Power Ballads 
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Monday, June 8th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: McAuley Schenker Group, “Anytime”

by Rob Smith

When last we left Michael Schenker, he was totally shredding through the last 40 seconds of UFO’s majestic power ballad, “Try Me.” Mikey hung around the band for another year or so before leaving in 1978 to rejoin brother Rudy in the Scorpions. That, too, lasted a year or so before he left again, this time to form his own band, the imaginatively named Michael Schenker Group, the moniker under which he would rape, pillage, and drink his way through arena tours here and abroad for a number of years. Three decent studio records and a very cool live album brought Schenker some middling chart success in the very early 80s, but nothing could touch the power and finesse of the peak UFO material.

By the end of the decade, Schenker’s desire for chart success could be measured in the length of the hair extensions he wore, apparently to keep up with new vocalist Robin McAuley, whose semi-artificial mane was prominently featured on the cover of the first album released under the name McAuley Schenker Group, 1987’s Perfect Timing. McAuley had been in a band called Grand Prix, as well as the evil Frank Farian-produced hydra known as the Far Corporation (who had the stones to cover “Stairway to Heaven”—poorly—as their first single). How he hooked up with Schenker is a closely kept secret (probably involving an international banking conspiracy and at least one case of Johnny Walker Black), but those who appreciate the power ballad arts remain thankful.

The band’s 1989 follow-up record, Save Yourself, yielded an actual quasi-hit single (#69 Hot 100, #5 Mainstream Rock) in “Anytime,” a plea for reconciliation, understanding, and maybe even graphic bondage, wrapped in a warm blanket of melodic rock production. (more…)

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Tuesday, May 26th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: UFO, “Try Me”

by Rob Smith

One of the great eccentrics (and notorious drinkers) in rock, Michael Schenker also served in one of the great hard rock bands of the mid- and late 70s.  The Schenker/Phil Mogg/Pete Way/Andy Parker nexus that powered UFO in this period produced a handful of classic albums, including the scorching, varied Lights Out (1977).  Mogg is an oft-overlooked voice in this period who, at his best, could match Paul Rodgers and Lou Gramm in strength, sleaze, and swagger.

Don’t believe me?  Check out “Too Hot to Handle,” the lead cut from Lights Out.  To these ears, that chorus is easily the equal of “Baby I’m a bad man” or “I’m hot blooded / Check it and see” in sheer potency and sexual bluster.  And that shit was important in 1977, dawg.  I remember how the girls went nuts when little Eddie Blevins sang “Cat Scratch Fever” during second grade recess.  Never forgot it.

Back to Michael Schenker.  He was a Scorpion at 15 (older, mustachioed bro Rudolph is still at it) and hooked up with Mogg, Way, and Parker at 18 for a four-year run of arena tours, smokin’ records, and hard partying.  While Schenker developed the latter into a debilitating affliction, for a while there he was a monster riffmaster and soloist extraordinaire.  Except for this one little track … (more…)

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Monday, May 11th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Triumph, “Let the Light (Shine on Me)”

by Rob Smith

Triumph was an arena rock staple in the late ’70s and through much of the ’80s, particularly in their native Canada, where they were known for their bombastic, pyro-filled shows, as well as bassist Mike Levine’s inexhaustible collection of sports apparel. They had a few gold records here in the States, and a handful of rock radio hits (“Magic Power,” “Lay It on the Line,” and the like), but never made it to the level of stardom that their countrymen Rush managed to achieve in the same period.

Unlike Rush, whose approach to music has always given the appearance of a united front, Triumph had two distinct, dichotomous camps—the guys who just wanted to rawk yer ballz off (Levine and drummer/vocalist Gil Moore) and the sensitive, progressive-minded Artiste with a capital A (guitarist/vocalist Rik Emmett). Thus, any given Triumph album—say, 1984’s pretty awesome Thunder Seven—would have its share of arena stompers (”Spellbound,” and the Zeppelinesque “Cool Down”) alongside pastoral instrumental passages (”Midsummer’s Daydream”), with an occasional what the fuck moment (”Time Canon”) tossed in for good measure.

Things got pretty ridiculous, though, by 1987, when the band belched out Surveillance. The music was a typical pastiche of the ridiculous (“Rock You Down”), the anthemic (”Never Say Never,” “Carry on the Flame”) and the instrumentally showy (”Intro: Into the Forever,” “Prelude: The Waking Dream”). The liner notes, however, attempted to tie the vast and various incongruous pieces together by attaching a literary quote to introduce each song’s lyrics. The extra percussion you heard was the sound of Aristotle, Lucretius, Alexander Pope, Blaise Pascal, and others rolling in their graves. Or perhaps they were rocking. Anyway, once you got past the pretentiousness, it was … oh wait—it was impossible to get past the pretentiousness.

