Published on Nov 7, 2005
Early in 2005, ’80s superstar Billy Idol attempted a big
comeback after more than a decade outside of the media spotlight.
Due to classic songs like “White Wedding,””Dancing With Myself” and
“Rebel Yell,” Idol has retained a modicum of enduring popularity
that many artists who were popular during the 1980s can only envy.
In 1993 Idol released a somewhat experimental rock album with
techno influences that was savagely thrashed by the media and
promptly sank without a trace on the charts, banishing the once
mighty rocker to 12 years in obscurity during the era of grunge and
nu-metal.
As the 21st century began, a wave of ’80s nostalgia began to
take root in popular culture, giving many long forgotten bands who
were hallmarks of that era a new lease on life. This resurgence,
combined with an explosion of pop-punk, was apparently the right
atmosphere in which the long-since washed up Mr. Idol felt his
comeback would mostly likely succeed.
Enter
Devil’s Playground. The first sign of trouble comes at about
20 seconds into the opening track, “Super Overdrive,” with a chorus
lifted straight from Green Day’s recent hit, “American Idiot,” and
the skeptic in me began to wonder whether or not this album would
be one of those unfortunate cases of a veteran artist desperately
trying to appear current by copying the very bands that he himself
influenced.
My fears were quickly confirmed — the entirety of
Devil’s Playground is a sad, embarrassing portrait of a
once-decent artist pathetically trying to fit in with current
musical trends and failing miserably at every single aspect.
At his peak, Billy Idol’s songs were catchy, well-constructed
pop-rock songs with a moody, seductive edge topped by his
distinctive vocal style and personality. None of these new songs
possess the qualities that Idol is known for. In fact, it’s been
quite some time since I’ve heard an album so soullessly conniving
and cynical in intent, as opposed to serving an artistic need.
Just picture a band like Green Day or Blink-182 at their most
obnoxious and multiply that factor by a thousand at the very least
and you’ll get an accurate idea of what this disc sounds like. A
frat party couldn’t handle the sheer amount of ridiculous macho
posturing put forth in truckloads by the now 50-year-old Idol, who
is clearly trying to over-compensate and winds up producing quite
possibly the most annoying, juvenile vocal performance I’ve ever
heard.
To make matters worse, his old pal Steve Stevens, who played
guitar on and co-wrote many of Idol’s ’80s albums, is once again in
tow yet makes an impression no less awful than the singer himself.
Like Idol, Stevens over-compensates throughout
Devil’s Playground for advancing age and wasted years by
playing far too aggressively. This is also a product of
overcompression, a disease that has infested popular music in the
production process in the past decade wherein volume levels are
maxed to make an album sound as loud and powerful as possible,
burying whatever interesting subtle details lie in the music’s
composition to virtually inaudible levels.
In this case, though, that hardly matters because the
songwriting is as safe and generic as possible. Every last guitar
riff and vocal melody found on this disc is something you’ve heard
a million times before, and usually done far better. The endless
parade of predictable chord sequences gave me the impression that
Idol and Stevens memorized a “how to write a pop song” book before
embarking on the writing and recording process, and enduring the
fruit of their labour is a torturous task to say the least. The
only song that even remotely evokes vintage Billy Idol is “Scream,”
which unfortunately winds up falling prey to the same phony,
gratingly over-the-top posing that infests all the other tracks.
And the album ends with a couple of acoustic ballads that reach
saccharine levels so jarringly obscene that Diane Warren sounds
like Diamanda Galas in comparison.
Poor Billy. Cyberpunk is a masterpiece compared to
Devil’s Playground. This is likely the worst possible
comeback by a once-decent veteran artist. Anyone expecting the
addictive Billy Idol personality of old will not find it here, and
until he wakes up and acts like himself, it’s never coming back.
This is the work of an old man who has turned his back on dignity
and doesn’t realize that the joke is on him as a result. I feel
sorry for the blowhard.