MOTLEY CRUE SPACE BEINGS OF INESTIMABLE POWER

MOTLEY CRUE SPACE BEINGS OF INESTIMABLE POWER

FEATURES

Sharon Liveten

“This place has the most disgusting bathrooms in the world," observes Tommy Lee cheerfully. As drummer for Motley Crue, which some people consider the most disgusting band in the world, he should know. “No, really," he insists.

“Let me tell you about some of the graffiti. There’s some real sick shit in there.” He proceeds to gleefully relate the poetry budding porn-writers have inscribed on the S.I.R studio walls—in crayon. Apparently the scribes believe that the Crue have an abnormally close relationship with French Poodles. The A.S.P.C.A. would not be pleased. Lee is. He thinks it’s funny—he’s just that kinda guy.

“This is such a strange band,” he admits, laughing. “We do attract some strange fans. Expressive ones."

The band is in residency at S.I.R. for reasons other than to improve their reading skills. They’re readying themselves for a short tour of Japan.

Sending the Crue to Nipponland seems like a perfect way to retaliate for the onslaught of Japanese technology here. And it’s soooo much subtler than the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The Japanese are even looking forward to the Crue’s arrival. So much for Oriental wisdom.

“The Tokyo shows sold out in three hours,” relates Tommy breathlessly, at the speed of light. “We’ve never even been there before.”

That explains it. The poor Japanese don’t have any idea of what they’re getting. They probably think the band is part of some intellectual cultural exchange program. Little do they know that by the end of the Crue s two-week tour their peaceful, polite island may well be in a shambles. A diabolical plan, to say the very least.

American Motley-maniacs may have to wait for some time before they get to see their four over-coiffed heroes on tour. As everyone within tabloid range knows, singer Vinnie Neil was involved in (that is to say he was at the wheel) a drunkdriving crash last year. The accident killed Hanoi Rocks drummer Razzle (kind of a severe way to wipe out the competition, eh, Vinnie?) and seriously injured a bunch of kids who had the misfortune to be on the road that night.

No legal decision has been made as yet on the blond one’s future. Smart money says that he’ll end up with a fine and a ton of public service—it’s sort of California tradition. The kids he injured want to sue Neil for major bucks, which he claims he will only have if he can be free to tour, and make it.

Still, justice may go down hard on Neil. Just in case, no plans have been made to tour—Vinnie may not be available for five to 10.

Even with Vinnie’s immediate future up in the air, the band (Lee, Neil, bassist/songwriter Nikki Sixx and guitarist Mick Mars) are four pretty happy dudes. Thrilled even. Their third album, Theatre Of Pain has been released, and the news is good.

“Throw out your records. ” -Tommy Lee

It’s a darn OK album. Melodic even. Lyrically and musically it’s the most sophisticated (did / use that word in reference to Motley Crue? He’p!) record they’ve ever made. Granted, that doesn’t necessarily mean diddly squat, but it’s a nifty disc. (Sounds all right, too.)

“It really flips me out,” says Tommy good-naturedly. “People didn’t expect us to do this. It’s like, ‘Hey man, this sounds good.' What do they expect? Sometimes their attitude bothers me, but I take it with a grain of salt.”

He shouldn’t be too surprised at the reaction he’s been finding. Although the last two albums were multi-platinum sellers, neither Too Fast For Love nor Shout At The Devil were long on virtuosity. They were into thrash, crash and anthems. Sex anthems. Drinking anthems. Anthem anthems. And nobody played all that well. Loudly, but that was about it.

The Crue have to be given credit for not taking the easy way out this time. They could have just regurgitated the same old stuff again. But with a few glaring exceptions (“Tonight [We Need A Lover]” and “Raise Your Hand To Rock”) they didn’t. (And you can’t blame Nikki too much for those two—old habits die hard.) This record has a few vaguely political tunes, a too-long-on-the-road tune and some plain rockers.

The guys play on this one. There’s even some slide guitar (Nikki) and piano (Tommy Lee), and melodies. Musicianship. Which, apparently, was the entire point.

