So reality television shows have this creepy format thing where they bring back a season’s cast for a six month reunion. Like being on a reality show was tantamount to going to college or something and the whole class needs to get back together to reminisce and see how everybody turned out.
Admittedly, my family is kinda not into things like reunions or even graduations, so the last graduation I went to was when I finished sixth grade. I somewhat regretted not going to my own college reunion this spring when Barack Obama turned out to be the keynote speaker. So maybe I just don’t get the reunion thing, but I’m still in touch with a lot of people I went to school with. On purpose. Because I like and enjoy them. Because I shared enjoyable and life-forming experiences with them.
College does not seem much like reality TV, but VH1 did recently do a show called Charm School where rock manager extraordinaire and TV personality Sharon Osbourne and seminal nightclub impresario and TV personality Riki Rachtman were the deans. I guess the idea was to teach some manners to chicks who previously tried to date Flavor Flav or Bret Michaels or somebody like them.
One of my most embarrassing Hollywood moments, when I first moved out to Los Angeles, Forrest Black and I went over to visit sexy bassist Megan Maddox, when she was in, I think, Tairrie B’s My Ruin and possibly Taime Downe’s The Newlydeads as well, to shoot her for Tattoo Savage. A couple of other people, who I knew from Los Angeles nights on the town, were also hanging out there, and we all had the misfortune of watching Sheryl Crow do a GNR cover. So we’re all cringing and I tell some anecdote about how Guns n’ Roses changed my life. I cringed a lot more later when I finally put it together that Riki from the club was Riki Rachtman from Headbangers Ball who got the gig via Axl Rose and had a fuck of a lot more claim than yours truly on GNR being life-changing.
To return to reality television programming, still in progress, the second season of the Bret Michaels Rock of Love extravaganza definitely helped turn me off of reality TV. Aside from the way they made it painfully apparent that Bret Michaels is a sucky prize, the dude chose some generic liar chick over beautiful Tattoo Savage covergirl Daisy de La Hoya. Apparently, Bret Michaels just couldn’t get over the fact that Charles Edward from Seraphim Shock is Daisy’s ex and they still spend time together. I’ve shot Charles and he certainly is, circa 2008, a lot hotter than Bret. The Poison frontman apparently felt so threatened by a good-looking gothic guy that the show couldn’t even mention Seraphim Shock. Whatever. Although Daisy seemed to actually have inexplicably warm feelings for Bret, she demonstrably can do better, because she already has.
The reunion show for Rock of Love 2, gamely moderated by Riki Rachtman, was pretty much a horror show. A chick named Heather, who I guess competed on the first Rock of Love and advised on the second one, punched poor Daisy de La Hoya and it was my opinion that VH1, not only allowed it to happen, but was hoping it would. I felt terrible for Daisy, but, in Heather’s defense, Bret Michaels actually let Heather get his name tattooed to her throat in the first season. And then did not pick her. I think it is very bad manners to give someone the go-ahead to get a tattoo of your name if you know you are going to spurn their affections on national television.
So, although I watched none of the seasons of Charm School, I noticed that a number of people have been chortling about how the recent Charm School reunion trumped the Rock of Love reunion for catfight fetish. To make a long story moderately less long, some two-face, mean, drunk, ditzy blonde from one of the VH1 programs, made a crack about another contestant’s child. Sharon Osbourne told her that was not cool. So the drunk ditz, apparently named Megan Hauserman, made some rude cracks about Sharon Osbourne’s family and Ozzy Osbourne in specific. At this point, Sharon Osbourne demonstrated just one of the many many reasons why she is qualified to school these girls. Without a hair out of place, and without appearing to sweat or shake, Sharon Osbourne threw this red drink all over the rude bleach blonde and, although it is hard to make out in the tape above, apparently also pulled out clumps of her hair and scratched her and twisted her arm badly enough that VH1 rushed rude ditzy girl to the hospital. Normally, I disapprove of violence in disagreements, but I do think a lot of people have no sense that some things are sacred. I think that, to someone like this Megan Hauserman, nothing is sacred, so she may truly have no concept that going after someone’s son or husband is crossing a line, put there by civilization, for good reason. Those who choose to be uncivilized in that way to someone as tough and elegant as Sharon Osbourne should consider themselves lucky when they only end up clowned, with ruined hair and makeup, and an arm in a sling.
I walked by the Rock of Love 3 bus on Hollywood Boulevard this Saturday night, walking home from Pinkberry. Living in Los Angeles is surreal.
In the same way perhaps that Guns n’ Roses is essentially Axl Rose at this point, Sisters of Mercy is essentially Andrew Eldritch. Having different collaborators on different Sisters albums gave different ones slightly different feels, but I personally enjoy the music on all of them. I even liked Vision Thing when all my unsavory pals derisively referred to it as the “Sisters Metal Album”. (I maintained that the Egyptian iconography on the cover made it totally gothic, but whatever.)
