|Rocky Shades' Wildside Riot - 'No Second Take' (Livewire/Cargo)|
|Written by Gaz E|
|Thursday, 24 January 2013 03:30|
Humbly describing himself as "the godfather of glam metal" former Wrathchild singer Rocky Shades returns with Wildside Riot, a new band that promises something above and beyond the same old, same old....and fails miserably.
'No Second Take' is so full of hair metal cliché that it gives the entire grunge genre a Get Out Of Jail card: it was generic cock rock like this that suffocated the whole glam scene, not a new, in vogue genre. Insipid and formulaic rock music that was interested more in image than the writing of good songs meant that an entire genre was ripe for wiping out, dinosaur-style. Simple, brontosaurus brain-sized 'party' rock by numbers was dumb fun when done right. A proper godfather of glam once told us that he was in love, L-U-V: this is just D-U-M.
Album opener 'All Hail The Wasted' limps out of the starting blocks when it should be chomping at the bit; as a precursor of what is to follow it kinda says it all - a lame also-ran. 'Wildside Riot' follows - yes, this is one of those bands that has its own theme tune - and is so dated that I have to check my calendar when listening to make sure that I haven't been hit by a car and transported back a few decades to when bands played songs like this to wanton pub goers.
'Broken Toys' steals the riff to 'Warriors Of Genghis Khan' by Bad News but, sadly, isn't a joke. 'Fukk Em!' tries its hardest to ride a Zodiac Mindwarp/Beastie Boys riff all the way to aural acceptance but, again, it's been done a million times before and a million and one times better. 'Candiis Gone Bad' lacks an apostrophe and one iota of original thought but is probably the best song on offer here, though that is like studying a serial offender and having to choose which of his heinous crimes is least horrific.
'That's What Sunday Mornings Are For' remembers the apostrophe but forgets that party rock is not beige AOR - yes, Shades is determined to add a 'new' melodic rock element to his band's sound and it strips even the briefest sliver of entertainment away from this album. 'Babe I Gotta Go' is more of the same, worse actually, and a perfect example of why cheesy pop rock videos should only be allowed to be viewed by those with a sense of humour, rather than those with a slot booked at a studio. 'My Paradise' - and you should take my word for this, don't listen for fuck's sake - pulls the album's standard even lower: "In my paradise the sun's always shining, there ain't a cloud in the sky, there's no bitching or whining, why don't you give it a try?" This is comprehensive school concert standard song and lyric writing that I would describe as Nan Rock if I didn't know that most grandparents rock harder and more impressively than this.
'Glitter-Tramps' tries its hardest to claw the album out of its shallow grave, before 'Wasted Lust' sinks it lower than ever. Cheesy keyboard heavy, it'd love to be Van Halen or Def Leppard but it's not even Blue Blud. 'My Woman' sounds like a British melodic rock band that appeared on ECT before disappearing forever. The album closes (yes, I forced myself to the end on a number of occasions - care packages gratefully accepted at the UR P.O. Box address) with a song that rediscovers the metal way too late. 'There Is A Bullet For Each Of You' apparently, and you might want to bite the fucker if you have to listen to this song as many times as I have.
'No Second Take' rehashes every cliché in the book, pollutes them with godawful widdling guitar histrionics and pre-school wordplay, and expects desperate glam/sleaze fans to lap it up like it's a gift from the gods, rather than a joke from the godfather. Sadly, the fact that some people will actually take to it says it all about creatures of habit that refuse to evolve. "Dinosaur fossils? God put those here to test our faith..."
You can't blame Rocky Shades for trying: he's been down the tribute band route for so long that he must feel, as he sees other bands, including the one he is best known for, making waves with the kind of music that he made his name in, that he is owed some kind of living from it. He tries with Wildside Riot, he really does. The CD booklet, littered with more mistakes than an average Facebook status though it is, pulls out all the stops, and the album, at thirteen tracks (unlucky for some, me at this point), provides value for money for those with no clue as to how to spend their cash wisely, but the whole 'all filler, no killer' thing smacks of the ultimate sin of D.I.Y. projects - there is no quality control, no-one to say that something is, when the chips are down, a bit shit.
Rocky Shades has gone door 2 door with his latest project but this is a recorded delivery that most will politely refuse. There's a riot going on somewhere...it certainly isn't here.