In Praise of...Pretty Boy Floyd's _Leather Boyz With Electric Toyz_

Bear with me.

There's another thread on this album here but it didn't get very far and those of us who were on it -- myself, donut d and Dave Q -- were already either convinced or at least aware. But aside from a few other people, this album is completely and totally on the dustbin of history, if remembered at all.

A bit of background -- ILX poster Orbit tells the story of the glam-damaged quartet that had rehearsal space next to her garage-psych band in mid to late eighties LA. Apparently these four lived the look, and these four were, according to the credits sheet in their one and only album at the time:

Steve "Sex" Summers: Lead Vocalz & Sextoyz
Kristy "Krash" Majors: Guitarz & Anxiety
Vinnie Chas: Bassez and Incense
Kari "The Mouth" Kane: Drumz & Stogies

They were never not hypermetaglam, apparently. Hard to walk in shoes, hair that reached to the sky, you name it. Like eight million other bands at the time, they had concluded "Motley Crue, Guns'n'Roses, Poison, fuck man we gotta get to LA!" And they were happy as clams when they got signed! Freeway to the stars! They were going to get produced by Howard Benson, producer dude who produced lots of things then and now (Cinderella then, Hoobastank now -- "The Reason"? Him.).

Some more details here (including the fact that Kim Fowley dealt with them at some point and gave them their name, which should surprise nobody who's ever dealt with or heard about Kim Fowley). There's also a huge Flipside interview somewhere from a few years back that talks about it all, the rise and the fall and all that. The most important thing to note is that they were signed by MCA, who, in their usual clueless way, figured out that they could somehow get an overnight sweep-the-nation sensation out of this utterly unknown except by those in LA glam metal band. Uh-huh. The hype was huge, the crash and burn huger. For a long while, the band's fame was strictly a reactive and retrospective one, because when Ugly Kid Joe ended up having hits a couple of years later they explained that they chose their name because they had heard about Pretty Boy Floyd, couldn't believe that such a group existed, and so named themselves in specific response to that.

They were a joke, washed up, dead on arrival, go-nowhere. Their album ended up in more used bins than could be counted. After Nevermind they became poster boys for the failure of it all out here, the whole Gazzarri's thing. Shunted into the dustbin with Kik Tracee and Keel and whoever else.

And so, logically, the cult began. (And it's big enough that a version of the band somehow still persists.)

I think it was around 1993 or so when donut d and I found the album in the archives at KUCI and thought, "What the FUCK?" It was totally ridiculous. The comments on the album from past reviewers were hilarious, and when we heard it we couldn't believe the series of endless cliches and obvious idiocy (to our ears) that poured forth. It was pointless and we laughed.

But we kept coming back.

Now, years later, we all have our own copies of the album we found in those used bins, him, me, a circle of our friends. We're addicted to the damn thing. Two friends of ours went so far as to do their own lo-fi-ish cover of the *entire* album -- and I oughta know about that, I was the one who transcribed the lyrics for the project since no lyric sheet was available. I've shared the mp3s, I've sung the praises.

And why? Well on that other thread I linked to, donut said this:

"Never has such a hilarious formula-following record had such a profound effect on me. A classic pop record."

And he's not kidding. This is, profoundly and perfectly, a CLASSIC pop record. A complete, total, genius, obvious, stupid, wonderful, spot-on, do-not-pass-go pop record. It is utterly self-referential to itself, to its context, to its place and time, and yet is also completely universal, it works. Maybe it wouldn't have worked then in the end, there were too many others out there like them. But now, it shines out.

Is it all about sex and sleaze and rock and roll? Well duh. Is everything in it taken from other sources? You bet. Is it shaped in the studio? Of course. None of that is a problem. None of that is a worry. It's all about the thing in-and-of itself. It's about that amazing cover which could be a cover pose and color scheme for any number of hip-hop folks these days. (You think it couldn't be? How many No Limit covers are spiritual cousins to that picture up top of this thread?) It's about the credits thanking all the usual suspects -- BAM, Guitar Center, KNAC, RIP, and yup, Gazzari among many others. It's the listing of the road crew that includes a dude who only did "explosions and fog."

And, of course, the music. Now I will talk about it for you:

The title track kicks it all off, as well it should. Don't fuck with the formula, indeed (this turns out to be the raison d'etre of the entire thing, as I've been arguing -- there is NO subtlety here, at least on a certain level, and there would be no point to subtlety). From out of the depths arises a series of echo and cavernous noises, like the undead are being awakened for their Max Factor from the factory where all eighties action movies had their climax. It could be Swans but it's more like the opening of "Women" by Def Leppard stretched out with less guitars and more groans and GOTH DOOM. But then Kane kicks in with them drums and away we go. So rarely have the "whoa-oa-oa" gambits worked so well, in terms of "Here we are!" And from the first lyrics, you just know that Summers, throughout the whole album, will be the king of the bizarrely obvious. "We're black on black, we're sex intact," what the flying FUCK. The whole Sweet/Slade chants of "Cock rock shock pop" is pure Dada-as-self which Zappa might have appreciated. Or T. Rex. Or KMFDM or someone. The fact that Summers sings "A little louder now" before the second verse and THE VOLUME DOES NOT CHANGE seems perfectly appropriate. And the chorus, well hells yes, deny this fucker at your peril. "WE'RE LEATHER BOYZ WITH ELECTRIC TOYZ, WE'RE MAKING NOIZE TONIGHT!" I would have ditched the solo, but at the same time it is impossible to lose it because, you know, you NEED the solo. Ace Frehley had solos, so these guys had to have solos. Drum and bass on the instrumental break, but not drum-and-bass, just drums and bass, then doom guitar and Summers sighs/whines, "Leather, black leather, we're leather boyz...AND WE'LL ROCK FOREVER!" Call and response, back and forth, into the chorus, x = x to the X and then some. The Fall circa "Repetition" would approve, but the final long pause and then "TONIGHT!" gives it the pop sting.

