Fargo Rock City (38 page)

Much to the surprise of absolutely no one, Adidas did not respond to Korn's financial request. Despite the free advertising, the familiar three-striped shoe company probably doesn't appreciate Korn, especially since the band likes to suggest that
Adidas
is an acronym for “All Day I Dream About Sex.” But this is typical behavior for a group that loves the bad-boy albatross hanging from their necks. Korn members always project themselves as a potential train wreck; their nasty reputation was further solidified when a rash of schools banned students from wearing Korn T-shirts in class. Davis mentions his drinking problem in virtually every interview he gives (every song on their '99 album
Issues
was about his alcoholism, just as Alice in Chain's record
Dirt
had only been about Layne Staley's heroin problem), and all five Kornsters are constantly declaring their love for Coors beer.

“We're all alcoholics, but we don't care. I don't get too sensitive about it,” Fieldy said. “I get drunk every day. It has nothing to do with being in this band either, because we were all alcoholics before we ever started Korn. It's not a big deal for any of us, except for maybe Jonathan, but that's just because he's really sensitive about everything. I always do my job. I always get up in the morning. If drinking ever becomes a problem, I'll just quit.”

The crazy thing about Fieldy's quotes is that he's being serious. He probably does think Adidas owes him money, and he probably
does think that you can drink every day until you suddenly feel like quitting. These wishes will become reality at about the same time Korn learns how to spell. But my favorite part of his insight was the cagey understanding of his fan base: “Every real Korn fan wears Adidas.” That's the kind of brand loyalty that only metal and punk fosters. In the mid-1980s, girls dressed like Madonna, but Madonna never demanded them to do so. She never said, “Every real Madonna fan wears fishnets and wedding veils.” But metal bands have done this kind of thing since the dawn of guitar rock. Korn is simply a little more open about it.

Rage Against the Machine shared several aesthetic elements with Korn, but they also offered some major differences. Rage was equally obsessed with rap stylings and unconventional songwriting (there are no real melodies to be found on their albums), but they
were
highly musical. Guitarist Tom Morello is an expert at making weird noises with his axe; in fact, he's so good at it, Rage always makes a big deal about stating that all the sounds on their records were “made by guitar, bass, drums, and vocals” (they even include a little warning on the jacket of their CD). In the 1980s, Vinnie Vincent used to do the same thing, and so did Queen in the 1970s. Regardless of all the espoused explanations for why this is important, the bottom line was the same for all three: Musicians are silly, vain people, and synthesizers make creating rock music seem too easy.

Nonetheless, Rage Against the Machine was one of the better bands to emerge over the past decade, even though it's kind of hard to discuss them without laughing. For almost a decade, they were the most stupidly serious band on the planet. Rage's first album was released in 1992, and the record's principal topic was the perceived innocence of Indian activist Leonard Peltier. Prior to getting this CD, I generally believed that Peltier was wrongly imprisoned, but now I'm not so sure; I always assume Rage vocalist Zack de la Rocha only supports guilty people. I'm skeptical of pretty much everything he advocates, even when he's right. It was a full four years before the Machine released a second album, probably
because it took a while for de la Rocha to find new things to be pissed about. On 1996's
Evil Empire,
the subject matter shifted to the Zapatista Liberation Movement and Mumia Abu-Jamal's unjust death sentence for the murder of a cop. Actually, one would think that Rage would have supported Abu-Jamal even if he
were
guilty, since they seem to think most cops deserve to get shot.

If there was ever an illustration of how remarkably impressionable teenagers can be, it is the success of Rage Against the Machine. I cannot fathom fourteen-year-olds jumping around their bedroom and screaming about “profits for the bourgeois,” but it obviously must happen. Without much radio support, Rage became a commercial heavyweight, and it's to Rocha's credit that he's made it cool to be informed about current events. Of course, I'm not sure how kids are necessarily supposed to apply these issues—when de la Rocha sings, “Fuck you, I won't do what ya tell me,” I doubt if too many eighth-graders consider the plight of Mexican freedom fighters. They probably just refuse to do their geometry proofs for math class.

But here's the rub: A few of them probably
do
think about Zapata. They care, and they love it. And that's really who Rocha seems to be singing for. You can get loaded and mosh to “Guerrilla Radio,” but that's like using cooking sherry to get smashed. Ultimately, I don't see even a glimmer of '80s metal in Rage Against the Machine. They're really a louder version of
War
-era U2, except Rage had the sense to quit while they were ahead.
^A

I guess what I'm saying is that all the predictable suspects are innocent. Rage Against the Korn Chamber 5000 can't carry glam rock into the twenty-first century. But who can? It's a perplexing problem. There are only a handful of candidates who seem willing to try, and most are failing miserably. But there are a select few who seem to understand what Axl was yowling about.

