rock” retains its basic musical structure, but the faster tempo, loud guitars and bratty street punk vocals give the song a nasty edge. Jeff Drake wants to do more than hold hands and skim stones.
If this album had been released in the wake of Appetite For Destruction, The Joneses would have been nipping on Guns n’ Roses heels. Unfortunately the album was released the year before;
Monday, July 30, 2007
Chris Benoit
I've been meaning to write this for a few days, but I just had to get my head around what has happened.
Besides music, there is nothing in this world that I love more than professional wrestling. Ever since I was six years old, it has been my obsession. Everyone in my life thought it would be a fleeting thing, like it is with most boys. My fervor has grown with each passing year. I love the athleticism, the passion and the pageantry. As a disabled person, I live vicariously through these men and imagine myself fighting alongside them. It has gotten me through many of the worst times my life, and been the icebreaker for my greatest friendships.
Wrestling fans become very attached to their favorite performer. Unlike conventional sports, where the team often overshadows the individual, fans have an intense bond with their favorite wrestler. Although we may not know the person outside of their character, they become our friends, our enemies and our rivals. When a favorite wins, we are right there with him, and when they lose we feel their pain. It's a passionate love affair.
In 1997, I was a hardcore WCW fan. This was during the heyday of the nWo, and the company was on fire. The shows not only had star power, but also had the best in ring action I had ever seen. I was exposed to wrestling styles from around the world. I saw lucha-libre, the Japanese “strong style” and British technical wrestling. That's when I first saw him.
He was a member of the Four Horsemen then, along with Ric Flair, Arn Anderson and Steve McMichael. He was non-descript and could not cut a promo to save his life. Then I saw him in the ring, and my jaw hit the floor. Everything looked legitimate. This man was an athlete of the highest caliber. I started to follow him, and I liked him more with every match I saw.
He didn't become one of my favorites until Bash at the Beach '97. I bought the Pay Per View to see Dennis Rodman get his ass kicked by Lex Luger and the Giant. However, after the midcard, the main event became an afterthought.
He was going up against Kevin Sullivan that night, in a retirement match. If I were 22 at the time, I would have called it "an old fashioned blood feud inspired by the likes of Magnum TA and Tully Blanchard." At the time, I thought they hated each other. The match blew me away. The two men tore each other apart, and every blow connected with a loud smack of flesh. These two hated each other, and you could taste it. My friend Jeremy and I were screaming as if this was the last wrestling match we would ever see. They went back and forth, back and forth. They kicked out of every pinning combination I had ever seen. Then he climbed the turnbuckles and hit his famous swan dive. Jeremy and I screamed the numbers we had heard a million times, our hearts stopping with each slap of the referee's hand.
ONE!
Stay down Sullivan!
TWO!!!
Would Sullivan get his shoulder up at the last second?!
THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jeremy and I jumped three feet in the air when we heard the bell ring. We hugged each other and ran around the house screaming "HE WON! HE WON! HE WON! HE WON!" We would see Chris Benoit wrestle another day. We finally calmed down enough to watch him walk up the ramp. I had never seen such courage displayed in the squared circle. At that moment, I had someone new to look up to.
After his match with Sullivan, Benoit seemed to get better and better. I watched him have phenomenal match after phenomenal match. He helped make Booker T into a singles star with their Best of Seven series. He had a technical clinic with Dean Malenko at Road Wild. He was Bret Hart's personal choice for a tribute match for his brother Owen. Each time, Benoit showed respect and honor for his profession. The more I read about Chris Benoit, the more I liked him. There was no scandal. He seemed to be what he was on TV: A class act with profound respect for the fans and his sport.
When Benoit jumped to the WWF in 2000, along with Eddie Guererro, Perry Saturn and Dean Malenko I was thrilled. Finally he would be in a place where his skills would be appreciated. Once again, Chris Benoit proved that he had the skills to back up his reputation. He had fantastic matches with The Rock, Kurt Angle and Chris Jericho.
Although Benoit had the skills, I doubted he would ever be world champion. After all, he wasn't very good on the mike and was a cruiserweight. Cruiserweights never made it to the top of the card. However, in 2004, he did the unthinkable: he won the Royal Rumble. He entered the ring at #1, and lasted an hour against 30 of the biggest names on the WWE roster. When the bell rang and he collapsed from exaustion I had goosebumps. An actual wrestler had a shot at the sport's most valued prize. The title would be decided in a Triple Threat match with Shawn Michaels and Triple H.