As does the start of the next one, which was the lead single and the putative hit and got played on Headbanger's Ball once, apparently. "Rock & Roll (Is Gonna Set The Night On Fire)" and if you don't believe that then listen in to the way that after the intro there's a "ONE TWO THREE LET'S GO!" and a harmonized vocal build into the verse. Bits? How about the way Summers goes "Let me take you one step HIGHER!" and then the guitars and vocals *fall away* before returning in even more glory. What a tease. All of a sudden rhythms slow down for half a second and then return with what sounds like a clear "We're the baddest boys/Making noise/Break the chains/WHAT-DO-YOU-SAY!" Summers commands, "Hit it, Krash!" and Majors obeys with the guitar noise. Yet better is the sweet distanced sigh/prettiness of the instrumental break before the echoed-from-the-heights "Let me hear you say ROCK! ROCK!" bit kicks in and there's even cowbell dammit!

So of course, the power ballad. I mean, you can't rock FOREVER. Well I suppose the drums can, they've got the reverb. But the acoustic guitar is like a heavenly glaze down the side of a building in the rain, and the fact that this is just "Fallen Angel" by Poison but for two is even better. In fact, this is "Livin' On a Prayer" by Bon Jovi done RIGHT, two people trying to make it in their own way, burning out rather than fading away, etc. Maybe less laser guitar than Sambora but it's the type of song where it talks about a siren in the night and there's a SIREN IN THE NIGHT in the mix. X again equals motherfucking X, you can't deny that they give you want they promise. That the chorus is PURE GLAM DESCEND GENIUS is part of the joy, of course, it's exactly what it's needed, what else is appropriate for two folks who ran away and pursued the dream and everything was starry-eyed genius, and that the guitars always layer up for the bridge to the chorus is right, as is the call-and-response into the chorus. "You and me, we're wild angels!/We'll set the skies on fire/You and me, we're wild angels!We're gonna set the skies on fire TONIGHT!" In contrast to the obviousness, a subtle bit of genius -- all of a sudden the pace increases after the solo and it's time to rock out a bit. More call-and-response, that's the secret weapon I think, and it makes the ending less of a sorrowful anthem as it strutting badassedly into the collapsed void of crushed dreams. I think. So when it does slide into the last crumbling away of everything before Summers goes "TONIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!" into the depths and the acoustic guitar kicks in and there's your power ballad of dreams. You know, fuck "Sister Christian."

Alarm bells! Time to get up! Or get down. And party. IT'S TIME TO PARTY! "48 Hours -- TO ROCK! ROCK! FORTY-EIGHT HOURS TO ROCK!" 24 Hour Party People, pah, they do it the WHOLE DAMN TIME! (I assume they count from midnight to midnight, though they mention Friday night and Monday morning but perhaps both ends of the paradisical revolution are negotiable, and like the man says, "There ain't much time on the clock!") So at this point the band having demonstrated what they are they offer nothing new, because, of course, they need not. Having shown they are a pop band, they just do what they do. Art? Fuck you! Give the people it (but then again they just have this way around the cliche -- "Are you READY BOYZ!" "YEAH!" "LET'S GO!"). I think they even change the harmonies up a bit, like the way prime Sweet always did at the end of their songs. If not here, they do it elsewhere.

The most genius move on this album is the next one -- a PERFECT acknowledgement that LA glam-metal, like any such subgenre, has a history and historical roots, and that people acknowledge them lovingly, not mockingly. Pretty Boy Floyd know their roots and don't hide them (except by dyeing, ho ho), so they give us a cover of "Toast of the Town." Yes, the one by Motley Crue, about a decade after it was first released. And it makes perfect goddamn sense! Argue against the idea, you won't succeed, and well before irony and ska band covers of Kiss or Bowling For Soup talking about 1985, these guys reclaim the past and enshrine it for the future. And frankly I like this version better than the original because they make it over into their OWN STYLE. Oh, sure, they barely change shit about it, but if you didn't know this was a cover you'd think it was an original, it slots into everything else, and the whole thing is joie de vivre, and holy FUCK do they turn in on going into the final chorus, drums and handclaps like the thunderbolts of God raining down on the unbelievers. A celebration that speeds up and the way Summers practically snarls/yelps "TOOOOOOWN" is some kinda genius.

