Saints of Los Angeles, Saudades de Rock: A Motley Tale of Two Extremes
-written August 12, 2008 by Aaron S. Bayley

Long before Ice-T wrote the song “Cop Killers,” Motley Crue dedicated the song “Knock ‘Em Dead, Kid,” which contains the lyric, “the blade is red kid/knock ‘em dead,” to the Los Angeles Police Department. Those days long behind them, the boys in the Crue are a far cry from their former selves, although they seem to have weathered the changes in the music industry over the past few years and mastered the art of mass marketing and self-promotion.

The Crue’s latest album, Saint of Los Angeles, is ear candy, a brilliant mix of layered guitars and thick, crunching riffs. But therein lies the problem. The album is so sanitized and pop-radio friendly that it compromises the bad boy image that the Crue has cultivated for over two decades. And maybe that’s the point. Now in their late forties—except for guitarist Mick Mars who is pushing 60—Motley Crue is about making money and cashing in on their fame, ala the hugely famous Aerosmith of the 1990s, who brought in songwriters like Diane Warren from the outside to help expand the band’s appeal to youth audiences. At a time where aging rockers like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest are drawing strong crowds filled with teenagers, Motley Crue is trying to capitalize on this resurgence of 80s heavy metal. Of course, the Crue has not been a heavy metal band since 1983’s Shout At the Devil, and have changed their sound so often over the years that they lack an identity. Like Aerosmith, the Crue brought in outside songwriters—the previous single “If I Die Tomorrow” was a Simple Plan reject—and it shows. Saints, supposedly a biographical album based on the bands’ best-selling autobiography, The Dirt, sounds like a hard rock album catered to fans of Sum 41, Avenged Sevenfold, and the now defunct reality show Rockstar. The back sleeve of the album is a schedule of the bands current Cruefest tour, and the black and white album photos seem to capture the band as aging, tattooed carnival freaks who bought their clothes at American Eagle. Only the hard-driving “Down at the Whiskey” sounds like vintage Crue, circa 1989. In fact, it sounds as if the song may be a relic from the album Dr. Feelgood. On the opening track, “Face Down in the Dirt,” Vince Neil whispers repeatedly, “it’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it,” over a Nikki Sixx baseline which has shades of Marilyn Manson’s “Irresponsible Hate Anthem.” The album’s best song is the mid-tempo “The Animal in Me,” with a catchy chorus that evokes the younger, pop-metal bands of today. Compared to the Crue’s debut album Too Fast For Love, Saints is its polar opposite: Mars’ motorcycle-sounding guitars are replaced by layers of conservatively-played power chords, and Neil’s fast-talking vocals are replaced by lyrics which are spaced out enough to allow him some breathing room. The Motley Crue of the 1980s was all about attitude; even Sixx and Neil admit in their book that Theater of Pain and Girls, Girls, Girls were crappy albums. Saint of Los Angeles is certainly their strongest album track-for-track (and similar in sound to the underrated Generation Swine), but at a cost; who knows what the Crue—sans songwriters and marketing advisors really sounds like anymore? One things for sure—as good as the new album sounds, it’s still missing the dirt.

In stark contrast to the new Crue album, Extreme has reunited (sans drummer Paul Geary) and released their first album since 1995’s Waiting For the Punchline, which, actually sounds a lot like WFTP. Where there should be no illusions about the Crue’s capabilities as credible musicians, Extreme has always been known for their virtuosity; ironically, their tight musicianship and scandal-less lives is probably what kept them from becoming huge rock stars. Guitarist Nuno Bettencourt wrote on the band’s website while they were recording the album that they wanted to bring back rock’n’roll the masses, and it shows. Saudades de Rock, which means “a longing for rock,” shows the band’s classic rock roots. On “Star,” the band sings the chorus a capella before Bettencourt rips into a monster riff; the verses are reminiscent of Queen’s “Tie Your Mother Down.” The verse in “Run” recall Bowie’s “Fame,” the opening riff for “Slide” is Zeppelin-esque, and the guitar riff for “Learn to Love” recalls Zeppelin’s “Wanton Song,” while vocalist Gary Cherone does his best Paul Rodgers impression. Other standout tracks are the rockabilly “Run,” and the exceptional ballads “Ghost” and “Interface.” If not for Bettencourt’s “King of the Ladies,” which sounds like the guitarists solo work, Saudades could be mistaken for a compilation of rejects from WFTP. Cherone sounds exactly as he did on that album, and Nuno’s playing, as good as it is, has not evolved from the raw blues-based work from WFTP. Bettencourt is far removed from the guitar-soloing theatrics of the Pornograffitti days, and the experimental noodling evident in his work in Mourning Widows and Popualtion 1. Saudades de Rock is a solid, straight up rock album, on par with any Radiohead or Coldplay disc. If anything, Extreme show that they would never sell out to fit in with the times, and that’s why the album will never be given its due, even though it sounds completely relevant. Extreme may have written their best album to date, but they have never been, nor likely will ever be, hip today.

© 2008 Aaron Bayley