Reviews Mötley Crüe Saints of Los Angeles

Mötley Crüe

Saints of Los Angeles

Sometimes you just want to tear something down, rip it to shreds. To have that attitude when reviewing an album is fucked up, no question. The promo for the new Mötley Crüe album was claimed for such a reason. Preconceived notions are just that - preconceptions. Sometimes they’re accurate, sometimes not. Thinking that an album from schlock-meisters Mötley Crüe will be shitty is a pretty safe bet. That's what I figured I would get, and boy did Christmas come early for this young Canadian boy when this arrived in my mailbox. After all, this is 2008. Umlauts no longer give you street cred. Two of them, less so. Yes, I figured this album would be shitty. I figured it would give me endless ammunition in my asshole-arsenal for a lazy day of reviewing. Was I right? Damn skippy, I was. But bad attitude or not – every word in this review should be taken as an absolute. This album is thirteen shades of dogshit from top to bottom.

Exhibit A: The Lyrics kinda makes me wonder / About the lovers that have been / Lyin in my bed with her hands tied up / I knew it all along that it wasn't enough / 'cus when I gotta taste of you / I found somethin' I could sink my teeth into.


We slept all day in our clothes / That's OK in Hollywood / Another shot, another show / All night long at the Whiskey A-Go-Go

Instead of maturing, Vince Neil somehow regresses to a zygote sub-neanderthal level with his writing. This shit makes even their own lyrics from albums like Shout at the Devil and Girls Girls Girls sound like Keats.

Exhibit B: The Music

Not a single riff to talk about. Not one. Drumming? We’re talking about a guy who had to strap himself to his drum throne to play upside down so no one would notice what a mediocre drummer he is. Evidently all the years since haven’t been spent taking lessons.

Think I’m being too harsh? We’re talking about an album with a song called “Chicks = Trouble.” You do the math.

Imaginary reader response:

It’s just fun good time rock-n roll. You’re taking it too seriously.

No, it’s not “fun,” it’s weak. This is weak by 1984 standards and the crazy thing is, in 1984 we didn’t even have standards. In 2008? It’s a travesty. Dee Snider’s rolling over in his grave and the fucking guy isn’t even dead yet.

If you have never taken my advice in a review, I implore you to start now. There is nothing good to say about this album. Nothing. Ran fast and run far. And when you finally run out of breath and collapse from the exhaustion, you’ll lay there, giddy as a cartoon chipmunk, reveling in your new found knowledge that I’ve just saved you from the worst forty minutes of your life.

0.4 / 10Kevin Fitzpatrick
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