WrestleMania XX was already shaping up to be one of the best nights I'd ever had as a wrestling fan. Eddie Guererro retained his WWE Championship in a great match against Kurt Angle. The Undertaker went back to his deadman persona, with Paul Bearer in tow. The magnificence of Madison Square Garden added to the aura of the event.
Shawn Michaels came down to the ring first, showboating as usual. Then Benoit, who looked like a man on a mission. Finally the champion strode down to the ring, confident in his abilities. As I looked at these three men in the ring staring at each other I remember thinking "This one is going to be special." I was right. The main event of WrestleMania XX is one of the greatest matches I have ever seen. Like Sullivan, it went back and forth, back and forth. There were reversals on top of reversals, kickout after kickout. Michaels and Helmsley both wore the crimson mask.
Towards the end of the match, Hunter had Benoit setup for a Pedigree. My heart sank, the dream had ended. At the last second, Benoit was able to reverse the hold and now had Triple H in the Crippler Crossface! I screamed with joy, but it looked as if Hunter had kicked Benoit away. My heart sank again.
BUT WAIT! CHRIS BENOIT HELD ON AND ROLLED THROUGH!! HUNTER IS LOCKED IN THE CRIPPLER CROSSFACE WITH NOWHERE TO GO!!!
My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
C'mon Hunter, tap. Tap before I die.
TAP! TAP! TAP YOU SONOFABITCH!
I was yelling so loudly that my brother thought something was wrong and came in to check on me.
With one final burst of strength Benoit reared back, increasing the pressure on Hunter's neck. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and tapped his hand on the canvas. The Game was over.
I let out a scream of orgasmic joy. Chris Benoit won the World Title at WrestleMania. Referee Earl Hebner got the belt from the timekeeper and presented it to the new champion. Benoit burst into tears. I did too.
Confetti started to pour from the ceiling of the Garden. Benoit turned around saw his best friend, fellow champion Eddie Guererro. The two men stood in the center of the ring and hugged. The dream had come true. Then Benoit's family poured into the ring: His parents, his wife Nancy, daughter Megan, and sons David and Daniel. It was the most poignant moment I have ever seen in a wrestling ring.
As I watched Benoit walk up the aisle that night, I will never forget what I was thinking:
"This represents everything I love about this sport, and I am proud to call this man my champion."
All my life I had been made fun of for liking wrestling, and I finally had someone that I could show to people that weren't wrestling fans. After I would show them one of his matches, they would begrudgingly admit that Benoit was a legitimate athlete. Each time I saw Chris Benoit my respect grew. He earned every ounce of it.
In November of 2005, his best friend Eddie Guererro died of a heart attack in his hotel room. On RAW the next night, Benoit cried his eyes out and I thought I had seen a glimpse of the man behind the character. I felt empathy for everyone that night, but Benoit's tearful speech shook me to the core.
Benoit soldiered on, moving to Smackdown and winning the United States title once again. He seemed to be preparing the new generation of stars, feuding with Montel Vontavious Porter. MVP's ring presence improved with each bout.
Two weeks ago, Chris Benoit was traded from Smackdown to ECW. He looked CM Punk directly in the eye, and I anticipated Benoit's greatest feud yet. I had fantasies of hour long time limit draws, and respectful handshakes. The young lion and the cagey veteran were about to collide.
The feud never happened.
On Monday morning, I went to 411mania.com to read the Vengeance results. Nothing really stood out, except for the fact that Benoit missed his match with Punk due to "personal reasons." I thought it was odd, but figured a grandmother had died or something. I pushed the news aside and went on with my day. Around 5:30 PM, I checked my Myspace page and saw that Marty Jannetty had posted a bulletin. Marty's bulletins are usually overdramatic, so I gave it passing glance. The passing glance turned into disbelief:
"please tell me Chris Benoit and family is NOT really dead!!"
Oh God....not again. Not again.
I opened the bulletin:
"WWE is reporting that Chris Benoit and his family has all been found dead in their home...I'm just trying to get my mind right to be a pawl bearer at Sherri's funeral....and...Chris being another good friend...come on man..some one tell me either this is a stupid a stroyline...or....am I fuckin dreaming???? or in hell!!!"
