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| Also on cassette! |
Like the good student of sound that I am, I'll get my
prerequisites out of the way first: Rock
in a Hard Place is a drugged-out, self-indulgent, murkily-produced tailspin
of a record. In that sentence, I have
summed up for you damn near every word of criticism ever put to paper about the
album. As a bonus, I'll throw in some
mythology for you at no extra charge: this was the bottom-of-the-barrel depth
from which the band would eventually reunite and rise, phoenix style, to the
heights of ROCK STARDOM once again. You
can waste your time nosing around the inter-tubes for verification of these
things, or you can be efficient and just accept that I wouldn't lie to you.
The only problem with the story as it is commonly told is
that someone forgot to tell Rock in a
Hard Place it was supposed to suck. Because
it doesn't: it's an entertaining, quirky-as-hell hard rock LP that may be a
killer tune or three short of a masterpiece, but it's not even remotely the embarrassment
it's made out to be. In fact, I'm
willing to make a fairly bold statement about it here, so listen up: I'll take
it over any of the band's 1987-and-forward discography any day, with the
important and notable exception of Pump. Big talk, I know, but if you're ready to hear
with new ears, I'm willing to share with you the secret to unlocking this
one. It's simple, actually: you need to
completely disregard the album cover and just listen to the tunes as music. First, you need to disregard the graphics;
they're utterly ridiculous, and rumor has it Steven Tyler has never been amused
by This is Spinal Tap as a
result. Wonder why? More importantly, you need to disregard the
big AEROSMITH logo on the cover.
Clearly, Aerosmith can't be Aerosmith without both Steven Tyler and Joe
Perry at a minimum, so why even bother with the charade?
Instead, you need to convince yourself that the album says
STEVEN TYLER on the cover. You need to
think of it as the solo album it really is, and you need to commend Tyler for
having the smarts to keep the ace rhythm section from his day gig around for
it. Once you do all of that, the whole
thing starts to make more sense. After
all, who'd want to hear AEROSMITH play "Cry Me a River"? Nearly nobody, that's who. But would you be interested in hearing STEVEN
TYLER the SOLO ARTIST sing it?
Maybe. At the very least, the
idea is a lot more intriguing. The
reality of it is actually well worth pursuing; as it turns out, he sings hell
out of the song.
In fact, he sings the hell out of all of these songs. As
compositions, they're mostly solid but not exceptional. It's Tyler, who sounds better and more
engaged here than he has since Rocks,
that makes this dusty corner of classic rock history worth taking a flashlight
to. The fact Tyler managed to turn in
these performances, some of which rank among his very best vocals, in the
condition he was famously in at the time is nothing short of stunning. Does his voice sound wasted on the album? Sure.
Does he make it work? In spades;
the burned-out, well-earned rasp around the edges of Tyler's voice here lend
these songs an edge and a tone that's unique to them. I'm sure the fact that we've never heard this
version of Tyler again and the fact that he's still alive bear a close
correlation, and I'm more than happy that's the way this story ended. Still, I'm nearly as happy that they got this
on tape when they could.
Want one good example?
Let's look at the infamous "Prelude to Joanie/Joanie's
Butterfly." Like everyone on Earth
not named Steven Tyler, I have no fucking idea what the lyrics are supposed to
be about. "I met the pony"? "Kick-ass rocking horse"? Yeah, Steven, whatever. I'd say I've not done nearly enough drugs in
my life to parse these thoughts, but Rhea, who has never ingested anything
stronger than alcohol, named a vintage Volkswagen Bus that she owns after the
song. Maybe it's just that I've never
owned enough tie-dyed clothing to get it, but I digress. The lyrics are utter nonsense that find Tyler
aiming for an epic and ending up with something the Moody Blues probably laughed at over breakfast. Listening to
him sing it, listening to the tone of his vocals, though...wow. I end up liking the damned thing, even though
every other facet of my taste in music tells me I shouldn't. And
that's the worst song on the album.
The better songs are, well, better. They're also pretty
much of a piece. In stark contrast to
the shambles of Night in the Ruts'
construction, this one feels like a full, finished album; the songs play off
each other and gel into a complete, unified whole. The rockers are among Tyler's ballsiest (check
the title track out if you're looking for a good, typical example), and "Push
Comes to Shove" is yet another great entry in the catalog of Tyler's album-closing piano ballads, a genre I'd love
to see him resurrect on the band's forthcoming LP. Really, though, the whole thing is far
stronger than it ever seems to get credit for, provided you can stop thinking
about what it isn't long enough to thoroughly enjoy what it is.
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