Ladies and gentlemen, I give you this week’s episode in
which our stars present to you two tales of contact fulfillment. In the annals of rock music, there are three sure signs of a band looking to honor the terms of its recording contract
without actually delivering any noteworthy new music: the covers album, the
live album, and the compilation. As of this
writing, pending the delivery of their often-promised, never-delivered new
album, Aerosmith has made a decade out of peddling all three.
The atrociously titled Honkin’
on Bobo was a great idea actualized at the worst possible time in the band’s
career. There’s not much denying that
Aerosmith could have delivered one motherfucker of an album of blues covers in
the mid ‘70s. I’m even willing to
believe that they could have done such material justice as late as the Pump/Get
a Grip/Nine Lives era of their existence. Sadly, by 2004, an album of blues covers was
simply a way for the band to throw some new product at the market while
minimizing their need to actually collaborate.
On the one hand, there is nothing embarrassing about Honkin’ on Bobo once you get past its
title; this is the sound of a band of seasoned professionals turning in a
competent performance of material they know well. Compared to a reputation-wrecker like Just Push Play, that’s a step up. On the other hand, there is nothing exciting
or enticing about the album, either: it crawls by in a monotonous “next song,
same as the last” blur, interrupted only by a couple of always-dreaded Joe
Perry vocals. There is nothing particularly
great on Bobo, and there is nothing
remarkably bad on it either. It is
ultimately a display of ultra-competence and minimal inspiration. Unfortunately, the blues is supposed to be
played from the heart rather than from ego, obligation or sterile “ability”,
and as a result Honkin’ on Bobo ends
up being the exact opposite of what it should have been. It’s a damned shame, really.
As for the live Rockin’
the Joint, recorded at a small-ish Las Vegas casino venue on the Just Push Play tour, there’s really
nothing to say about it at all. If you
want to capitalize on recording a live album in an unusually small venue, you
should not turn around and mix it as though it were captured at any
corporately-named Enormo-Dome. Throw in
obnoxiously bleeped-out stage banter (why, because so many nine-year-olds were
buying live Aerosmith albums in 2005?) and perfunctory performances of material
from their worst album alongside a smattering of predictable hits, and you’ve
got a product that couldn’t possibly have really had much of a market. So why do I own it? Good question, let’s see here, what does that
sticker on the cover say? TARGET
EXCLUSIVE! 2 BONUS TRACKS! Sigh.
If there is one bit of wisdom I can impart to you, dear readers, it is
that leaving pointless collecting behind frees you to spend more time with good
music, instead of wasting so much of your time muddling through mediocrity or
worse. I’d recommend it to anyone with
even a small amount of soul in their soul.
Let’s see: covers record, pointless live album. That’s two of the terrible triumvirate accounted
for. Compilations, then…whoa, boy. That’s a huge kettle of fish where Aerosmith
are concerned; a regular Pandora’s box if you will. (I’ll pause here a moment to let you stop
groaning.) We’ll open it up next week;
same day, same channel.
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