Published on Apr 20, 1998
About two months ago, an e-mail conversation I had with fellow
review panel member Eric E5S16 got me interested in ’60s heavy
metal stalwarts Steppenwolf again – and of late, I’ve been
listening to albums that for one reason or another I haven’t
touched in a few years. A prime example was when I was digging
through the Pierce Archives (New Jersey Nets fans, two words:
bye-bye) for a tape we’ll be reviewing tomorrow, and I ran across
their self-titled debut.
John Kay and crew achieved immortality on
Steppenwolf with the biker anthem “Born To Be Wild,” but
there are many other songs which are even better on this album –
and it has successfully survived the test of time.
Kay (who had fled East Germany with his parents, eventually
moving to Canada) proved himself to be more than just an “image”
fronting the group. His lyrics often reflected social issues and
angst and anxieties we all face. (For the social commentary, go to
the last track, “The Ostrich” as proof.) Even as Steppenwolf were
providing anthems for a generation of drug experimentation, their
cover of Hoyt Axton’s “The Pusher” seemed to take an anti-drug
stand (never mind the opening line’s, “You know I smoked a lot of
grass / Oh Lord, I’ve popped a lot of pills”). And Kay seemed to
step up as the voice of a generation who lost their ideals on
“Desperation”: “Take my hand, if you don’t know where you’re goin’
/ I understand – I’ve lost the way myself”. Ka-pow.
Even Steppenwolf’s venture into blues knocks me out – their
cover of “Hootchie Cootchie Man” is still one of the best I have
ever heard. Just to hear Kay say in an unearthly groan, “Oh, baby,
I’m gonna mess with you” is worth the wait.
Sure, a few songs have a little bit of dust on them –
“Everybody’s Next One” has a little bit of the hippy-trippy ’60s in
it, and “A Girl I Knew” could be a hidden gem from this band. But
with rare exception,
Steppenwolf pleases from start to end. The only track I’m
not particulary fond of is “Berry Rides Again,” a tribute to the
rock pioneer that just doesn’t ignite.
Now, maybe Steppenwolf was never comprised of the best musicians
in the world – on
Steppenwolf, they make the best out of their talents. Jerry
Edmonton’s drumming is solid, as is the organ work of Goldy McJohn.
(Frankly, I’d prefer to stop the lineup listing here, only because
my cassette has no liner notes, and I’ve seen conflicting stories
of the lineup of this album from two books I use as sources. I’d
rather shut up and be safe than list a line-up and be wrong.)
And as much as “Born To Be Wild” has been played to the point of
overkill – so much so that I turn off the radio when it comes on –
Steppenwolf is still an album I don’t get tired of listening
to. Even when “Born To Be Wild” comes on, it sounds very natural in
its own environment.
Someday, when my daughter is old enough and starts asking about
rock music,
Steppenwolf will probably be one of the first albums I
introduce her to – even for someone my age, every time I listen to
it, it’s an education for me. Maybe this time, I won’t let this
tape get buried in the Archives.