No....No....This can't be true. Marty is probably just looking for attention. I'll go on WWE.com and everything will be fine.
Marty wasn't lying. Chris Benoit was dead. Another piece of my childhood gone forever....and his whole family went along with him. I was dumbfounded. Was it carbon monoxide? A robbery? Had he been murdered? I couldn’t believe it.
My friend Shaun came over that night, and we watched RAW together. The show opened with Vince McMahon explaining what happened to an empty arena in Corpus Christi. McMahon scrapped his "death," and promised us some of Benoit's greatest moments. As I watched the ending of the 2004 Royal Rumble, I thought that this format had become too familiar. Benoit's coworkers delivered tear-filled speeches about what a great man Chris Benoit was inside and outside of the ring. Their stories reaffirmed my respect.
Shaun left shortly after the telecast ended. I was about to go to bed, but decided to check WWE.com one last time. They now had more information. Chris Benoit had killed his wife and child before killing himself. I reread the sentence a million times, but it still didn't click. Monica IM'ed me and said the story was on CNN. I had to come to terms with the fact that I was guilty of mourning a murderer. I went to bed with a heavy heart.
I woke up the next day with the media in full swing. They didn't give a damn about Chris Benoit before, but were quick to judge the situation. Wrestling is a horrible redneck sport, so of course steroids and the WWE were to blame. I didn't know what to think. I told my mom what happened and she dismissed Benoit as "Just another whacko."
I went to work and tried to forget about the whole thing. My coworker Gina is a fan and she asked me how I was holding up. I looked her directly in the eyes and said: "I'm devastated." My coworker Stephen condescendingly asked me what was wrong and I told him. He dismissed my feelings. My coworker Lauren said that it was a tragedy, but with a smirk on her face. She is too smart for wrestling.
I went on the WWE website several times that day, and watched the company try to erase all traces of Chris Benoit from history. I watched the media turn the Benoit situation from a tragedy into another excuse to show the evils of professional wrestling. When I went to the wrestling websites, people were going through the exact same feelings I was trying to deal with. How can you forgive yourself for cheering a murderer? Should I even watch wrestling anymore?
The story kept getting more bizarre as the days went on. Vince McMahon went on the Today show to defend his company and got jumped on by Meredith Veira. Lauren made a comment about steroids in wrestling while I was watching it, and I childishly lashed out. I told her to shut the fuck up and yelled and screamed. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I quickly composed myself and apologized, but I felt as if I were being attacked as well. Our society is very hypocritical when it comes to wrestling. It's perfectly fine to watch a reality show with vapid Playboy Playmates, but if you watch wrestling you are the scum of the earth.
The media coverage of the event has only made this worse. It's too easy to say "just avoid the media" because it's impossible in our society. The talking head shows claimed that they were blaming Benoit, but were really going after wrestling. They hired bitter ex-wrestlers who lost their ride to substantiate their claim: Mark Mero, Lex Luger, Debra McMichael and The Ultimate Warrior. The only show that seemed to give the story a balanced approach was Nancy Grace, who admitted she didn't understand the business or the murder. Chris Jericho appeared on her show and actually told it like it was. The worst was Bill O'Reilly, who got Irving Muchnick, a respected journalist, to give another aspect to the story. O’Reilly never even let him speak, calling him a Benoit apologist.
I have had enough. This would be so much easier for me if I didn't like Chris Benoit so much. I know wrestling isn't real, and that these guys are just playing characters but until Monday night nobody had a bad thing to say about him. I'm not apologizing for Benoit at all, but I want there to be some explanation for why he did this. Why did he throw it all away? There has to be a better answer than steroids or prescription drugs.
This blog may be hard to understand if you aren't a wrestling fan. Chris Benoit killed his family, why are you upset? The man is a murderer, get over it. I am upset because I had a lot of honest emotion wrapped up in this man. His matches brought me a lot of joy, and they are some of the best times I've had as a wrestling fan.
I suppose I'll have to separate the performer from the person. I may be able to do that eventually, but it won't be for a long time. Right now, I'm too numb. I know Nancy and Daniel are in a better place, and I hope Benoit made peace with his maker.
Besides music, there is nothing in this world that I love more than professional wrestling. Ever since I was six years old, it has been my obsession. Everyone in my life thought it would be a fleeting thing, like it is with most boys. My fervor has grown with each passing year. I love the athleticism, the passion and the pageantry. As a disabled person, I live vicariously through these men and imagine myself fighting alongside them. It has gotten me through many of the worst times my life, and been the icebreaker for my greatest friendships.