The best of these bands is undoubtedly the Donnas, a band
that's so awesome it makes me want to smoke angel dust and kill somebody. The Donnas are four teenage
^A
California girls who sing songs like “Leather On Leather” and “Wanna Get Some Stuff.” Their second album,
American Teenage Rock N Roll Machine,
was the only legitimately
great
record released in 1998. Since all the semifoxy mommas in the band have renamed themselves “Donna,” a lot of people think they're the new all-girl Ramones (and they do have one song that's totally a Ramones rip-off called “Gimme My Radio,” not to mention an entire first album that sounds like it was recorded in a bomb shelter). However,
American Teenage Rock N Roll Machine
is absolutely glam metal. “You Make Me Hot” shamelessly steals two guitar riffs from Mick Mars—the bridge replicates the riff from “Too Fast for Love” (which they eventually covered for real on 1998's
Get Skintight
), and the final seconds duplicate the conclusion of “Public Enemy # 1.” Guitarist Donna R. is an avowed Ace Frehley disciple (she plays “Strutter” in the studio the way Ace played it on
Alive!
), but she mostly seems taken by the way Ace
looks
when he plays guitar—the whole swaying, drugged-out, “I cradle my axe like a newborn baby” routine. It should also be noted that vocalist Donna A. strongly resembles Sebastian Bach, except not quite as feminine.

From what I can tell, the only band who might rock harder than the Donnas is Nashville Pussy. Their debut album (
Let Them Eat Pussy
) is pretty horrible, but the accompanying stage show is super-awesome delicious. The singer is an ugly redneck who used to front an even crappier band called Nine Pound Hammer; the guitarist is his wife, a long-haired freak with breasts that are always trying to escape to freedom. The bassist used to be a sexy 'n' scary (mostly scary) six-foot-four model who's the sister of NBA journeyman Cherokee Parks. She liked to blow fire.

The Pussy's style is a synthesis of Lynyrd Skynyrd and Motorhead, but the posturing is
total
glam rock—it's beyond the point
of parody. When I saw them open for Marilyn Manson, they rocked my pants off in an almost literal sense; I suspect Manson likes them because the show is unabashed performance art, kind of like a poor man's (poor lesbian's?) version of White Zombie. White Zombie no longer exists, but mastermind Rob Zombie continues to churn out music in exactly the same vein (1998's
Hellbilly Deluxe
could have been released as the studio follow-up to 1995's excellent
Astro Creep: 2000
and no one would have raised an eyebrow). Particularly when witnessed live, Zombie seems exactly like an old metal act—sort of like W.A.S.P., except with slightly better music. The only problem is that Zombie is a little
too
smart; his theatrics are so consciously stupid that they're cartoons, and he does them with a self-referential understanding that not even KISS possessed (and this is both good and bad). I think the highest compliment you can give to Rob Zombie is that he leads the only industrial art rock band that doesn't suck. But to most people's ears, the result is a contemporary type of heavy metal that fully accepts its 1980s roots.

Philosophically, Kid Rock is another glam disciple. Hailing from Detroit Rock City (or at least a Detroit Rock Suburb), the Kid (who files his taxes under the name of Bob Richie) used to party with the Insane Clown Posse, a pair of (ahem) “wigger” joke rappers who refer to their fans as Juggalos and once claimed that KISS “stole our shit.” ICP is totally hilarious, but they're hardly influenced by heavy metal; they mostly appeal to the preteens who are even too dumb for Limp Bizkit. ICP does not play anything that can be classified as “music.” Kid Rock, on the other hand, bangs for real. On 1998's
Devil Without a Cause,
he sounds a little like the early Beastie Boys, except Kid is not being sardonic. His “message” is about the social importance of strippers, methadone addicts, alcoholics, and “all the questions without any answers” (perhaps he's referring to the sound of one hand clapping). In an earlier chapter, I compared Led Zep to Babe Ruth and Metallica to Hank Aaron; that being the case, I suppose Kid is Bill Veeck—his whole show is nothing but attitude, gimmicks, and midgets. My favorite Kid Rockism comes from “I Am the Bullgod,” where
Kid admits he can't even mow the lawn without smoking dope behind the garage. Now
that's
rock 'n' roll. Kid has all the standard metal obsessions (comparing himself to a cowboy, gawking at lesbians, wearing fur coats, using “fuck” as a verbalized pause, etc.). His video for “Only God Knows Why” is almost a shot-for-shot replica of Mötley's “Home Sweet Home.” And it's more than his lyrics or imagery:
Devil
unleashes some heavy guitar action, and instead of merely stealing samples, there are a few semioriginal creations. Kid Rock's white trash sensibility makes him seem drug-addled and a little ridiculous, but I love the fact that he's so earnest about this shit.