My friend Jeanne has been emailing me nostalgic photos recently and this made me think of of an amusing related anecdote. Uncomfortable with the goth label, Sisters of Mercy has tended to tour with potentially incongruous acts. So Jeanne and I were at some stadium show. I don’t recall all the acts on the bill, but the arena was probably the New Haven Coliseum or the Hardford Civic Center. This was pre-internet, so she and I were really enjoying the people watching and deconstructing the different tribes which had come out for the various bands playing. And looking for cute boys. So Jeanne spots this totally hot guy with dark hair and pale skin, a type we both favored, and she grabs me to point him out (I’m the forward one), only the guy disappears into some door and we can’t figure out quite where.
Eventually Jeanne figured out that she had been scoping out Sisters frontman Andrew Eldritch. Apparently he had managed to walk around the arena hallways unrecognized, simply by not wearing his trademark sunglasses. Absolutely classic when one can be incognito by taking the sunglasses off.
I’m sure Andrew Eldritch is a difficult man to like in real life, so probably for the best. Sometimes you have to love the art and not the artist. Now I realize that Andrew Eldritch has repudiated the goth label, along with his former music label, bands who wanted to support him, and a laundry list of former bandmates. I find it really tragic that things went this way for someone who could create such consistently brilliant music and intriguing lyrics. I know genius is often tortured and alienated. I have days when I feel stabby too, but I try not to interact too much if I’m feeling like lashing out at everything around me; that feeling is nature’s way of saying to take the day off. I admit that I didn’t create art for years because a junior high art teacher was mean to me, but, in my defense, I was in junior high at the time. The Sisters of Mercy haven’t had a proper new album in years because Andrew Eldritch was on strike because he didn’t like his record label and hasn’t landed with a new one since breaking up with East West.
Word is, however, that you can hear new Sisters material at a live show, so I’d expect to hear some new music in the mix at The Sisters of Mercy show at The Music Box at the Henry Fonda Theater in Los Angeles on Tuesday, December 2nd, 2008. If you want to win a pair of free tickets, either post in this thread or message privately here or on MySpace or VF. Your post or message should include a personal anecdote about Sisters of Mercy, such as the one I told about me and my friend Jeanne, or your thoughts about the band or one of their songs. Basically, talk about something related to Sisters of Mercy and the most entertaining anecdotes or insights win free pairs of tickets to the Hollywood show.
I have a confession to make. You probably know I’m opposed to piracy. I’m especially opposed to the kind of modern large scale digital piracy which makes it pretty much impossible to make a living as a midlist band. The internet is great for giving nowhere bands a shot and it rules for creating record-breaking manufactured pop and blanketing the world with it. But it is a polarizing medium and, in the faint spotlight of the computer monitor glow, midlist bands have either rocketed to wild success or more frequently withered on the vine.
But nobody is perfect and I have committed piracy on two occasions. Ironically, the first was when The West Wing had a special episode with a fictional candidate political debate and I missed it. It was going to be at least a year before the debate came out on DVD or Instant Play on Netflix, there was no download option either on the official site or Amazon Unbox, and I wanted to watch the following episode. Technically, I was not the one who downloaded it off a torrent site, but I did knowingly receive stolen property.
The second time was when the Axl Rose project Chinese Democracy was leaked. I missed it the first time Antiquiet posted it, but I listened to it one of the times it was repeatedly re-posted in the Antiquiet comments. I could say that maybe there was some kind of justification in my head because I liked the writing style on Antiquiet. But really I took it for the same reason most people steal — I wanted it and there was not another way to get it.
I was terribly disappointed in what I heard. Appetite for Destruction changed my life and I sure didn’t hear anything life-changingly good on there. In fact, it seemed like averagely professional hard rock with a little self-indulgent wanking which might impress some musicians with its difficulty, but not with its quality. Possibly fine for a titty bar, but nothing to write home about. Of course, the fact that GNR super-fans almost couldn’t help but be disappointed with everything after Appetite, it is easy to understand why Axl Rose took 572 years to complete the album.
The FBI arrest and ensuing indictment of Kevin Skwerl is most likely being downgraded to a misdemeanor. Hopefully, if they don’t let him cop a plea, they will at least put the trial on Court TV or whatever it is called these days. I want to watch jurors rock out to a variety of different versions of the same series of hard rock ditties over and over. The various authorities who got involved in the Chinese Democracy leak i.e. lawyers, FBI, etc. asserted, among other things, that the leak was damaging because none of these songs were the final mixes. There seem to be other sites with live versions and other nonfinal versions of some of the songs still live, but the one with the best SERPS is in Vienna, so maybe nobody feels like taking it up cross-Atlantic. Whether the whole thing about nonfinal mixes was said to make sales or because it was true will be revealed. Now that the title track single “Chinese Democracy” has been released for radio airplay, I’d have to say that this song, at least, sounds like a different mix.