Wrestling fans become very attached to their favorite performer. Unlike conventional sports, where the team often overshadows the individual, fans have an intense bond with their favorite wrestler. Although we may not know the person outside of their character, they become our friends, our enemies and our rivals. When a favorite wins, we are right there with him, and when they lose we feel their pain. It's a passionate love affair.
In 1997, I was a hardcore WCW fan. This was during the heyday of the nWo, and the company was on fire. The shows not only had star power, but also had the best in ring action I had ever seen. I was exposed to wrestling styles from around the world. I saw lucha-libre, the Japanese “strong style” and British technical wrestling. That's when I first saw him.
He was a member of the Four Horsemen then, along with Ric Flair, Arn Anderson and Steve McMichael. He was non-descript and could not cut a promo to save his life. Then I saw him in the ring, and my jaw hit the floor. Everything looked legitimate. This man was an athlete of the highest caliber. I started to follow him, and I liked him more with every match I saw.
He didn't become one of my favorites until Bash at the Beach '97. I bought the Pay Per View to see Dennis Rodman get his ass kicked by Lex Luger and the Giant. However, after the midcard, the main event became an afterthought.
He was going up against Kevin Sullivan that night, in a retirement match. If I were 22 at the time, I would have called it "an old fashioned blood feud inspired by the likes of Magnum TA and Tully Blanchard." At the time, I thought they hated each other. The match blew me away. The two men tore each other apart, and every blow connected with a loud smack of flesh. These two hated each other, and you could taste it. My friend Jeremy and I were screaming as if this was the last wrestling match we would ever see. They went back and forth, back and forth. They kicked out of every pinning combination I had ever seen. Then he climbed the turnbuckles and hit his famous swan dive. Jeremy and I screamed the numbers we had heard a million times, our hearts stopping with each slap of the referee's hand.
ONE!
Stay down Sullivan!
TWO!!!
Would Sullivan get his shoulder up at the last second?!
THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jeremy and I jumped three feet in the air when we heard the bell ring. We hugged each other and ran around the house screaming "HE WON! HE WON! HE WON! HE WON!" We would see Chris Benoit wrestle another day. We finally calmed down enough to watch him walk up the ramp. I had never seen such courage displayed in the squared circle. At that moment, I had someone new to look up to.
After his match with Sullivan, Benoit seemed to get better and better. I watched him have phenomenal match after phenomenal match. He helped make Booker T into a singles star with their Best of Seven series. He had a technical clinic with Dean Malenko at Road Wild. He was Bret Hart's personal choice for a tribute match for his brother Owen. Each time, Benoit showed respect and honor for his profession. The more I read about Chris Benoit, the more I liked him. There was no scandal. He seemed to be what he was on TV: A class act with profound respect for the fans and his sport.
When Benoit jumped to the WWF in 2000, along with Eddie Guererro, Perry Saturn and Dean Malenko I was thrilled. Finally he would be in a place where his skills would be appreciated. Once again, Chris Benoit proved that he had the skills to back up his reputation. He had fantastic matches with The Rock, Kurt Angle and Chris Jericho.
Although Benoit had the skills, I doubted he would ever be world champion. After all, he wasn't very good on the mike and was a cruiserweight. Cruiserweights never made it to the top of the card. However, in 2004, he did the unthinkable: he won the Royal Rumble. He entered the ring at #1, and lasted an hour against 30 of the biggest names on the WWE roster. When the bell rang and he collapsed from exaustion I had goosebumps. An actual wrestler had a shot at the sport's most valued prize. The title would be decided in a Triple Threat match with Shawn Michaels and Triple H.
WrestleMania XX was already shaping up to be one of the best nights I'd ever had as a wrestling fan. Eddie Guererro retained his WWE Championship in a great match against Kurt Angle. The Undertaker went back to his deadman persona, with Paul Bearer in tow. The magnificence of Madison Square Garden added to the aura of the event.
Shawn Michaels came down to the ring first, showboating as usual. Then Benoit, who looked like a man on a mission. Finally the champion strode down to the ring, confident in his abilities. As I looked at these three men in the ring staring at each other I remember thinking "This one is going to be special." I was right. The main event of WrestleMania XX is one of the greatest matches I have ever seen. Like Sullivan, it went back and forth, back and forth. There were reversals on top of reversals, kickout after kickout. Michaels and Helmsley both wore the crimson mask.