“Hopefully,” claims Tommy, “what we really wanted everyone to realize is that we can play. We didn’t make a real, conscious effort to change anything, but we did want to be a better rock ’n’ roll band. That’s rock ’n’ roll, not necessarily heavy metal or whatever the title might be. We were on the road for almost 13 months straight, and playing every night for that long gets you in shape. You’re always thinking and inventing new things, because you’re basically doing the same thing every night. But at the same time, you’re always thinking and learning. I guess it showed this time.

“We spent a lot of time making this record—getting it right. I’m glad people aren’t coming up to me and saying, ‘Man, it sounds like the last album.’” He pauses reflectively and adds, “That’s the really sick thing—we could have gotten away with it. It’s shitty that that can happen, but it can happen.”

The road isn’t the only reason the band has grown. According to Tommy Lee, now that he has reached the ripe old age of 22, maturity was inevitable.

“What I listen to has broadened,” he insists. “Everyone has done that; expanded their interests. We were real young. Not inexperienced,” he chuckles evilly. “But young. Now I listen to everything. Jazz. Tons of funk—because they always have the best, biggest, hugest drum sound. And every once in a while I find myself putting on a classical record, and digging it. I don’t do that every day, but occasionally.”

Somehow the image of Lee dressed in smoking jacket, pipe in hand listening to Debussy, comes to mind. It doesn’t jibe.

The popular, and at least partially correct, image of the Crue is one of complete and continual decadence and debauchery. That vision is closer to the truth. Backstage at a Crue show is no place for the innocent—or the weak of stomach. Still, nobody can carry on like that all the time and still stand up every night and play.

Lee admits, “It’s hard sometimes. People see you and expect you to walk in with three tramps and be drunk all of the time. Or to walk in and kick somebody's face in. That’s what they really expect you to do. And we do do that, but not all of the time. It’s even harder on tour. You have to be at your best in every town. When you’re on the road, you’re performing. When you’re onstage you’re performing, and when you’re offstage you’re performing. You never really get a chance to relax. That’s why bands age.

“And you can’t do it up every night. Sometimes people see you and they say, ‘Ah, you’re mellowing out.’ They should put themselves in my boots for a week, sitting behind the drums and playing ‘Shout At The Devil’ for the 9,000th time. Not that I don’t like it—I love it—it’s just that you need a change, and a little escape from that once in a while.”

Freedom from performing is available in a variety of ways. Some are expected. “I just bought my dream car,” gushes Tommy. “An ’82 Corvette. I like the older, long ones, that look like a woman’s body. I don’t like the new ones—they look too much like Trans Ams. With a space ship inside.”

But escape isn’t confined to tooling around the Hollywood Hills. Tommy Lee has taken up a much more refined sport: the shock-haired drummer has begun playing golf. But not to worry—Tommy isn’t in any danger of being invited to hobnob on the links of the Beverly Hills Country Club. His on-course behavior leaves a lot to be desired.

Laughing, he says, “It’s strange, but me and the drummer from Ratt, Bobby Blotzer, we get together and go golfing. But it’s not like we go,” he adopts a geriatric’s voice,‘“Want to go golfing, sonny?”’ He resumes his normal rapidfire delivery. “We go down to the golf course, get a case of Budweiser in the back of the cart and drive around the course, tearing everything up, throwing beer cans everywhere on the course and hitting balls into people’s houses. We have a good time. We even have the little hats with the shades on ’em. It’s great!” (What his fellow golfers think, we shudder to imagine.)

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Golfing? Platinum albums? Sold-out shows? It’s a far cry from a few years ago, when the only way the group could get anyone to listen to them was give their records away.

Yup. Not that long ago, Nikki, Tommy and Vinnie were sharing a disgusting hovel near L.A.’s famed Whiskey A-GoGo. They were the only ones who thought they were great. (Parents don’t count.) Then they came up with an idea.

“We made a little 45,” relates Tommy. “And we pressed up a couple of thousand copies—maybe even 4,000. We would just throw them out in the audience when we played live. That caused this really ridiculous amount of noise on the street, because we were just throwing these records out. One kid would play it and tell his friends about us and they’d all come down and see us. It started a mess. We were selling out three nights in a row doing that. It just took off from there. It was a great way to get our stuff around—throw out your records. I don’t know why more bands don’t do it. It cost some money, but like they say, ‘It takes money to make money.’ And,” he stresses, “it worked.”

Now who’s going to argue with that?