Def Leppard - Pyromania [Deluxe Edition]
June 15 2009 at 09:21:58 PM  Because Nightbringer can’t hold your attention, kids. Because it’s time to steal another 46 records off the Internet and file away and forget them in a quarter of the time it took you to do said pilfering. I bring you yesteryear: Def Leppard’s “deluxe” Pyromania edition, which was originally released the same day as Mari Yaguchi’s birthday. Coincidence? Not hardly. Nineteen eighty-three. Even sounds dusty. Brokaw was actually intelligible then. Stern Magazine published the bogus “Hitler Diaries.” Christo et Jean Claude finished wrapping those islands in fabric and called it art: Eh voila. Jennifer Beals made me start really masturbating. Mayhem and Morbid Angel and Possessed and Death and Fates Warning formed. AC/DC unleashed Flick of the Switch. Sabbath, Born Again; Dio, Holy Diver; Dokken, Breaking the Chains and Def Leppard, Pyromania. Nineteen eighty-three, a merman I should turn to be… Mutt Lange at the controls. Pete Willis the ghost in the machine. Newbie Phil Collen growing quickly into the proverbial receptacle tip. Rick Allen an industrial compound, all steel and fire and ash. Joe screaming like Bon Scott and Brian Johnson and Mark “The Shark” Shelton are perpetually stage-side, ready to wring his Union Jack headband dry but for a few droplets, mouths agape. There’s Steve Clark: A guy with two first names. And the bass player’s last name is “Savage.” So whattaya do? You get Bernard Gudynas to paint a building aflame, framed within the crosshairs of an unseen assassin. Killer idea. You get Mutt involved in more than just knob twiddlin’ – no surprise he’s got a writing credit on EVERY SONG. You get Allen to club his snare like it’s a seal. You add cowbell to that. And then you get him to put his foot through the fucking bass drum. Meanwhile, Collen & Clark are blown blonde hair, body glitter, crotch-less cat-suits and long drives ‘round the park with a bar heavy on vodkas, gins, stuff with gold flakes floating in it. I wonder if Mutt beat off to Beals? Def Leppard wrote some swell songs as an outfit: “Rock Brigade;” “Swtich 625;” “Me & My Wine;” Wasted…” But it wrote only one perfect song, “Foolin’.” There are two other tunes, “Photograph,” and “Comin’ Under Fire” that preen the identifiable indefinable that makes overweight, balding, platinum-covered hirsute music mogul men with names like Marty and Sal grasp the air’s tits and make the oh-oh face. The intro. The easy crescendo that erupts into Leppardettes’ interrogative: IZZ ANY-BOTEE OUT THAR? ANY-BOTTEE THAR? DOES ANY-BOTTEE WON-DAH? ANY-BOTTEE CAA-AAA-ARE? The chorus looks really fantastic when written out as well: “F-f-f-foolin’, ah f-f-foolin / F-f-f-foolin’, ah f-f-foolin’.” (Ah, ya stutterin’ prick ya….) The coupling riff. Allen’s cowbell/snare combo. Mutt taking a break from shining his own balls to suggest prefacing “Rock of Ages” with something that “sounds silly that will be interpreted as Satanic.” Played forward it says something as German as “Häagen-Dasz und Frusen Glädjé” and played backwards it says something like, “Mutt Lange likely rubbed one out over Flashdance.” Friends swear they hear lighter flicks and gurgling bong. Others have argued ‘til Rat Patrol comes on that it “really fucking means something, man,” like, “Sex on Monday is good,” or, “Running softly through a forest.” I just haven’t had the time to take in Def Lepp’s VH1 special. This remaster does the impossible, which is make something greatest greater. Mutt should be sucked off by a trio of collagen-implant victories whilst quaffing from a self-replenishing tankard of Fat Tire for the sound he sealed within those grooves. I got out the three LP copies I own and rocked them all. They sound scratched, poppy, lethargic. By contrast this disc sounds sleek, ebullient, invigorated. Even laggers like “Die Hard the Hunter,” and “Billy’s Got a Gun” garner listens. They’re chocolate-coated, angel-dusted, sparkling, sweet, psychotic. The astounding live disc, Def Lepp vs. The Great Western Forum, is the only time in the past 15 years I’ve been able to imagine that many people in one place replete with shoulder pads, Velcro, Lycra, leggings, bolero jackets, jellies. “Good evening, Lost Ann-guh-leeeez.” That doesn’t detract from mass amore here. Even Rolling Stone agrees. Hey, Bob Christgau gave it a “C” way back when, but what the fuck does that drip know? He likes Kanye West. [Stewart Voegtlin] Def Leppard
Pyromania [Deluxe Edition] Island/Mercury 1983/2009
type: reviews
keywords:
heavy metal,
lhp027,
salad days,
classic,
rolling stone,
nwobhm,
jennifer beals,
vaseline,
1983,
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hahahah. yes!