Towards the end of the match, Hunter had Benoit setup for a Pedigree. My heart sank, the dream had ended. At the last second, Benoit was able to reverse the hold and now had Triple H in the Crippler Crossface! I screamed with joy, but it looked as if Hunter had kicked Benoit away. My heart sank again.
BUT WAIT! CHRIS BENOIT HELD ON AND ROLLED THROUGH!! HUNTER IS LOCKED IN THE CRIPPLER CROSSFACE WITH NOWHERE TO GO!!!
My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
C'mon Hunter, tap. Tap before I die.
TAP! TAP! TAP YOU SONOFABITCH!
I was yelling so loudly that my brother thought something was wrong and came in to check on me.
With one final burst of strength Benoit reared back, increasing the pressure on Hunter's neck. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and tapped his hand on the canvas. The Game was over.
I let out a scream of orgasmic joy. Chris Benoit won the World Title at WrestleMania. Referee Earl Hebner got the belt from the timekeeper and presented it to the new champion. Benoit burst into tears. I did too.
Confetti started to pour from the ceiling of the Garden. Benoit turned around saw his best friend, fellow champion Eddie Guererro. The two men stood in the center of the ring and hugged. The dream had come true. Then Benoit's family poured into the ring: His parents, his wife Nancy, daughter Megan, and sons David and Daniel. It was the most poignant moment I have ever seen in a wrestling ring.
As I watched Benoit walk up the aisle that night, I will never forget what I was thinking:
"This represents everything I love about this sport, and I am proud to call this man my champion."
All my life I had been made fun of for liking wrestling, and I finally had someone that I could show to people that weren't wrestling fans. After I would show them one of his matches, they would begrudgingly admit that Benoit was a legitimate athlete. Each time I saw Chris Benoit my respect grew. He earned every ounce of it.
In November of 2005, his best friend Eddie Guererro died of a heart attack in his hotel room. On RAW the next night, Benoit cried his eyes out and I thought I had seen a glimpse of the man behind the character. I felt empathy for everyone that night, but Benoit's tearful speech shook me to the core.
Benoit soldiered on, moving to Smackdown and winning the United States title once again. He seemed to be preparing the new generation of stars, feuding with Montel Vontavious Porter. MVP's ring presence improved with each bout.
Two weeks ago, Chris Benoit was traded from Smackdown to ECW. He looked CM Punk directly in the eye, and I anticipated Benoit's greatest feud yet. I had fantasies of hour long time limit draws, and respectful handshakes. The young lion and the cagey veteran were about to collide.
The feud never happened.
On Monday morning, I went to 411mania.com to read the Vengeance results. Nothing really stood out, except for the fact that Benoit missed his match with Punk due to "personal reasons." I thought it was odd, but figured a grandmother had died or something. I pushed the news aside and went on with my day. Around 5:30 PM, I checked my Myspace page and saw that Marty Jannetty had posted a bulletin. Marty's bulletins are usually overdramatic, so I gave it passing glance. The passing glance turned into disbelief:
"please tell me Chris Benoit and family is NOT really dead!!"
Oh God....not again. Not again.
I opened the bulletin:
"WWE is reporting that Chris Benoit and his family has all been found dead in their home...I'm just trying to get my mind right to be a pawl bearer at Sherri's funeral....and...Chris being another good friend...come on man..some one tell me either this is a stupid a stroyline...or....am I fuckin dreaming???? or in hell!!!"
No....No....This can't be true. Marty is probably just looking for attention. I'll go on WWE.com and everything will be fine.
Marty wasn't lying. Chris Benoit was dead. Another piece of my childhood gone forever....and his whole family went along with him. I was dumbfounded. Was it carbon monoxide? A robbery? Had he been murdered? I couldn’t believe it.
My friend Shaun came over that night, and we watched RAW together. The show opened with Vince McMahon explaining what happened to an empty arena in Corpus Christi. McMahon scrapped his "death," and promised us some of Benoit's greatest moments. As I watched the ending of the 2004 Royal Rumble, I thought that this format had become too familiar. Benoit's coworkers delivered tear-filled speeches about what a great man Chris Benoit was inside and outside of the ring. Their stories reaffirmed my respect.