So, if you were a real big Scorpions fan back in the day (or are a ironic big scene Scorpions fan now), you may keep thinking you are about to hear “Rock You Like a Hurricane” on the radio, a lot in the near future. The song “Chinese Democracy” sounds a lot like a sorta modern “Rock You Like a Hurricane” meets “Mr. Brownstone”. Well, sorta modern. It sounds pretty retro, but in a likable way. On November 24, whether or not there is a Court TV broadcast, everyone will be able to decide if they’d like to check out the actually final final mixes on the long-incubated songs on Axl Rose’s debut solo project. I think Axl Rose is brilliant and I love love love his voice, but, let’s face it, GNR with just him is as much Guns N’ Roses as the current Led Zeppelin reunion where the shows will be performed by a bunch of Futurama-style preserved heads.
“Most of us are just living a lie
That’s why we get fucked up every night”
–Buckcherry, “Too Drunk To Fuck”
Please forgive me, but I like to fantasize that my dirty glam rockers are never too drunk to get it on. Well maybe occasionally, if it makes a really good story. But I can’t help wondering if Buckcherry don’t have some kind of problem with women. I don’t mean that I suspect they might not be thoughtful feminists. When, circa 600BC, I masturbated approximately 80,000 times to the “Welcome to the Jungle” video, I never once fantasized that Axl Rose would be perfect for a relationship. Or even an interesting dinner conversation.
The reason Motley Crue did an album like Girls, Girls, Girls is that the job of properly utilizing a pole while dancing is very similar to the job of being a dirty glam rocker. They felt an affinity. Whatever else one might think about the Crue, I don’t think anyone wondered whether they feared the vagina dentata, or worse yet, were frightened of the boobies. As a teenager, I saw Vince Neil ask the New Haven Coliseum (it could have been the Hartford Civic Center, but I think it was New Haven) who was the best piece of ass in the building. I was vaguely unsettled when the biker next to me appeared to be offering up his girlfriend and I went back to my dorm room and wrote an ethnomusicology term paper about how I wouldn’t fuck Vince Neil with someone else’s pussy, but, damn, that was some fine showmanship and entertaining rock and roll.
The thing is that good music should transport one and good musical showmanship should go even further towards that goal. I think the only Motley Crue video I ever masturbated to was “Looks That Kill” (and that was really more about the chicks than the band members), but, as a frontman, Vince Neil had more than a good rock and roll voice and a cute outfit. Vince Neil could rock a stadium because he could sell the fantasy. As alcohol is reportedly Vince Neil’s poison of choice and he has done time for drunk driving and all, I would guess he has had occasion to be too drunk to fuck. But he doesn’t sing about it. The dirty glam rock fantasy is one of a party which never ends, where the titans of rock are always down for one more round. I’m sure Vince Neil has also caught a cold before and been too feverish to get out from under his blankie. But he doesn’t fucking sing about it.
This is why, no matter how expensive Joshua Todd’s ink is and no matter how many sit-ups he does, he will never be as cool as Vince Neil. What kind of emo ridiculousness is it that the record labels are trying to sell Buckcherry as raunchy current hard rock and they turn around and try to foist this whiny nonsense on us? Do the record labels really understand that little about what rock fans look for in a band?
If you are wondering why I actually watched a Buckcherry video on purpose, I confess it is because I heard that Blue Blood hottie Bella Vendetta was topless in it. Don’t bother pushing play on the YouTube version, though, because apparently the part with the breasts is only on Playboy. I thought nudity in a video like this would be pushing the envelope, but I was just disappointed. The naked girls are actually never once in the room with the band and the dressed girls are frankly also pretty far away from the musicians. In fact, the house party Buckcherry are playing in for the vid appears to be quite the sausagefest. All put together, there are only maybe half a dozen females anywhere in the building. They try to get some alt-y MySpace cred by having a somewhat scene-looking girl as the viewpoint character in the video, but she shows up with a homely dude who passes out on her, and I assure you that that is no girl’s erotic rock and roll fantasy.
Apparently, the nude parts of the video were shot in a hotel room far away from the guys in Buckcherry. I know at least one person who has had sex with a member of Buckcherry and didn’t hate it. I’ve photographed this Buckcherry-boning individual naked, so I can affirm that she has girl parts. But what band avoids being present when the video babes are shooting? It is part of the job, when fronting a hard rock band of this stripe, to at least be able to fake like you enjoy the rock and roll party.
Director/pornstar Joanna Angel gamely offers up a press quote about the directors of the Buckcherry video being nice enough to let her shoot some of the breast footage. Now I don’t follow adult film closely, but I’m 100% positive that Joanna Angel has won AVN awards for either her porn direction or her porn performances or both. In my opinion, she is the one doing Buckcherry’s lame directors a favor by providing them with footage of boobies, including her own. Unfortunately, whoever edited the topless bits into the original cut of the “Too Drunk To Fuck” video, didn’t really include anyone’s faces. For example, I am familiar enough with Bella Vendetta’s body that I can assure you she is in the video, but her head is cut off in every shot. WTF? Who directed this this anti-rock, anti-woman, sex-negative video screed anyway?
I don’t generally mind it when dirty glam rockers dehumanize women. They are supposed to be about a certain sort of wild sex fantasy and not necessarily about progressive thinking. But, if they are both shallow and sexist and unable to keep the party going, what is the point?
