Published on Aug 18, 2000
Sometimes, I think I was smarter when I was younger.
You see, there were albums that came out when I was a teenager
that I refused to even consider purchasing, even if I had a
constant stream of money running through my pockets. (I didn’t, of
course.) But now that I’m a decade older, I see some of these same
albums in the used record stores for a dollar or so, and I
immediately snatch them up.
When, oh, when, oh, when will I learn that I knew something then
that I refused to recognize now? Take for example the self-titled
release from the hard rock quintet L.A. Guns… please. This band
proved that the metal explosion that occurred in the mid-’80s was
clearly stretching itself thin at times, and these guys were about
as musically thin on their first album as Calista Flockhart at a
Weight Watchers meeting.
At the mike you have Phil Lewis, who doesn’t sound like he could
whip out a powerful vocal line even if you placed his manhood in a
hydraulic press. You’ve got lead guitarist Tracii Guns and rhythm
guitarist/keyboardist Mick Cripps, who combined maybe put together
two – count ’em, two – solid guitar lines and no killer solos.
You’ve got bassist Kelly Nickels, whose presence just isn’t felt on
this album. And you’ve got drummer Steve Riley, who didn’t even
play a single beat on this album. (Nickey Alexander handled the
drum chores.) All I can think is, “Steve, you left W.A.S.P. for
this?!?”
Does it seem like I’m being a bit harsh? Just wait until you get
into the music. The whole first half of this album has an
incredibly poor mix – I mean, if the production value of this disc
alone had been improved, maybe I’d have had a rosier picture of the
band. But the metal mush that songs like “No Mercy,” “Electric
Gypsy” and “Sex Action” become… eeewww!
Things don’t necessarily improve on the second half. The
two-song set “Cry No More” and “One Way Ticket” sounds like a poor
man’s Great White, only much less convincing in Lewis’s vocals.
(This is the one area where I will give props to Guns and Cripps’s
guitar work, though.) “Hollywood Tease” is the first ray of hope
the band has, though a weaker than expected chorus and a sudden
ending to the song hurt its chances. All I can say is that by the
time you get to the album closer “Down In The City,” you’re ready
to jump out the window if only to alleviate the pain.
L.A. Guns probably could have been a better album, with a
few major improvements. First, as stated, would have been some real
production on this disc; Jim Faraci just fails on this one. Second
would have been stronger vocals, though I wonder whether Lewis
would have been able to deliver. Third would have been a little
more focus on the guitar work – c’mon, Tracii, turn up the amps and
shred on that thing, man!
There were hundreds of metal releases in the ’80s. Some were
good, some were bad.
L.A. Guns most definitely qualifies as one of those bad
releases that you can’t wait to scrape off the bottom of your
shoe.