Bullets

Bullets

REVOLUTION NUMBER X

Anne Leighton

By talking to METAL, Madam X’s lead singer Bret Kaiser is avoiding soundcheck. “Soundchecks are a bitch. You have to get up there and sing early. My voice doesn’t wake up till 11 at night.”

That’s when this coed band is scheduled to perform their 90-minute set—which includes some literal headbanging from bassist Chris Doliber. He looks like a refugee from The Rocky Horror Picture Show and he smashes his bass against his head, claiming ‘‘the notes sound different this way.” (No doubt his ears hear differently after this sort of headbanging.)

The audience supplies some of the entertainment for Madam X’s shows. People push up close to the stage, exposing forbidden body parts. Nobody in the band is sure why the audience behaves in such a way, but they like it and they look at it. ‘‘I look at the girls,” Bret emphasizes. ‘‘I don’t look when the guys do it.”

C’mon Bret, you’re not the least bit curious about the other guys?

‘‘I don’t have to be curious. I’m satisfied with what I have.

I may run over and step on if if they put it on the stage!”

Actually it was Bret’s sex drive that got him in Madam X three years ago. Sisters Roxy and Maxine Petrucci plus Chris started this band with a different lead singer in their hometown Detroit. They were scheduled to play in the same Long Island club that Bret’s band Cheetah was also playing. Bret was getting off on Maxine’s and Roxy’s musical abilities and he tried to pick them up. He gave them his phone number—‘‘If you ever need a singer give me a call.” Six months later, Cheetah was dissolving and Madam X needed a singer.

Bret’s hoped-for love affair with the Petrucci sisters never got off the ground. They became brothers and sisters, starving on the road to becoming the best band in whatever region they played.

‘‘There’s just so many women out there,” Bret added with a drool. This group is insanely hot blooded: onstage, Bret, who’s a martial arts whiz, pushes guys away so he can pull a girl closer to him and sing to her.

‘‘We have something for everybody. Girls go see an allgood-looking guy band. There’s a lot of other girls there. Meantime, the guys are in the back with their arms crossed, ‘Big deal you bunch of queers.’ With our band you have two girls that the guys can look at and two guys the girls can look at.”

Big deal on the visuals. Can the Petrucci sisters competently play instruments? Can the listener not think about the musicians’ sex when listening to Madam X’s album We Reserve The Right To Rock? Currently coed heavy metal bands which have women members seem to have the female as the lead singer (Joan Jett & The Blackheads, Black Lace, Holly Woods and Toronto)—one has to explore coed ‘‘new music” groups like Let’s Active and Talking Heads to find a female who can be regarded as an instrumentalist.

Some people working with the band are hyping the Petruccis as ‘‘the best female drummer and best female guitarist EVER heard.” A significant achievement would be for the audience to feel this band has the best drummer, the best guitarist, the best bassist and the best singer— no matter what sex they are. Theoretically, Madam X could start a revolution for the creation of coed hard rock bands!

Bret hardly even has to think about this possibility, ‘‘I don’t want to cause a revolution. I’d rather have a couple of orgies!”

ERIN GO CRAZEE, IT’S MAMA’S BOYS

J. Kordosh

Here’s the correct route to heavy metal success, if you ask me. Find three Irish brothers who grew up playing very traditional Irish folk music. Keep them so totally ignorant of rock music that—when being interviewed on the radio— they respond to a question about Alice Cooper by politely asking, ‘‘Has she sold a lot of records?” Make sure they use the advance monies from their record contract to buy their folks a car.

Now, it might be pretty hard to just go out and find people like that, but you don’t have to. They exist, in the persons of the McManus brothers—Pat, John and Tommy... a.k.a. Mama’s Boys. Their history is certainly more bizarre than anything I feel moved to invent, too. Oldest brother Pat—known affectionately as ‘‘The Professor”—had reigned as Ireland’s champion fiddle player while still a laddie. That isn’t some chump award, either—the competition is fierce, begorrah, and it takes a hot hand to beat the Old Sod’s best. Winning the thing is akin to being Eddie Van Halen in a world without wahwahs. (Pat still scrapes the fiddle onstage and will occasionally use his bow to scrape the guitar strings just for., uh, fun, I guess.) Siblings John and Tommy are also adept on a variety of quaint Irish instruments, most of them difficult to pronounce, all of them impossible to spell. Suffice it to say that their talent and upbringing made them, by all logic, the next Chieftains, in which case we’d never be reading about them here.