Hung at the end of Side One (track 6 on the CD), “Let the Light (Shine on Me)” cut through the band’s literary aspirations with a beautiful, steadily building anthem to persistence and commitment. It truly stands as one of Triumph’s more … um … triumphant moments. (more…)

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Monday, April 27th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Elefante, “Young and Innocent”

by Rob Smith

Before there was an Arnel Pineda (Steve Perry soundalike, currently fronting Journey), or a Benoit David (Jon Anderson soundalike, currently fronting Yes), or even a Chris Chan (Barry Manilow impersonator, currently playing casinos and corporate gigs), there was John Elefante, whose uncanny vocal resemblance to Steve Walsh landed him the lead singer gig in Kansas after Walsh flew the coop for a “solo career” (like when McLean Stevenson left M*A*S*H for “other roles”). Elefante’s run with the group was modest enough—one mediocre album each in ‘82 and ‘83—but yielded two awesome singles in “Play the Game Tonight” and “Fight Fire with Fire,” both of which remain in Kansas’ setlist to this day.

Somewhere between leaving Kansas in ‘84 and beginning an extensive producing and performing career as a Contemporary Christian artist, John and his brother Dino contributed a track, “Young and Innocent,” to the David Foster-helmed soundtrack of the Brat Pack movie St. Elmo’s Fire. It’s a shame, really, that a song that so majestically exemplifies the best of the power ballad arts was wasted on such a whiny, execrable piece of celluloid mush. That’s how it goes sometimes, though. Booga-booga-booga-ah-ah-ah!

For a moment, let’s accept “Young and Innocent” as a separate entity from the movie. A simple yet stately piano figure opens the song as Elefante glances around the ether:

There’s an echo in the wind.
Makes me wonder where I’ve been
All the years I’ve left behind
Faded pictures in my mind (more…)

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Tuesday, April 14th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Robin Zander, “Time Will Let You Know”

by Rob Smith

Wouldn’t it be cool to be Cheap Trick’s Robin “The Voice” Zander?  I mean, the guy’s, like, 85 years old and looks the same as he did on the cover of Heaven Tonight; he can probably still woo any chick he wants from his nightly audience; and, even though he’s probably tired of singing “I Want You to Want Me” every night, he gets to sing “I Want You to Want Me” every night and hear the wildly appreciative applause of the dozens of people (or thousands, if he’s opening for Journey) who’ve come to hear him sing “I Want You to Want Me.”

But Robin Zander has a sensitive side, too. Exhibit A: “The Flame.” I absolutely love “The Flame.”  There is nobody else—and I mean nobody else—who could take a line as bad as “Whenever you need someone to lay your heart and head upon” and make it sound like a bolt from Zeus himself. Cheap Trick take a lot of shit for recording it, but if there is shit to be taken, it should be Bob Mitchell and Nick Graham, who wrote the thing, partaking of said excrement. Cheap Trick turned their slow dance-by-numbers ditty into a towering achievement in the power ballad arts.

In 1993, Zander released a guest-heavy solo album, which did about as well as Cheap Trick’s studio output of the era (Woke Up with a Montster, anyone?). Amid the poppy hooks and all star cameos (Maria McKee, Dr. John, Stevie Nicks, and most of Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers), Zander placed “Time Will Let You Know,” a Big Statement treatise on taking the great leap of faith and allowing oneself to fall in love. Composed by Zander and someone named Billy O. Who (gotta be a pseudonym, like Prince on those Apollonia 6 and Martika albums—put your guesses in the Comments section), “Time” bundles hope, longing, and resignation to the fates in one massive lighter-worthy package.

The track starts quietly—just Zander and a piano, addressing the object of his affection in hushed exasperation:

Look at you and look at me
Now what are we supposed to be
We’re so afraid of something new
You know it’s true

You turn around and then it’s gone
You can’t be sure if it’s the same old song
We’re so afraid of everyone
Afraid of the sun (more…)

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Monday, March 30th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: REO Speedwagon, “I Needed to Fall”

by Rob Smith

One of my favorite things about joining the Popdose brother/sisterhood is the fact that I have found a group of people whose taste in music is as broad and, on occasion, wussified as my own. For example, my illustrious editor, Jason Hare, has seen Air Supply live (recently!), and no one busts his balls for it, at least not in any serious, make-Jason-cry kinda way. Those who bow at the altar of the Two-Headed Russell know they’ve found a kindred spirit in Jason, possibly even a virtual gang of them. There is a safe haven for us all under the banner of the ‘Dose. Say hallelujah, say amen.

