COOL AIN'T JUST A TEMPERATURE

COOL AIN'T JUST A TEMPERATURE

Rick Johnson

Oftentimes, the record industry seems as bland and utilitarian as the bell and pad alarm method of bedwetting prevention. One bunch of drudges adds up columns of figures in windowless rooms while another bunch blows hot balloon juice at each other in the boardroom. Oh sure, they know all about demographics, profit margins, shakeouts, breakdowns and the like, but what do they know about cool?

Only on the heavy metal side of the fence is this precious spiritual property even considered. There are many bizfarts who think that metal music is all noise, and they’re right. What they fail to consider is the timeless scientific principle most recently demonstrated by West German zookeepers, who proved that noise stimulates adult crocodiles sexually. If it works on slimy reptiles, just think what it could do at the CREEM office!

Back to cool. What is this mysterious quality? I’d bet my mildew-resistant fitted vinyl mattress protector and an allexpense paid vacation at Siding World none of you out there can define it. It’s the kind of idea best conveyed by example. The Three Stooges are cool. The three cleansing stages of Lavoris are not. Being elected Most Pathetic in CREEM’s reader poll is cool. Being the runner-up Virgin Mary at Oberammergau is not. Ice is cool. Nice is not.

Not surprisingly, when it comes down to deciding what’s cool in heavy metal discs, the comparison method is the only way to go-go. Either that, or somebody’s gotta write this whole damn article over and—gosh darn—I have to wash my hair. Actually, I could go on and on about the subject, as you will soon see.

Strawberry Alarm Clock Is Already Taken

A cool name is as important to a heavy metal band as a brand name is to weenies. You want something that grabs attention, while at the same time indicating what you’re All About. Better be careful on this one, because you can’t just depend on pod luck.

The golden age of cool names ended with the first Thin Lizzy album. Looking way back to our Wonder Years, you can imagine if the Beatles had never stopped calling themselves the Quarrymen? Quarrymenmania Sweeps U.S., the headlines would read. A bit more to the point is Led Zep’s near-miss, when they almost called themselves the Whoopee Cushion.

Now, if / was starting a metal band, I’d call it something really catchy like Robust Ferns or PNCNS (Patricia Neal’s Central Nervous System.) Since the “classic” labels (Rush, Kiss, Motorhead and the oft lamented Thunderpussy) are all used up and the new guys (Twisted Sister, Armored Saint, Tygers Of Pan Tang) are actually on the charts, who you gonna call?

Somebody better than Krokus, puhleez. Stinkers abound. Night Ranger sounds like a kids’ nature club possibly sponsored by Ovaltine. Orion The Hunter? Oooooo—heaveeee. Listen, if you’re gonna swipe the name of a constellation, why not pick somthing a little more original, like Librium or the admittedly obscure Jerry’s Amoeba? As for Whizkey Stik, they should change their name to the Quarrymen.

Now, Quiet Riot—that’s not only cool, but it’s selling like firewood in India. Pet Hate—great name, kinda makes you wanna dance wildly in a sarong, don’t it? Iron Maiden has a real scent of cutlery, and Channel 3 just can’t be taken for granite.

There’s Always Bernice!

When it comes to any given individual’s name, most have little choice. Even if your parents named you Fishwich or Chairface, it’s generally too much to hassle to change it.

Some people seem to be born with cool names. Bobby Blotzer (Ratt), Bun E. Carlos (Cheap Trick), Matthias Jabs (Scorpions), Christian Logue (Savage Grace) and Biff Byford (Saxon) should thank their parents for giving them a handle that looks sharp on the back of an album cover.

Others obviously make up legitimately cool monikers. Blackie Lawless (W.A.S.P.), Gyp Casino (Hanoi Rocks), Lips (Anvil), and the legendary Nicko McBrain (Iron Maiden) can all take down their Imagination Applied For signs and go to the head of the crass.

Then there are poor, deprived souls like Vngwie Malmsteen. Yeech—I always picture bereaved goats wallowing in tubs of runny egg whites. Or how about ace metal producer Dieter Dierks? you can picture this guy’s first day in Phys. Ed.?

Coach Peters: Uh...D-D-Dorks,

Tweeters?

Dieter: That’s Dierks, Dieter, Coach Peters.

Coach Peters: Oh Yeah? Let’s see you do 200 Marine pushups, wise guy!

Not to mention Vivian Campbell (Dio) and Jerry Shirley (Fastway).

Name That Tune

When you write a song, you’re supposed to be thinking title all along. Unless you’ve been legally stupid since birth, it’s apparent a song needs a snappy title like clothing with “gray creep” needs Calgon.

There’s a little more leeway here than with names because these imply thought processing. Distinguished genre standouts include “The Nazz Are Blue” (Yardbirds), “I’m Out On The Lamb But I Ain’t No Sheep’’ (BOC), “Radar Love” (Golden Earring), “Pressed Rat And Warthog” (Cream), “A Bit Of Finger” (Black Sabbath) and the ultimate triumph of zonked-out bugaboo, “In-A-Gadda-DaVida” (Iron Butterfly).

