Posts Tagged ‘Dennis DeYoung’

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

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.

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Death by Power Ballad: Stryper, “Honestly”

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

The problem most listeners had with Stryper during their brief heyday (aside from those hideous black and yellow-striped spandex outfits — seriously, would Jesus have thought them cool? “Well praise me, boys, them’s is some mighty awesome threads”) was the ambiguity they wrote into their hits (all three of them), namely, were their songs about God or chicks? Granted, the bulk of the stuff on their albums came right out and screamed praises to the Almighty, but thumpin’ the little New Testaments they threw into the crowds at their shows would not fly on MTV. And in ‘86-’87, these guys were all over MTV.

Take their hit “Calling on You” — a cool little pop-metal confection that could, in theory, be about a girl, but you had to wonder. “I can’t explain just what you do to me,” singer Michael Sweet cooed. “My love grows stronger every day.” Replace “you” with “yo’ booty,” add a couple grunts and a silky bass line, and you’ve got 60-70 percent of R. Kelly’s oeuvre. Definitely about a girl, right? But watch Mikey in the video, and every time he says “You” in the chorus, he’s pointing to the ceiling, givin’ props to the G-man, who lives on up there above the soundstage roof.

There’s a slight twist with “Honestly,” the biggest hit off ’87’s To Hell with the Devil. Sounding like Dennis DeYoung fronting Poison, Sweet opens the song floating over a down mattress of Stygian keyboards. “Honestly, I believe in you,” he bleats. “Do you trust in me?” Fairly generic beginning, to be sure, and he follows it by declaring he’ll stand by “you” faithfully and be a friend for always and forever, etc.

Then the chorus pounds in on big, reverbed drums (courtesy of Robert Sweet, Michael’s Vince Neil-lookalike brother) and muted power chords (from the excellently named guitarist, Oz Fox), and Sweet’s voice, which has thus far barely managed to be heard over the instrumentation, bursts forth with commanding presence:

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Bottom Feeders: The Ass End of the ’80s, Part 24

A few weeks ago I laughed at someone’s musical taste. I feel kind of bad about it. See, a buddy of mine asked me if I had heard the new Staind CD yet, with the qualification that “You might like it. They’ve really grown up as a band.” I totally busted out laughing at that notion. Like, right in his face, full-blown laughter. At the time all that was crossing my mind was “He knows what I listen to — why would he think I’d like this?” and “They’ve ‘grown up’?” But when I really thought about it, who am I to judge what people enjoy? (Except when it comes to Nickelback. There is really no excuse for that.) At least half of the songs you’re about to see below are total shit, yet if my iPod shuffles to any of them, I’ll listen straight through. I’ll listen to a Cover Girls song, followed by Mike Patton making ungodly noises in Fantomas. My taste in music is just as shitty if not shittier than most people’s.

I know it, too — it’s not like I think all the songs in this series should’ve been Grammy winners. So of course now I feel bad thinking about all the crap I listen to and laughing at someone for digging what they enjoy. I did actually go to iTunes and listen to the 30-second samples of Staind’s new songs just so I could see if they’d really “grown up.” Sure enough, they now sound like Air Supply. Something tells me this isn’t what my friend was trying to express, though. So I still feel I can say he’s wrong in his assessment, but if he wants to listen to Staind, so be it.

In an effort to drive my point home that I was a total bag-o-douche in this situation, let’s take a look at what’s crossed my iPod in the last 20 minutes while I wrote this intro. (Yes, 20 minutes for this little bit. I get distracted!)

Motley Crue, “Hooligan’s Holiday”
Paul Lekakis, “Boom Boom (Let’s Go Back to My Room)”
Alan Parsons Project, “Days Are Numbers”
Stars On, “More Stars (ABBA Medley)”
Manowar, “Brothers of Metal”

I mean, if that doesn’t confirm it, what would?

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