But we are, and with reason. After spending their teen years ‘‘playing jigs and cajun stuff,” the brothers saw the Irish rock group Horslips perform at a festival they were also playing. Deciding—quite correctly— that they could play that genre with manly elan, they acquired electric instruments and began merging rock with their traditional Celtic material. And, after releasing several localtype LPs (Official Bootleg, Plug It In, and Turn It Up), they signed with Jive Records for their magnum opus (to date), Mama's Boys.

The album’s hit tune, a cover of Slade’s “Mama Weer All Crazee Now,” looked to be a winner. ‘‘We met Noddy (Holder, of Slade) at the Marquee in London,” said Pat McManus. ‘‘And he said he liked our version of the song better than any he’d heard.” Naturally, CBS called in Quiet Riot off tour to record and rushrelease their own version of the song, and stories of CBS Federal-expressing tapes to radio stations and pressuring MTV to pull Mama’s Boys video began percolating about. That’s because life is wonderful.

Oddly, the Irish brothers don’t seem annoyed by what some writers might describe as the typically underhanded dealings of major record companies. “We like Quiet Riot,” said Pat. “It’s just part of the business.”

And so it is. Mama’s Boys, with their exuberant mixture of folk and metal, the Professor’s scathing and innovative guitarwork, and uptempo—I hate to say it, but it’s true—“anthemic” material (e.g., “If The Kids Are United”) are a welcome addition to the business, too. They're young (drummer Tommy being a mere 18), they’re fun and they’re refreshingly uncontrived.

Plus, I still like that part about them buying their parents that car.

TAPPING INTO REALITY: SUNDAY NIGHT LIVE WITH SPINAL TAP

Toby Goldstein

It would have been the perfect imaginary concert— only the Bowery’s festering atmosphere and the sea of fists waving in the air at CBGB’s were all too real. Since Spinal Tap—also known as master satirists Michael McKean, Chris Guest and Harry Shearer— had just assaulted the entire country on Saturday Night Live, why not perform at New York’s infamous true life “Hell Hole," and maybe make a few bucks...A few weeks earlier, McKean had ventured that he didn’t think anyone could take the “rockumentary” This Is Spinal Tap seriously after 10 minutes. “If they take it seriously at the end of this picture,” he snickered, “then I got an album I want to sell.”

Never underestimate a heavy metal fan’s ability to willingly suspend disbelief, Mike—I mean David St. Hubbins, as his Tap persona prefers to be called. A few months back, a hefty couple hundred of the leather jacketed horde parted with $8 apiece to hear an hour s worth of Spinal Tap’s greatest neverwere-hits, among them the opener of “Christmas With the Devil’’—their later Christmas 45—the all-bass “Big Bottom” (get it?) and Billy Altman’s alltime favorite, “Sex Farm.” Of course, unlike the sweaty masses who pressed up to the front of the stage with all the fervor they’d give to Ozzy or Priest, we sophisticated rock crits hovered on an elevated platform—then stood on chairs waving our fists in the air and yelling out for St. Hubbins or his hapless colleague, Nigel Tufnel.

The Tap (it somehow makes bizarre sense to refer to them that way, like “The Crue”) lived up to expectations by deliberately reproducing every cliche they showcased in last year’s film, reminding our jaded selves of every tedious mid’70s drum solo that sent us reeling to the toilet for respite. “We’re Spinal Tap from the U.K., you must be the U.S.A.,” screamed St. Hubbins, perfectly overstating the case. Immediately reminding everyone that this is, after all, only a movie, he added, “Our drummer’s not feeling very well.” Unfortunately, the band’s repertoire of special effects didn’t include an exploding percussionist. For that, I suppose, we must be grateful.

Spinal Tap’s somewhat frightening ability to spew out every HM band mannerism of the past 15 years is a twisted tribute to the actors’ authentic musical abilities—and their honest love of rock’n’roll. Like a skilled dancer who is accomplished enough to imitate a drunk, Spinal Tap’s members have sufficient musical talent to consciously screw up. As well as being old enough to have witnessed much rock history firsthand, several of the guys put in time playing in groups, and they all did masses of research.