Shaun left shortly after the telecast ended. I was about to go to bed, but decided to check WWE.com one last time. They now had more information. Chris Benoit had killed his wife and child before killing himself. I reread the sentence a million times, but it still didn't click. Monica IM'ed me and said the story was on CNN. I had to come to terms with the fact that I was guilty of mourning a murderer. I went to bed with a heavy heart.
I woke up the next day with the media in full swing. They didn't give a damn about Chris Benoit before, but were quick to judge the situation. Wrestling is a horrible redneck sport, so of course steroids and the WWE were to blame. I didn't know what to think. I told my mom what happened and she dismissed Benoit as "Just another whacko."
I went to work and tried to forget about the whole thing. My coworker Gina is a fan and she asked me how I was holding up. I looked her directly in the eyes and said: "I'm devastated." My coworker Stephen condescendingly asked me what was wrong and I told him. He dismissed my feelings. My coworker Lauren said that it was a tragedy, but with a smirk on her face. She is too smart for wrestling.
I went on the WWE website several times that day, and watched the company try to erase all traces of Chris Benoit from history. I watched the media turn the Benoit situation from a tragedy into another excuse to show the evils of professional wrestling. When I went to the wrestling websites, people were going through the exact same feelings I was trying to deal with. How can you forgive yourself for cheering a murderer? Should I even watch wrestling anymore?
The story kept getting more bizarre as the days went on. Vince McMahon went on the Today show to defend his company and got jumped on by Meredith Veira. Lauren made a comment about steroids in wrestling while I was watching it, and I childishly lashed out. I told her to shut the fuck up and yelled and screamed. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I quickly composed myself and apologized, but I felt as if I were being attacked as well. Our society is very hypocritical when it comes to wrestling. It's perfectly fine to watch a reality show with vapid Playboy Playmates, but if you watch wrestling you are the scum of the earth.
The media coverage of the event has only made this worse. It's too easy to say "just avoid the media" because it's impossible in our society. The talking head shows claimed that they were blaming Benoit, but were really going after wrestling. They hired bitter ex-wrestlers who lost their ride to substantiate their claim: Mark Mero, Lex Luger, Debra McMichael and The Ultimate Warrior. The only show that seemed to give the story a balanced approach was Nancy Grace, who admitted she didn't understand the business or the murder. Chris Jericho appeared on her show and actually told it like it was. The worst was Bill O'Reilly, who got Irving Muchnick, a respected journalist, to give another aspect to the story. O’Reilly never even let him speak, calling him a Benoit apologist.
I have had enough. This would be so much easier for me if I didn't like Chris Benoit so much. I know wrestling isn't real, and that these guys are just playing characters but until Monday night nobody had a bad thing to say about him. I'm not apologizing for Benoit at all, but I want there to be some explanation for why he did this. Why did he throw it all away? There has to be a better answer than steroids or prescription drugs.
This blog may be hard to understand if you aren't a wrestling fan. Chris Benoit killed his family, why are you upset? The man is a murderer, get over it. I am upset because I had a lot of honest emotion wrapped up in this man. His matches brought me a lot of joy, and they are some of the best times I've had as a wrestling fan.
I suppose I'll have to separate the performer from the person. I may be able to do that eventually, but it won't be for a long time. Right now, I'm too numb. I know Nancy and Daniel are in a better place, and I hope Benoit made peace with his maker.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Wildhearts- s/t
Author's Note: This review was originally published on 411Mania.com. It can be found here:
http://www.411mania.com/music/album_reviews/57567/The-Wildhearts---The-Wildhearts-Review.htm
When the Wildhearts released their debut album in 1993, they seemed to be Britain’s answer to Guns n’ Roses. They had it all: Hard rock raunch, thunderous riffs, and an excessive lifestyle. While the band seemed like another Guns knockoff, it was their love of pop music that set them apart from their peers. The combination of riffs and melody seemed like a surefire recipe for success. Unfortunately band infighting and substance abuse tore the band apart before they made a significant mark on the mainstream hard rock scene. On their self-titled album, The Wildhearts have another shot at full-on rock stardom.
