SWISS CONSPIRACY CONTINUES UNABATED! KROKUS AND THE CHOCOLATE DILEMMA

SWISS CONSPIRACY CONTINUES UNABATED! KROKUS AND THE CHOCOLATE DILEMMA

J. Kordosh

Good Friday at Cobo Arena: Mandy Meyr had ended Krokus’ 27-minute opening set by dragging his guitar across the stage, eliciting all sorts of nothing-but-noise. The hapless axe moaned and tweeked as Meyr roped it in like a wayward dogie. The rest of the band had left the stage a couple of minutes earlier—ain’t no way an opening act on a three-group bill’s gonna get an encore—but Meyr sure played the end for all it was worth.

In fact, the Krokes had played the whole 27 (count ’em!) minutes for a screwy good time. I didn’t know whether I should’ve been more surprised or annoyed—who wants to like a Swiss Heavy Mechanism with what is perhaps the single most stoopid name on any two continents?? Not me, but whaddya do when the bass player does a manic stand-up drum solo, running all over the stage like the chocolate’s boiling over? And it’s good?! I just tried to forget that singer Marc Storace sounded too much like Bon Scott and went backstage to see what kind of case the defense had mustered.

Somebody found a patented Cobo broom closet which could double as a Swiss estate (six by eight), and pretty soon Storace, bass player Chris Von Rohr, Arista promo rep Jean “Mo Greene” Macdonald, Detroit HM know-it-all Paul Watts, and me were all crammed in. The fun was about to start, but just to make sure> the promo rep had to sit on the floor. Whoever told you I was a gentleman, Jeannie?

People love our name. It is not a dumb name. —Marc Storace

(Astute readers will notice that I’ve written many of Von Rohr’s cpmments phonetically. I’ve done this for two reasons. First of all, this piece might be considered for a Pulitzer Prize next year and I don’t wanna get nailed on some trivial technicality. Secondly, he talks funnier than anything I can make up.)

To get the ball rolling, I tactfully wondered aloud: “How did you get such a dumb name?” Hey, America deserves an answer.

“Because it’s the strongest flower in spring,” said Storace.

“Breaking ’zru the ice...” Von Rohr added wistfully. Gosh, you could almost see it.

“Besides,” Storace said, demanding my tape recorder’s attention by rapping on it with a pencil, “People love the name. It is not a dumb name.”

“It’s goot to shout,” Von Rohr noted. “Kro-KUS, Kro-KUS, Kro-KUS!” they shouted in unison.

“Instead of ‘RIO SPEEDWAGON!’that’s too complicated,” Storace said. And I mean he really said “Rio,” not “R-E-O.” How can you not like it?

Since he’d mentioned ol’ Rio, I figured I’d get their opinions on the—what’s it called, again?—oh, yeah, “heavy metal revival.”

“Ve are not heavy metal,” Von Rohr said, turning serious. “Heavy metal is created by English papers. Heavy metal is expression for the old rock and roll music, but the English papers have to find a new fashion. And they created it as the ‘new wave of heavy metal.’ But ve are not so into the basic things—for me, a heavy metal band is, like, Judas Priest—(makes odious throbbing noises). Noise, noise, and more noise.”

A listen to the two Krokus LPs you can get (Metal Rendezvous and Hardware, although there’s three more discs out in yodel-ay-ey-hoo-land) tends to bear this out. Krokus is more of a badly-produced bunch of power-chorders with a penchant for banal and smutty lyrics, which they pull off pretty weH considering Americo is their second language. For some inexplicable reason, they’re able to come across sounding funny and goot all at the same time—“Mad Racket” and the sicko “Smelly Nelly” off of Hardware being cases in point. But Krokus have strange ideas about music in general.

Denying any especial interest in Van Halen (“1 think it’s eLgoot show, but I don’t like the music,” said Von Rohr) or Rush (author’s comment unnecessary), the Swissies say their faves are—relax, now— minor-leaguers like Chuck Berry and the Beatles. “I like ZZ Top...Cheap Trick, I like...those bands that have soul, you know?” Von Rohr asked. Of course I know, Chris. “It comes across as something more than just show and Hollywood. ”

“And Bad Company,” Storace added to the self-explanatory list. “Old records. We still listen to very old records like Led Zeppelin I and II and the very old Deep Purple. All that real roots stuff before it became over-produced.”