And then there’s REO fucking Speedwagon. I’ve proudly flown the flag for Kevin Cronin (or K-Crone, in street parlance) and the boys ever since I bought Hi Infidelity at the Record Town in Woodbridge Mall back in ‘81. However, reactions from the Popdose staff are mixed for the man who said he would love us for-eh-vurr. And while I’m not the kind of fan who would engage in a physical altercation to defend K-Crone’s honor (Jefito could probably kick my ass, and he’s about as fierce as a nine-year-old), I am the kind who will spend time at a bar or a record store or on a Web site to make the case for the man and his music.

Last year, in fact, REO delivered its first new studio album since the Clinton administration, a better-than-expected, Wal-Mart-approved record called Find Your Own Way Home. It’s a dignified collection of tunes from a band working in an industry that’s anything but dignified, particularly for a bunch of guys pushing 60.

No, really, it’s quite good. You should definitely check it out, particularly if you’re around 40 and can name the second single off Good Trouble without thinking about it. The pinched-nose affectations K-Crone incorporated into his vocals in the ’90s (which made Building the Bridge and the REO half of the Arch Allies live record unlistenable) have been subsumed to a large extent. Neal Doughty, the band’s keyboardist and longtime secret weapon, provides all the great low-mix color and texture, as he has for almost 40 years. And though I miss Gary Richrath’s chunka-chunka burnin’ chords and chirping solos, my appreciation for Dave Amato has finally exited the grudging stage.

(more…)

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Wednesday, March 18th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Quiet Riot, “Winners Take All”

by Rob Smith

Kevin DuBrow’s cocaine-assisted demise in 2007 denied the world additional work from one of the great philosophical minds in hard rock. Not really, but has there ever been another frontman in the genre who could implore a crowd to “get crazy” (spelled crayzee, if you use the metric system) so convincingly? It was as if he had made the trip from sanity to his current state, and knew the most rockin’ way of getting there, if you wanted to come along too.  Ozzy tries to pull it off every time he gets onstage, but no one has truly doubted his sanity since maybe ‘86. Blackie Lawless from WASP is vulgar (in a cool way) and dresses like a Troll doll in a leather bar, but he’s perfectly sane. When DuBrow sang, “Metal health will drive you mad,” you knew he knew firsthand just what metal health could and would do to you, and it wasn’t pretty.

But even crayzee front men have their moments of reflection, and 1984’s “Winners Take All” is just such a moment. The climb to chart-topping heights had given Quiet Riot plenty of fodder for whacked-out tour photography (as evidenced by the plethora of crayzee pics that graced the inner sleeve of Condition Critical, the album from which “Winners” hails), but it apparently came at a price. DuBrow sounds positively bone-weary, like he just sent the evening’s groupie on her way, it’s four in the morning, and he’s staring into his Jack Daniels bottle, wondering if he’s seeing things, or whether that’s really a little man in a tugboat floating around down there.

He contemplates life and all its many disappointments. “Life’s been good / Life’s been bad,” he muses, in a true best-of-times, worst-of-times moment of deep thought. Stunned at the depth of his thought, he looks further inward: “Now I know what I had / Has taken its toll on me.” The listener longs for him to enumerate the things he’s had — women, booze, tinnitus, crabs, a metric ton of coke, hairpieces — but he tries to dig deeper into his thought. “Yes, we give,” he declaims, “and we take / What we get is what we make.”   What we get is what we make. Apparently, DuBrow has exhausted himself — hey, that is a little man in a tugboat — and, reeling, he declares we must all “Believe that dreams come true.”

“The price is high,” he continues in the bridge, “when you keep the score / Take your souls and your goals / To the top.”  What that means, I have no idea—my soul will occasionally hit the top of something (usually during a bout of acid reflux), but I’ve always aimed low in life, so my goals typically never even hit medium height. Kevin has lost me there.