The Wildhearts is the best rock record to be released in 2007. Guitarist and main songwriter Ginger has cleaned up his act and it shows. This is his tightest collection of songs since 1995’s P.H.U.Q. The songs contain every element that make the Wildhearts so exciting: Bludgeoning riffs, pop harmonies and lyrics with rapier wit. The Wildhearts roar out of the speakers with the ferocity of a mechanized tank. This is not a halfhearted attempt at a comeback; this is an attempt for world domination.
While the band’s trademark sound remains in tact, they manage to throw some curveballs in the mix. The biggest change is the twin guitar duels between Ginger and second guitarist CJ Wildheart. The Wildhearts have never been afraid to solo, but the extended jamming on tracks like “Rooting for the Bad Guys” add another layer to the band’s dense sound. A five minute guitar solo might seem emissary and indulgent, but the music is so focused and intense that it breezes by. Every note has been meticulously planned, and each one has a place within the context of the song.
The twin leads of Ginger and CJ are intriguing, but the most interesting thing about The Wildhearts is how the band finds new ways to fold in their love of pop melodies. The band goes back and forth between the two genres, often several times within a song. Many songs contain musical references from the most unlikely places. “The New Flesh” takes its lyrical structure from Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”
Lyrically, the band has grown up a bit. The decadent lifestyle portrayed on the early records is there, but not as prominent.. Ginger’s lyrics are more political, taking cunning swipes at the Bush Administration and the United States’ involvement in the Iraq War. He also tackles social issues such as welfare and religion. The strength of the political songs is subtlety. Ginger’s voice never rises above a laid-back drawl, so his anger isn’t apparent at first. After repeat listens, the depth of Ginger’s anger comes into full view.
The Wildhearts is a rarity in 2007: A rock record that never sounds forced. Everything from the solos, to the melodies to the lyrics is completely organic. The Wildhearts is a throwback to a time when rock bands worked to make artistic statements. This is an album, not a collection of songs. What a concept!
http://www.411mania.com/music/album_reviews/57567/The-Wildhearts---The-Wildhearts-Review.htm
When the Wildhearts released their debut album in 1993, they seemed to be Britain’s answer to Guns n’ Roses. They had it all: Hard rock raunch, thunderous riffs, and an excessive lifestyle. While the band seemed like another Guns knockoff, it was their love of pop music that set them apart from their peers. The combination of riffs and melody seemed like a surefire recipe for success. Unfortunately band infighting and substance abuse tore the band apart before they made a significant mark on the mainstream hard rock scene. On their self-titled album, The Wildhearts have another shot at full-on rock stardom.
The Wildhearts is the best rock record to be released in 2007. Guitarist and main songwriter Ginger has cleaned up his act and it shows. This is his tightest collection of songs since 1995’s P.H.U.Q. The songs contain every element that make the Wildhearts so exciting: Bludgeoning riffs, pop harmonies and lyrics with rapier wit. The Wildhearts roar out of the speakers with the ferocity of a mechanized tank. This is not a halfhearted attempt at a comeback; this is an attempt for world domination.
While the band’s trademark sound remains in tact, they manage to throw some curveballs in the mix. The biggest change is the twin guitar duels between Ginger and second guitarist CJ Wildheart. The Wildhearts have never been afraid to solo, but the extended jamming on tracks like “Rooting for the Bad Guys” add another layer to the band’s dense sound. A five minute guitar solo might seem emissary and indulgent, but the music is so focused and intense that it breezes by. Every note has been meticulously planned, and each one has a place within the context of the song.
The twin leads of Ginger and CJ are intriguing, but the most interesting thing about The Wildhearts is how the band finds new ways to fold in their love of pop melodies. The band goes back and forth between the two genres, often several times within a song. Many songs contain musical references from the most unlikely places. “The New Flesh” takes its lyrical structure from Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”
Lyrically, the band has grown up a bit. The decadent lifestyle portrayed on the early records is there, but not as prominent.. Ginger’s lyrics are more political, taking cunning swipes at the Bush Administration and the United States’ involvement in the Iraq War. He also tackles social issues such as welfare and religion. The strength of the political songs is subtlety. Ginger’s voice never rises above a laid-back drawl, so his anger isn’t apparent at first. After repeat listens, the depth of Ginger’s anger comes into full view.
The Wildhearts is a rarity in 2007: A rock record that never sounds forced. Everything from the solos, to the melodies to the lyrics is completely organic. The Wildhearts is a throwback to a time when rock bands worked to make artistic statements. This is an album, not a collection of songs. What a concept!
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