“That’s why I say most of the American bands, when they go into the studio they produce stuff—and I feel cold when I listen to records of Boston—it’s fucking cosmetic rock and roll,” lamented Von Rohr.

“It’s too sweet,” said Storace. “It’s smoothed out—there are no mistakes.”

“There’s one big mistake,” I said. “It all sounds like shit.”

“Ve feel the same way,” laughed Von Rohr. >

☆ ☆ ☆

Well, since you’re like me, you’re probably wondering how these guys ever got over the Matterhorn in the first place and what they’re gonna do now that they have. They told me of the rigors of breaking in Neutralville.

“How many rock musicians are there in Switzerland?” I asked, making sure the tape was running.

“Ten,” Storace replied.

“Ve are the only real professional rock band out of Switzerland,” Von Rohr said. “That’s it. In Europe, ve’re already broke, but here ve are to play as a supporting band...”

Von Rohr explained that there’s only one station in Switzerland that’ll even touch the noisy pop (“Radio 24”). Things are so nutso in the Alps that Krokus thinks American radio is good. Obviously, the waves were no big help.

“Ve played clubs,” Von Rohr said, “In Switzerland, sure. And clubs through Hungaria, fucking Czechoslovakia...yeah, ve played for them. It vas like the Beatles, you know.”

“They need rock and roll just the same, because they are underdogs,” Storace added.

Now that they’re hot stuff on the dinky continent, though, the Krokes don’t even have to play for the Commies unless the mood strikes them. “In England, ve headlined,” Von Rohr explained. “Ve just did a second big British tour—ve vere received very goot.”

“They gave us two to three encores every night,” Storace chipped in, just in case I didn’t believe it.

And speaking of the implausible, the guys related a good one about their British experience. “Actually, AC/DC’s afraid to play with us, you know that?” Von Rohr revealed. “No, it’s true,” he continued TURN TO PAGE 68 while I said something about great quotes. “There’s a big festival going on in England—they said, ‘No Krokus, because his voice sounds a little bit similar than Bon Scott,”’ he nodded towards Storace. A little bit similar than Bon Scott?? C’mon, I think he really is Bon Scott— or maybe Bon-bon Scott, since I’m trying for my quota of chocolate jokes.

TURN TO PAGE 68

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 27

Actually, Bon Storace has only been in Krokus for the last couple of years; the band itself broke ’zru the ice in 1977 with Von Rohr doing the singing. Seventy-seven wasn’t a real memorable year down Zurich1 way: according to the guys, there was no kind of punk or new wave (or much of anything else, come to think of it) in their Tinker Toy countyr. Wjat’s more, there’s a reason for it. “Switzerland is a rich country, how can there supposed to be a punk scene?” Von Rohr asked, renewing his attack on the language. I dunno, but when I find out I’m sure as hell gonna tell somebody in Los Angeles.

Even though the hardy flowers missed out on the terrible tantrums, they still managed to develop some kind of sense of humor. I missed the best part of the interview—bladder fatigue, I recall—when Watts asked Storace howcum all these Europeans could sing like regular milliondollar Americans, down to the last bit of phrasing. What followed was perhaps the weirdest impromptu explanation ever for the little-discussed phenomenon.

“The original Americans were English, yeah? And the American language came from the English language. And the people who left England to emigrate to America were all singers. Then the American language was founded because everyone who came here was happy and singing, doing their work. So, in the end, all the people did was sing and they forgot how to speak English. What was left was the American language.” Which, while not exactly answering the question, certainly shed hitherto unknown (and unwanted) light on a meaningless issue. Krokus is really good at this sort of thing—they told me I have to see their “real” show (i.e., more than 27 minutes) because they like to “torture their fans. ” Hey count me in!

As for what’s-gonna-happen-to-’emnext?, the Krokusians made only one optimistic demand. “Give us three years,” Von Rohr. “If ve can stand the vork—how we are now, it’s such a goot feeling—communication is going on, and creativity. I hope and I feel that people is ready for music vhich comes Trom heart and soul. That’s what I feel.”

As for what I feel, who cares? Dammit, I forgot to ask ’em what they thought of the Chocolate Watchband.