Ratt: Who Are They Trying To Please?

Ratt: Who Are They Trying To Please?

FEATURES

Karen Schlosberg

It is a difficult assignment. Not to mention dangerous. Get something different on Ratt. Considering the amount of press the L.A. quintet has received since bursting out of the dumpsters and into the charts in 1984, it is a little disconcerting to Our Intrepid Reporter to consider what few new angles are left to discover.

Having been given a much-coveted All Access backstage pass, the assignment becomes simply hanging around. And hanging around. And doing more hanging around, trying to fit the interviews in when convenient, meanwhile spending much of the time in the cement tunnels underneath the New England venue where Ratt is to appear before thousands of screaming fans later that evening.

At least the truth can be told about the vague but persistent phrase "Hanging Out,” which those of you who live in

N.Y.C. or L.A. probably hear your friends say they do with many Star-like acquaintances all the time. Hanging Out, actually, is boring, even if you have endless curiosity, for which Our Intrepid Reporter (henceforth referred to as O.I.R.) is paid.

Cement tunnels don’t have chairs, so

O.I.R. wanders the maze, trying to find the Ratts (busy doing phone interviews) or even a costume/makeup person (who doesn’t have enough time for an interview). Such a glamorous life all around.

O.I.R. gets the paranoid impression that there is some sort of conspiracy a-paw to keep journalistic queries away to the last possible minute, and to keep lead singer Stephen Pearcy away, period. O.I.R. is never even introduced to the lead rodent, yet is introduced to everyone else, including the tour manager and the lighting guy. O.I.R. is ready to leave in a minute-and-a-huff. Forget the catchily melodic hooks of Dancing Undercover’s "Dance.” Forget the really intriguing, early-Stonesish feel of "Enough Is Enough.”

But guitarist Robbin Crosby finally finishes a belated phone interview and sits down for a cross examination in one of the box-like dressing rooms off the concrete tunnel. Crosby looks and sounds like a typical, blond California surfergone-rocker (he’s also too big to be told that Robbin should only have one "b”). But he’s not a stereotypical inarticulate rocker out of Spinal Tap. He is able to provide a humorous, down-to-earth perspective on Ratt philosophy that just warmed the cockles of O.I.R.’s new tape recorder. The discussion soon turns to the nebulous region of rock stardom.

You have to have a certain attitude to be a Rock Star,” Crosby says in capital letters. ‘‘Basically, anyone who would consider himself a rock star is a real asshole.” He laughs. ‘‘Some people get caught up in the facade of rock stardom and take themselves a bit too seriously. I hope that never happens to anyone in this group. We’ve seen enough success, really, in the few short years we’ve been around, and I like to think we’re un^Jfected. Basically, we’re all just the nice guy next door—maybe I shouldn’t say that. Hey, what it boils down to is we definitely have our share of fun. I like to use that word,” Crosby continues, choosing his vocabulary carefully. “We do take advantage of the fringe benefits of Ratt ’n’ roll, and I’ll leave that to your imagination.

“We’re not putting anybody on, or pulling their leg. I’m not lying to you, telling you how many chicks we screw in the back of the bus. To me, all of that is fluff. It’s either based on fact or it’s hype. We never depended on hype. We’re just funlovin’ kind o’ guys.”

That, of course, is reflected in the band’s music, which Crosby says is about “just basically having a good time and enjoying yourself. It’s just good clean fun.” Dancing Undercover was a back-to-basics record for the group, after the increasingly produced textures of Out Of The Cellar and Invasion Of Your Privacy, which were getting harder and harder to reproduce live.

“Basically, Ratt is a live band, for starters,” Crosby says. “You can’t be a true Ratt fan and never have seen the band live, I think. We started off that way with our EP, which was just like us in a club only in the studio. Out Of The Cellar was a little bit more groovified, studio-ified, and on Invasion we really wanted to make it sound super-huge, larger-than-life. This time we decided to go at it a little bit more straightforwardly, a little bit more punk, if you will—trying to capture the band’s live sound, not too frilly. And I think that, for better or for worse, it succeeded.”

As for other musical growth over the years, Crosby says, “Lyrically we’re pretty much the same, boy-meets-girl type of thing. I think in the future you’ll see a little bit of a change.”

