Scorpions - Sting in the Tail
April 8 2010 at 08:38:26 PM  Ansatz. Scorpions present strangely airtight case for reinvigorating flat-lined cliché with Sting in the Tail. Deft rummaging through a massive back catalog (more at Gesamkunstwerk) and intuitively sympathetic production allow for unlikely “archeology.” Were Der Spiegel to report record as result of once thought “lost” 1980s recordings found “preserved in amber,” few’d go un-hoodwinked. Even the band’s (rightly) heralded the record as distillation of its ‘80s yield. Swede producers Mikael Andersson and Martin Hansen credited with behind-the-scenes puppeteerin’ here, extracting ineffable und animus from albums recorded when Cannonball Run graced drive-in screens. Scorps have made hefty living on stadium rock’s excesses. Songs overstuffed with impossible bedroom prowess, fast cars, buckets of booze (i.e. “Fressen was gar ist; trinken was klar ist; ficken was dar ist.”) are comfortable, familiar norm band’s exploited to no uncertain end. An ill-advised decade of “experimentalism” in the 1990s saw them through awkward flirts with “grunge” and saccharine symphonic rock cheapened with cherubic chorus. Shift was predictable and intentional. Scorps’ substance incessantly led the band dangerously close to a host of tragic moves. Like vampiric stalwarts Anvil, they’ve managed to identify perks of their own product and repackage dust-laden goods in ways that could appeal to exponentially larger audience. Trick here is working tunes without results sounding like what they are: Former leafhounds blazing topics long since gone public domain. Results are unequivocal. Those prone to disparage overt schmaltz (See: “Spirit of Rock;” “The Best Is Yet to Come,” et al) would warm only were the record issued in limited run of tropical fruit colored vinyl. Walking the self-reflexive line ain’t done with ease. Usually ends miserably. Chalk up blatant quotes of former anthems (See: “Raised on Rock” channels “Rock You Like a Hurricane”) and self-mythologizing (meta ballad, “SLY,” credits France’s hyperbolic birth rate circa ’85 to a single tune: “Still Loving You”) to simple process. Resisting gestalt theory, or getting bogged in ding an sich bullshit, let’s just agree that Sting in the Tail is anything but “thin.” To wit: (a) Unabashed looting of 1985’s Love At First Sting; (b) Unpremeditated mien clashing harmoniously with strangely orchestrated precision and purpose; (c) Mailed-in, manufactured swansong whose success remains contingent upon fanbase hardwired for its appreciation, and (d) The sum of moth-balled techniques and praxis. Indeed, Meistersinger Meine rocks patented ursprache. Smell schnapps und Weihenstephaner, yes, as Scorps move through “readymade modes of expression,” with habitual mechanics. If (a) is unintentional, then (b) must be true. If (a) is intentional then (c), and perhaps even (d), are true. Whatever the case may be is the case. Parse intention either literally or symbolically and end up… beginning. Those finding innovation in blurring—and therefore dissolution—of genre are going to get their salads tossed by anyone gazing at their sneakers while crabbing out unreasonable facsimile of “I en hall med flesk og mjød.” Aforementioned may sound “new” or portend to “raise the bar,” and perhaps even “surprise” listeners with how much they “enjoy” __________’s record. Incessant accolades die hard, and this is easy; beharren eine Kunst. In another time and space, Kultur critics Adorno and Horkheimer explained cliché only “fulfilling purpose allotted to them.” If ably meeting an unspecified mark of working aesthetics is something best avoided, little wonder I’m tossing all the promos received to the trash. Anecdotal evidence: Old friend once fucking vociferously argued benefits of “fadeouts.” When the fadeout’s used, the song never ends, he said. It just goes on forever. Sting in the Tail could be that one long fadeout. Thirty-plus years of fadeout. Stacks of vinyl and CDs and VHS and Beta tapes of fadeout. Walls of posters and stacks of mags and closets of decaying concert tees of fadeout. Alles hat ein Ende, nur die Wurst hat zwei. No? Everything must end, yes? Music’s gotta cease. No shit logic there. But with the fadeout, the music never [Stewart Voegtlin] Scorpions
Sting in the Tail Universal Music Enterprises 2010
type: reviews
keywords:
scorpions,
german germans,
hard rock,
lhp037,
fadeout,
wurst,
cliche,
ursprache,
schmaltz,
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