Kinda dopey, right? This is one subject where our contemporary diddlers excell. Check out a few of these from my quick trip to the record store: “Zombie Hunger” (St. Vitus), “Leather & Lust” (Helstar), “Cathedral Of Tears” (White Sister), “Pussy Poison” (Anvil), or how about just plain ol’ “Life, Life, Life” (Y&T)?

The main thing you want to avoid are songs with the words “rock,” “rock ’n’ roll” or “blow that harmonica, Steve” in the title. Besides being dull, they inviteno, demand—snappy comebacks. When Night Ranger insist “You Can Still Rock In America,” don’t you want to point out YOU CAN STILL MOULT, TOO!? Y&T’s proclamation that “Rock ’n’ Roll Will Save The World” gives me an uncontrollable urge to holler IF ANYBODY STILL WANTS IT AFTER MENU DO! And Dokken’s blatant “Live To Rock (Rock To Live)” almost begs “LINE UP ARROWS (LIFT TO OPEN)”.

Chicago 92?

Following logically from the previous hunk—as rare an event in these pages as harvest day at a windmill farm—we arrive at the trick of naming that bothersome longplayer. Again, we have “classics” to draw on. Blue Cheer’s quintessential Vincebus Eruptum, Tons Of Sobs (Free), Machine Head (Deep Purple), Black Sabbath’s fine Master Of Reality and, of course, the beloved contribution of Rob ’n’ Jimmy, Led Zeppelin IV. I dunno, I think Whoopee Cushion IV sounds pretty good.

Some great LP titles floating around these days: Balls To The Wall (Accept), Powerslave (Iron Maiden), Lick It Up (Kiss), War And Pain (Voi Vod) and lots more. Our ’80s metaleers seem to have finally caught on to the ultimate cosmic validity of Shirley Ellis.

It was too late for some of ’em, though. Naming records is a lot like naming racehorses, except the odor is usually figurative. There’s nothing we can do now for historical blunders such as Rock And Roll Outlaws (cringe—Foghat), Fool Circle (groan—Nazareth), Magician’s Birthday (awwww— Uriah Heep) or Aerosmith Rocks (Ratt). Book ’em, Danno—Dummy 1!

There is, however no excuse for The Wild, The Willing And The Innocent (UFO). Whatcha gonna call the next one, Ryan’s Hope or All My Children? You want dumdum, how about the Crue’s ingenious Shout At The Devil (boo!) or Ratt’s brilliant Out Of The Cellar? Gee, I wonder if they’ll call the next one Tails or Cheese? They All Look The Same In A Bag

Finally, let us consider the very 20th Century artform of the Album Cover. While the secret of fine art may very well be ball control (you wanna argue with Bill Russell, buddy?), the secret of the fine LP covers is Roach Motel. That’s right—a package so unbearably cool you have to buy it, even though you know it’s only poison and glue inside. Poison And Glue Inside—are you listening, title thinkers?

Want to know how not to design your cover? Funny “you” should ask. AVOID: bad paintings of bleeding crusaders ala Armored Saint’s horrific March Of The Saint. AVOID: lame logos such as the pathetic gray G of the pathetic gray Giuffria. AVOID: the defaced desktop look of any AC/DC album. RUN IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION FROM: questionable sexual overtones along the lines of Hemispheres, the Rush disc with the wiggly brain and the shiny butt. Oops, Mr. Peart’s got his organs mixed up again!

The proper use of the bare ass is exemplified by Led Whoopee’s Houses Of The Holy— hawhaw, I just now got the pun! If you insist on having artwork, keep in mind that multicolored drawings of a potato embryo in motion do not go platinum, except in Pocatello, Idaho. C’mon do like Judas Priest and hire a real artist! Defenders Of The Faith is total cool biz, ditto Screaming and a couple of others too. Also cool is something abstract like Lionheart’s Hot Tonight, which looks kinda like a pair of drugstore sunglasses trying to have sex with the skeleton of a cigar, or even the brilliant nothingness of Van Halen’s Diver Down.

Thank You, Sheriff Taylor

What have you got when you combine cool players (Lars Throttlemeir, Walter E. Grave, Lincoln Jacuzzi) into a cool band (Festooned Piglips) with a cool album (Enraged Lover Massacres Family Of Five) full of cool songs (“Adieu, My Sour Visaged Duenna,” “Scrote Me,” “The Terrain Kept A-Rollin’ ”) inside a cool cover (rainbow of cancerous bone marrow)?

Well, if it immediately brings to mind metal expert Andy Griffith’s age-old maxin, “When you see a weasel’s tracks, lock up your chickens,” it’s cool, fool!