But back to their original stuff and if you cranked it up enough the opening of "Rock and Roll Outlaws" would be thrash metal death. This song is an anthem, a call to the masses, and there's no apologizing for this fucker at all. Had not all that crew been completely rendered speech/tuneless by Nirvana and all after, they would have stuck onto this as their defiant anthem in the face of it all. Dig the manifesto: "Treasures and trash/Gypsies of the night/The mascara masquerade/Rebels and renegades/And we're here to ROCK, SHOCK!" And when they do a "ROCK! *pause, reverse echo* SHOCK!" bit later after the solo it's all in the name of catching you off guard. You know, like Ozzy at the start of "Megalomania." Maybe. They're always on the run, because they're just having fun.

But it was a hard slog, all that running, and the flipside of fighting your cause is the realization that there's a whole lotta shit to get through before paradise is theirs, and so like laments for the stated of Babylon in reggae, on "Only the Young" Pretty Boy Floyd set forward an aspirational tone. Because, as they explain to the tones of a slow, sad arrangement, it's more than indifference they face from the straight world, the members of the mascara masquerade, it's hate: "They're shaking their heads at us/In their eyes I see disgust." But they WILL find the eye of the tiger, they WILL lose themselves in the music, for the good of us all! Everything cranks up and: "I'm gonna fight for THE RIGHT to be who I am/There's a MILLION JUST LIKE US ACROSS THIS LAND -- ONLY THE YOUNG UNDERSTAND WHAT WE MEAN! ONLY THE YOUNG KNOW THE HELL THAT WE'VE SEEN." Beautiful. Ridiculous. Stupid as fuck. Genius. I think they use the gypsies of the night trope here once again, might as well, this thing's a concept album without any overarching story and I'd rather this than fucking Operation: Mindcrime. Bubblegum stick-to-eardrum chorus again? OH MAIS OUI my friends, and again, a solo after the second chorus! Like on every song on the entire album! Nothing changes! NOTHING NEED CHANGE! Like I said DON'T FUCK WITH THE FORMULA. But of course strip back the mix to allow more drama above the empty spot where most of the feedback was when going into the final chorus, fade on the defiant sad acoustic bit. The video would presumably have been a beautiful thing.

And from that into sweet and innocent power-pop via "The Last Kiss." In fact, this is perhaps the most overt Springsteen/Spector move on this album, but I actually like it. Whatever's added to the wall of sound throughout works, what sounds like chimes or something on the descending melody on the chorus, the soothing backing vocals at various points, it's them finding a bit of ambition. A bit. Conversely, at no other point does Summers sound so ridiculously strangled on the verses, very wobbly, but you know, kinda cute, as is the sentiment of the chorus, which asserts that the final kiss is indeed the hardest one to overcome, because it is the lonesome one that means that the night is done. AW. You want to pet him. Well, maybe not with all that junk in his hair. Coda's a bit long but hey.

And from innocence to experience. "Your Mama Won't Know," indeed. IE, "Please oh please allow me to take your innocent virgin nature cause your maternal figure, who cares?" "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" in subject matter, near Motorhead in speed, careening complaints about the sorrows of the bluest of balls. Gang shout chorus on the title, the world's most basic but effective solo in between the first and second verses, and there's one part where Summers sings "It's you I crave, cause I can't behave" -- he has this sudden desperate sadness in his voice. And who can blame him, he's feeling a bit frustrated. The whole thing is about getting there first and getting there now, at one point the band piles up on each other and then after a drum bash or two steps back. And once again this band's ace in the hole is played -- slow down the pace before the final chorus, strip things down (to a very flange-heavy guitar bit), back into the chorus as earlier established and so to the end. The simplest of tricks but it WORKS. Like everything else on this album, it works almost completely in spite of itself.

And another power ballad to end it all, a emotional sucker punch in its own way, because it's their response to something like, I dunno, the Ramones' "I Want You Around." "I Wanna Be With You" is the title and it could be about the janitor stalking the jailbait but the intent is about being at school and seeing the new girl who just moved into the neighborhood and your heart skips a beat and AW WUV. Puppy wuv, of course, but treated with all due sweetness. It's goofy, gawky, it's the antithesis of the strutting craziness of the album art and well, most of the album, "We could walk down to the park, if you've got nothin' else to do. But the chorus takes it back to the heights, triumphant and impassioned, just making it clear it's all good. And when they go ahead and pull the higher-vocals-for-the-final-chorus bit at the end, ending it all up on the top, it's a glorious reach for the brass ring in style. No sop and no additional folly because it's just the title phrase again and again, and then a fade out with a dollop of acoustic guitar stuffage.

So I think of it this way:

These guys are in a tradition, a fine one, that reaches from Cheap Trick and Kiss and THE CRUE and all that and then stretches forward to include (if you're fond of them) Blink 182 and the Killers and whatever you prefer. It's Weezer's alternate history if they stuck with the long hair. It's a big ass loud pop album made with guitars and etc. It's heavy metal bubblegum. It's stupid and it's glorious. It is one of the greatest albums ever made.

So find it if you can. The mp3s are out there.