Lest one was afraid of any creeping socio-political Ratt tales, Crosby says: “Hopefully not. One thing we’ve always tried to steer clear of was any kind of politics or big social bummer message. I mean, let’s leave that for U2 and Sting.

I don’t think our fans are much interested in being preached to. They’d rather have a good time. I think that a Ratt fan, hopefully, listens to Ratt for a certain kind of escapism, fantasy-type thing and doesn’t sit there and pick apart the lyrics too much—just gets into the whole groove of the song or the record. We’re not heavy poets or laying a heavy rap on you so don’t sit there and examine whether it rhymes or makes a whole lot of sense,” he says, smiling.

‘‘Hopefully we will have more to say than boy-meets-girl in the future—not that I have anything against that, and that is expected of us and that’s part of our life, so we’ll never get away from that a hundred percent. Just broaden our horizon in every respect, probably, in the records to come.

‘‘I’ve done a little reevaluating about everything. Maybe I’m—” Crosby pauses, “—growing up.” He smiles. ‘‘Just a little bit. I think we’re definitely striving for the ultimate in Ratt ’n’ roll right now,” he says. ‘‘We don’t want to just sell records and be some hip band for awhile. What we want is longevity; to a degree I think we want a little bit of respect, which is hard to get in this genre, but I think if you stick around long enough that happens in time. I’m not sure I give a shit about what anybody thinks about us, I just want that sort of acceptance, you know? And not to swell my bank account, just ’cause we’re still pissed off and still wanting something. You’ve got to keep striving for things.

‘‘Anger is definitely a motivating force. We’ve known each other forever and a day, we’ve all been playing our instruments for a good long time—10 or 15 years—and we’ve played enough backyard parties and dances. When you want something pretty bad you’re ready to get hot about it. It gets harder and harder to put all that behind you. You’ve got to want it pretty bad; you’ve got to stick with it, you’ve got to get hot about it.”

Crosby is called away, perhaps worked into an artistic frenzy for his energetic, sweaty performance later on. Meanwhile there have been rumblings that drummer Bobby Blotzer is chomping at the bit to talk into the new tape recorder, so O.I.R. catches him while being bandaged into submission by his drum techie. His fingers get a good bashing every night, and instead of gloves or taped drumsticks, Blotzer has elected for what is then and there dubbed “safe drumming,” which means that multitudes of flexible fabric plastic strips are taped onto his fingers every night. He even has a flexible strip endorsement (hey—that’s different!).

With Blotzer’s long, shaggy blond hair and lively, outgoing personality, he is like David Lee Roth’s long-lost brother. He seconds the Ratt philosophy of fun being the most important message. “For us, I don’t want to tell anybody what to do,” Blotzer says. “My job, and position in life for that matter, is just to have a good time and help people have a good time. You don’t have to be out of your mind on smoke, drink, pills or whatever to have a good time. You can do it without that. There’s no message behind our stuff other than to have a good time. We don’t write politically—we all have political views, but for me, politics and rock don’t mix. Why am I going to tell somebody about politics who can’t vote for three or four years?” He laughs.

The discussion turns to the latest LP while minutes tick closer to the performance. “I like the new record,” Blotzer says. “I’m not happy with it, but I like it. Because we really didn’t spend enough time, I don’t think, on it. It’s doing great— it’s already sold 1,200,000 copies. How can you bitch about something like that? And now I sound like our manager!” He laughs.

“We’re very much under schedules that we put ourselves into. We come off a tour, we allow ourselves a month off— which really isn’t enough, because in that month off we rehearse two weeks for Japan or Europe or something—and everybody’s head really wasn’t ready. It’s like we were forcing ourselves to do this. The way we’re playing the songs now, on tour, is the way I wish I could’ve played on the record.

“You ask yourself,” he muses, “who are you trying to please: you, or your people? I know they like it, and I know I like it. But if I liked it more, wouldn’t they like it more?”

Blotzer exits for the stage soon after, and O.I.R. is left pondering about the trials and tribulations of being a rodent rocker, but then remembers the last thing Crosby said before walking off into the bright lights.

“I would never want to be taken,” Crosby pauses for effect, “seriously. I mean, Ratt’s whole thing is all tongue-incheek. Let’s be serious. I mean, let’s be honest. Let's talk reality.” ®