“We watched every rock ’n’ roll documentary,” McKean admitted. “We hadn’t seen The Song Remains the Same before, so we screened some of that, and it was just impressive in its pretension, just amazing! And also the scenes with their manager, Peter Grant. He was the best thing in the film ’cause he was being the all-time bully boy; it was a superb performance. And the guy that we have as our manager in the film is more genteel in appearance and bearing but still that same kind of completely ruthless person,” the actor chuckles.

The perpetrators also attended a bunch of metal concerts, including AC/DC and Judas Priest, and even went to a Gary Numan soundcheck, ‘which was an intriguing psychodrama,” says McKean. “Someday I’ll tell you about it off the record.” I can imagine. Thus, when Spinal Tap introduced “Rock And Roll Creation” by intoning, “It begins 30 seconds before the creation of the universe,” their explorations into HM’s most grandiose quadrants flowed freely, kinda like a faulty septic tank.

I knew things were getting out of hand when, shortly after This Is Spinal Tap opened, a youth spotted my “Tap Into America” T-shirt, raised a clenched fist and yelled, “Best band in the land!” There had already been a press party given the group by Polymer Records, and rumors were afoot that infamous promo man Artie Fufkin was going to take the group on a slew of instore appearances throughout the East Coast. Military bases around the nation were threatening to deploy nuclear deterrents to prevent Spinal Tap from ever setting a platform boot on their property.

Was CBGB’s merely a mental aberration, caused perhaps by gassy food, or did it herald the dawn of an uncontrollable disease variously known as Tapmania or Spinalitis? As one of their favorite sayings goes...watch out! They may be coming to your town.

CONEY HATCH: CANADIAN BAKIN’!

Joanne Carnegie

A lot of rock bands have funny names. Belfegore. Twisted Sister. The Circle Jerks. Even Loverboy.

Well, how about Coney Hatch?

“My parents lived down the street from a lunatic asylum in England called Colney Hatch,” explains bassist Andy Curran. “I thought it would be great to name ourselves after it.”

These four Toronto musicians aren’t just a bunch of looney tunes, though. Coney Hatch have just released their third album—Friction—and they recently returned from England where they filmed their third video. Now they’re making their way west across Canada touring, although “America is a definite priority for us. We’d stop touring Canada for an opening slot there,” admits Curran. Coney Hatch has already opened for Judas Priest in 1982 and for Iron Maiden in 1983. In addition to that, pal Aldo Nova covered CH’s “Hey Operator” on his last album. For a fiveyear-old band, those aren’t bad references for future gigs.

Coney Hatch’s first two albums (Coney Hatch and Outa Hand) did OK in Canada, but not-so-OK in the States. Their first album did reach #15 on the Canadian charts, and two of their singles—“Hey Operator” and “First Time For Everything”— were in the top 20. In America, Outa Hand entered the top 200 in Billboard.

“We feel real confident about Friction," says Curran. “We put a lot more time into it.” Their first single, “Fantasy,” is beginning to get medium rotation on AOR stations in America.

“We got lumped in with Heavy Metal when we first started out, ’cause of the way we looked and because of the song ‘Devil’s Deck’—which didn’t reflect what we were all about,” recalls guitarist and lead vocalperson Carl Dixon.

In fact, Coney Hatch don’t sound metal at all. They sound more like Foreigner. More like hard rock ’n’ roll—which undoubtedly will help them when the Heavy Metal surge gets rusty.

“It’s getting a bit too crowded in the thrash metal market right now,” adds Curran.

“As fai as influences, we’re all really different,” says Curran. Barry Connors (their new drummer) and Andy listen to crunchier sounds like Ratt and Motley Crue, lead guitarist Steve Shelski prefers jazz whereas Carl likes rhythm ’n’ blues.

Friction was produced by Max Norman, who’s worked with Ozzy Osbourne, Bad Co. and Ian Hunter. “The album’s about typical boy/girl feelings and basic street themes,” but mostly they “just play. There’s really no big message we’re trying to convey,” says Curran.

Where do Coney Hatch see themselves in the near future? “We’re now getting airplay on AOR stations in America. It would be nice to cross over to CHR-type stations, too” says Dixon. Then? “I’d love to see us get played on AM radio.”

Those Canadian rock bands with funny names sure have funny ideas, eh?