Oh, but the chorus redeems even the most muddled musing. If there’s a template or prototype for anthem writing, this might be it. A chorus of multitracked DuBrows make a declaration of unity (”Together we stand”), note the consequences of disunity (”we won’t take no fall”), and finally, make another, longer declaration of unity (”Cuz we’re winners and winners take all”).  This is delivered with such strength, such grandeur, such over the top power ballad goodness, I reach for a lighter every time I hear it. Frankie Banali’s drums sound like an anvil dropping down the stairs in an echo chamber; Carlos Cavazo’s power chordage is tinny but true; Rudy Sarzo’s bass—well, I think there’s a bass in there, but Banali’s bass drum provides the bulk of the low end. (more…)

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Thursday, March 5th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Paul Stanley, “Hold Me, Touch Me”

by Rob Smith

I’ve long had a man-crush on soft spot in my heart for Paul Stanley, Kiss’ lead vocalist and most musical member.  He’s the best singer in the band, a commanding stage presence, and his songs are the best things on every one of the dozens of albums the band has shat out since their 1974 debut (sure, Gene Simmons might claim to have written 300 unreleased songs, but they all doubtless suck, just like most of the ones that got released).  And at age 57, he can still bring it live, whether in seven-inch leather heels with Kiss, or in more modest foot apparel in his solo shows.  Check out his DVD One Live Kiss for a primer on playing great rock and roll well past what most people consider an acceptable sell-by date.  Seriously, he’s only six years younger than my father, and Dad had to give up playing to sold-out stadium audiences in his early 40s.  It’s exhausting.

Stanley’s put out two solo records in his career—1978’s Paul Stanley (part of Kiss’ stunt of releasing four solo records simultaneously) and 2006’s Live to Win.  Each has plenty to recommend it, if you’re into the kind of melodic rock on which he’s built his career.

“Hold Me, Touch Me (Think of Me When We’re Apart)” was the sole single released from the 1978 album (peaking at Number 46), and it features many of the instrumental hallmarks of the day, mainly the shimmering acoustic guitars, dead-sounding drums, anonymous background vocals, and faux strings (courtesy of something called an “Omni string ensemble,” an analog synthesizer that, coincidentally, was also responsible for powering Mork’s journey from Ork to Earth that same year).

Stanley is in his most sensitive pillow-talk voice, doubtless laying on his back in a state of repose, fingers gently playing with his own chest hair, sensitively addressing the chick he’d just met backstage six hours before:

Though I know that you are sleepin’
Girl, there’s somethin’ I must say
Though the road may wind
My love will find the way

That’s a really nice sentiment, Paul.  Certainly, this divine maiden would be charmed as all hell by your wooin’ and philosophizin’ about winding roads and such.  But she’s asleep. You acknowledge this in the first line.  She’s probably even snoring a little.  This fazes you not a bit, though, cuz you go on: (more…)

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Tuesday, February 24th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Tommy Shaw, “Lonely School”

by Rob Smith

Maybe eight or ten years ago, if you’d wanted to make some pretty decent money on a minimal investment, all you had to do was find a CD copy of Styx guitarist Tommy Shaw’s 1984 solo debut, Girls with Guns, at a yard sale or in the used bins at your local strip mall record store (you remember them, don’t you?), then turn around and put the copy on eBay.  I once saw a one go for upwards of $200, and it made me longingly recall the time I saw a $10 used GwG at the Keystone Music Exchange and didn’t pull the trigger on the purchase.  And my fists shake with rage at the memory once again.

“Lonely School” was the second single off the record, a follow-up to the album’s more raucous title track, and it’s notable for containing just about every element that Shaw hated in Dennis DeYoung’s music, the primary reason he left Styx.  It’s a keyboard-heavy tune, for one thing; the guitars (Shaw’s stock in trade) mainly provide bits of color here and there, until the solo break after the second chorus.  There are key changes aplenty — into and out of every chorus, to be exact — which serve to adhere the verses to the chorus with a kind of musical Elmer’s or Scotch tape.  The background vocals —”ooh’s” and “ah’s,” mostly, give the overall track a kind of Mr. Mister-ish feel (a full year or two before any of us had heard of Mr. Mister.  Then again, I’ve never seen Tommy Shaw and Richard Page in the same room.  Hmmm …).

(Oh, and ignore the tom-tom percussion that opens the song; no one in rock should be allowed to use the things, with the exception of Neil Peart, who makes them sound like a hailstorm, a headhunter block party, and the march of an advancing army, because he’s Neil-fucking-Peart.)

In truth, “Lonely School” lacks any obvious full-on rawk bombast, the kind Shaw was exposed to daily in Styx and would absolutely master with Damn Yankees (”High Enough,” anyone?  Huh?  No takers?  Bummer).  Indeed, one might be tempted to wonder what’s so powerful about this particular ballad.

In one word: potential.