Speaking of earnest: With his bald dome and propensity for wearing his heart on his sleeve, Billy Corgan could be perceived as the Charlie Brown of modern rock. However, the now-defunct Smashing Pumpkins were also a remarkably heavy rock act, and the only person who seems willing to accept that reality is Corgan himself (a Van Halen superfan who hangs out with Tony Iommi and is only half-joking when he compares his music to Judas Priest and Mountain).

The person I most often compare Corgan with is John Fogerty, another prolific songwriter with world-class pop sensibility and a desire to completely control everything he's involved with. The grim facial expressions he and his bandmates displayed during their rise to popularity downplayed their metal roots, as does Corgan's drought-strickened skull. But the actual
music
Billy writes often has a metal edge—or at least his better stuff does. The two Pumpkins records that are the least metal (1991's
Gish
and 1998's
Adore
) are multitudes weaker than the material that came between (
Siamese Dream
was rockin' like Dokken, and a few tracks on
Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
dripped of the Rainbow and the Whisky).
Machina: The Machines of God
goes so far as to include the song “Heavy Metal Machine,” which
Entertainment Weekly
called “KISS for eggheads.” I realize
EW
was trying to be snarky, but that's just about the highest compliment a guitar-based alt rocker can get.

I would never seriously label the Pumpkins as a prototypical
“metal band,” but they often operated under the same structural parameters: swirling, heavy guitars augmented by a straightforward rhythm section. Since Corgan understands songwriting better than Nikki Sixx or Warren DeMartini, he disguises his banger tendencies more deftly (resulting in well-deserved critical acclaim from every possible direction). But those of us with the right kind of radios detect a conspiracy. We all know that Corgan is actually keeping glam rock alive, even though the rock press doesn't want to believe it. And that's why he can get away with it. Keep acting pretentious, Billy. We “understand.”

As I write this paragraph, it appears that the original lineup of Veruca Salt will never record again. This is too bad, since I liked both of their albums (especially the second one that nobody bought). Veruca also made an EP with Steve Albini, a producer who makes such a big deal about hating metal that everyone halfway suspects he probably loves it, which he doesn't, but I guess that's the idea. Albini once told me that Led Zeppelin was a horrible rock band, mostly because they had “the worst vocalist in music history.” His willingness to make that statement in public seems to be the only possible explanation as to why he got hired to mix the 1998 Page-Plant album
Walking Into Clarksdale.
I will never understand cool people.

I don't think I ever listened to the Veruca Salt EP that Albini worked on, mostly because it had a really stupid title. But I'm guessing it was probably pretty decent. Veruca was fronted by two righteous rock bitches: the sniveling prima donna Nina Gordon, and the sniveling bad-ass Louise Post. Gordon did most of the singing, but Post did all the work; she always claimed her main influence was Angus Young, but her fast machine had a cleaner motor than AC/DC ever did. Both
American Thighs
and
Eight Arms to Hold You
have way too much filler to be classified as genius, but the good stuff is stellar: “Seether,” “Straight,” and “Don't Make Me Prove It” have that sense of
hardness
that categorized early Skid Row and Judas Priest. This is the best modern example of a group that's hard, but not heavy. Veruca Salt reminds me of a Mexican middleweight in the mold of Julio Cesar
Chavez—they'll jab the piss out of you, cleverly setting up an overhand right that is a little louder than you'd expect. These women have great taste in power pop, and they also had some real visual flair (the video for “Volcano Girls” was the best use of bungee cords since “Panama”). I'm still not exactly sure why former best buddies Nina and Louise now hate each other; rumor has it that one of them (I think it was Louise) was sleeping with David Grohl, who eventually dumped her for Winona Ryder, thereby casting Veruca Salt into unexplained turmoil. I don't know; I guess I never read
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.