Our esteemed brother Mike Lebrain sent me this one, and… well, it’s not often I rip on an album, but I’m afraid this time I’m going to have to do it.
Look, I know that Mötley Crüe never was intended to be any smarter than it takes for a mouth-breather to undo their zipper and play with themselves. I know this. It was party party party, girls girls girls, rawk rawk rawk and fair enough. Get your funk on and have at ‘er. So I shouldn’t really be surprised by this album, but I was… and I wanna explore why.
L.A.M.F. is a cheesy intro. Meh. Face Down In The Dirt has punk roots, I just know it, but it comes off as something else. But what? Template 90’s rock. In 2008. And the line “I’d rather be dead / I’d rather be face down in the dirt with a bullet in my head” is troubling. Um, guys? You’d rather that than what, exactly? Singing the rest of this song? Making this album? Who writes this stuff and why are they not seeking help for it?
What’s It Gonna Take is a sodden poor me song. Aw, the label says you can’t make a hit song? Well, do you want to? Then do it. But writing an average song about how you have it so tough isn’t cutting it for me. Next.
And for the record (pun fully intended), that’s now two tracks in a row wherein the message, to me, is that they’d rather be somewhere else, doing something else.
Down At The Whiskey, as a song, hits harder and may contain tinges of the band of old. But this is a nostalgia song for what used to be. Jeez, they want out. Can’t anyone else hear this? Saints Of L.A. (Gang Vocal) is an OK track, it rocks along well enough. Cowbell! Spoiling for a fight, blah blah blah. M.F. Of The Year is decently sludgy. But I’m just not buying that he’s the M.F. Of The Year. There’s something very clean about all of this “dirty.” It’s a pose.
The Animal In Me is weak. I didn’t even play it all the way through. I started losing interest because I’m not buying. Welcome To The Machine is full-on rock. Finally! This track should have started the album. Screw that silly intro. This would have helped announce themselves far better. For all that, it’s a thinly-veiled rant about the industry again. Ugh. Just Another Psycho is another meh track. Ooo I’m so crazy! Next.
And, of course, we had to have a song about girls. You know, guys, Chicks = Trouble will definitely win over the ladies. Oh but they didn’t mean it. Just kidding, bitch. Ugh. This Ain’t A Love Song… wait, wasn’t this the previous song? Ha. Anyway, it’s slinky but not really so great. They could have (and should have) done better. Juvenile.
White Trash Circus crashes along as it admits they’re not likely worth your time anymore. I have zero sympathy for thinking like this. Going Out Swingin’ ramps the speed back up but, from the content of the album I’d have said this was giving up, not going out swinging. I guess they have to dangle hope there’ll be… what? Another record like this? Going out is apt, however.
In sum: I am very grateful to have heard this. I have a hard time believing I’ll ever play it again. Thanks for the education, Mike!