(more…)

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Tuesday, February 10th, 2009

Death by Power Ballad: Motley Crue, “You’re All I Need”

by Rob Smith

Bands like Rush and AC/DC wear as a badge of honor the fact that they’ve never written or performed a power ballad. I love them both, but they’re pussies. The power ballad is to rock and roll what Al Pacino in Scarface is to acting. The artist has little use for subtlety or restraint — emotion is laid bare, put forth in the most emotive manner possible. In power ballads, the tempo slows; the guitars come to the fore; the notes the singer sings echo and elongate for miles and miles. When done well, the result is beautiful in its pure, overblown glory, enabling the audience to say “hello” to the band’s leetle friend, usually with lighters held aloft.

Every two weeks or so, I will pay tribute to the finest examples of the genre. Together, we will find this death by power ballad to be an exquisite one, indeed. — RS

Lost in all the Popdose/Tom Werman drama last November was the tremendous feat of skill our favorite innkeeper was able to execute in the 1980s: making three decent rock records with Motley Crue, a band possessing the worst singer in the history of the genre. The worst. Vince Neil’s voice is an adenoidal whine, strained through a larynx that may or may not be capable of falsetto. If the bulk of singers in nü-metal sound like Cookie Monster, Vince Neil sounds like Big Bird. At a slaughterhouse. Begging for his life.

Girls, Girls, Girls certainly put that distressing … um … instrument in its proper element — wedged between Tommy Lee’s stadium-ready drums and the boneyard ’70s-vintage riffage of Mick Mars, spewing Nikki Sixx’s special ed poetry. The album’s title track gets all the airplay, but it’s the opener, “Wild Side,” that’s the real deal. It contains not just a cool riff and Sixx’s best line (”I carry my crucifix under my death list / Forward my mail to me in hell”), but the production (reverb, placement and volume of instruments, etc.) that makes Vince Neil actually sound menacing. I mean, sure, he wore the leather and rode the big bike and sucker-punched Izzy Stradlin at an MTV shindig, but in 1987, who was really going to be afraid of Vince Neil, other than anyone sharing a road with him when he went on a beer run?

Then there’s “You’re All I Need,” a lovely rock ballad that served as the spiritual descendant of “Home Sweet Home,” the Crue’s true lighter-in-the-air-worthy moment. Musically, it’s right in the pocket: Lee’s keyboard melody gives the song its foundation and structure, while Mars layers on the power chords to give the tune some muscle. Neil himself even sounds spry and happy, as if someone just told him his package from Colombia had arrived and his appointment at Dirty Eddie’s Tattoo Parlor had been confirmed. Shit — piano, power chords, and a familiar rawk voice on a ballad called “You’re All I Need”? Sounds like somebody just recorded a prom anthem, dawg.

‘Til the lyrics hit you. For in this most excellent rock ballad packaging rests a tale of grisly murder. It’s right there in the first line:

The blade of my knife
Faced away from your heart
Those last few nights
It turned and sliced you apart
This love that I tell
Now feels lonely as hell
From this padded prison cell

I vividly remember the first time I heard that verse, unable to really decipher the lyrics, filling in the blanks myself. I thought it was a metaphor — these douchebags were always singing about sharp instruments and doing dangerous things with and to women. I thought Sixx might have even come up with another metaphor for premature ejaculation (”Too Fast for Love,” “Ten Seconds to Love,” etc.).

But, no, the protagonist has indeed offed his beloved. “To set you free,” Neil whines, “I had to take your life.” [Sigh] No prom song here.

Apparently, if the Wikipedia entry on the song is to be believed, Sixx wrote the lyrics after his girlfriend left him … for Jack Wagner (who, of course, was known for his own questionable talents, including a hit called “All I Need”). Being dumped for Jack Wagner would put me in a lousy mood, too, but not lousy enough to imagine this scenario:

Tied up smiling
I thought you were happy
Never opened your eyes
I thought you were napping
I got so much to learn
About love in this world
But we finally made the news

I mean, that’s some heavy shit, there, peoples. Ted Bundy shit. To write something like that and have a guy who looks like Mick Mars in your band (not to mention actually having Mick Mars in your band), it’s a wonder Sixx wasn’t approached by some Vincent Bugliosi-type, digging around his house, looking for ex-girlfriends. Cuz let me tell you, folks, Ted Bundy was a psychopathic killer, but Mick Mars is scary.

It doubtless helped, though, having Vince Neil sing the song. After all, a weeping Big Bird couldn’t possibly have done those awful things to Jack Wagner’s girlfriend.

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