MOTLEY CRUE: Dr Feel-OK (2022)

By ANDREW McDONALD

YOU know how KISS often describe their victorious, fifth-cog status 1979 arena tour in support of their multiplatinum selling Dynasty as a low point? Their rock n’ roll freak show had effectively turned into a commercial circus when the tour attracted children of all things, who celebrated alongside equally enthusiastic parents. It was sickening stuff but on the flip side, the band’s self-professed sell-out-spectacular caused resentment among the likes of say, an 11-year-old Sebastian Bach, who after having his mind blown at his first arena rock show would spend a lifetime imitating and emulating the spectacle, and aren’t we all the richer for it? In retrospect, the Dynasty tour is a legend and the same could be said for their first Australian tour a year later. Although I was barely out of the womb back then, it occurred to me that I may have lived through a Dynasty betrayal of my own some 10 years later with Motley Crue’s victorious, fifth-cog status, 1990 arena tour in support of their multiplatinum seller Dr. Feelgood.

From a charting standpoint, the Crue have never matched the success of their fifth studio album. Dr Feelgood took the number one Billboard spot after a Whitney-Houston near-miss with predecessor Girls Girls Girls and went platinum in Australia and six times that in the US. So I was quietly confident that Dr. Feelgood would be exactly what the doctor ordered when my seventies rock-fanatic friend, who never made the glam metal pilgrimage, finally agreed to ‘give them a go’ after decades of fruitless persuasion. Far more excited that he, and slightly envious at the prospect of hearing Dr Feelgood for the first time, I figured, what’s not to love? 3D vocals, drums you can set your watch to, layers and layers of guitars, gigantic choruses, guest appearances by members of Aerosmith and Cheap Trick plus those mesmerising videos and iconic mint tiles. Even the questionable components like horns, keys, synth, talk box, cowbell, giggles, zippers… it all worked. The back catalogue was consumed in chronological order and my friend instantly warmed to the unnerving attack of Shout At the Devil (of course), particularly favoured the mean bite of Girls Girls Girls (uh-huh) but described the collection of songs comprising of Dr. Feelgood as rubbish… Rubbish! 

I was determined not to let a one-word review sour my infallible love of the pinnacle album from that summer of heavy metal awakenings in 1989. One word wouldn’t cheapen the hours spent repeatedly digesting these blissfully bombastic anthems and it wouldn’t dampen my devotion to their straight jacketed authors. I reasoned that if you didn’t get it in the eighties you might not get it now – if only their earlier offerings required the necessary acclimatisation to sound and an every-changing image – but that wasn’t it. The doctor had been singled out! 

Dr. Feelgood was my constant reminder of the Crue’s ever-present power and it compelled a 30-year-long obsession that was difficult to simply dismiss. It drew me to Sixx’s endless printed diatribes of debauchery. I took pride in being able to recite the Uncensored home video word-for-word complete with each bandmate’s inflections. A Mark Weiss photographed, four-page poster of these recently sober, suntanned, semi-leather-clad, semi-naked, heavily tattooed libertines defined my initial concept of all that was cool and from my bedroom wall they telepathically insisted that I stop with all the haircuts, rip holes in those knees and earlobes and exclusively don, well, Motley Crue tees ( because f**k the rest!). In knowing this band (in reality the closest I’ve come has been a handshake from Nikki at a Brides of Destruction show, a birthday wish via Cameo from Tommy Lee and I also watched from a respectful distance as he and Lemmy once received a lap dance at an afterparty), I would defend my bad boys from the emerging thrash scene and in their separate incarnations throughout the dreaded nineties because just like KISS before them, they filled my gangling pre-teen carcass with a passion that stretched beyond the endless-party escapism they humbly set out to achieve. Yet despite the doctor’s warm hug, my doubt lingered. 

Repressed notions of plagiarism surfaced. The “T.n.T. (Terror ‘n Tinseltown)” intro sampled a sample from the intro of Queensryche’s “Eyes Of A Stranger“, “Slice Of Your Pie“ blatantly borrowed the Beatles “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”, the “Dr. Feelgood” riff can be distinctly heard on AC/DC’s “Night of the Long Knives“ and while on AC/DC (the very band who had already given us the titles “T.N.T.”, “Live Wire” and “Bad Boy Boogie“) did “Kickstart My Heart“ resemble “Shoot To Thrill“? They even stole from themselves with the line “Too Young To Fall In Love”. I wanted to believe it was all an homage. Music had evolved. Chucky Berry should cast the first stone.

There was something in the water at Little Mountain Sound Studios, Canada. Producer and catalyst Bruce Fairbairn with his Slippery When Wet and New Jersey proof lured Aerosmith to an official return to glory with Pump while his Bon Jovi engineer Bob Rock worked concurrently on Dr. Feelgood. Is it possible that the Bob Rock-helmed collection of sonic powerhouses would inevitably invite radio attention but sound too slick for the seasoned fan, even if Rock himself was still a few years away from becoming, for better or worse, a household name? And if I were a teenager in 1989 and saw my nine-year-old self wearing a brand-new Dr. Feelgood shirt, would I have thrown up the horns or reduced myself to the exact words that were once shouted at me from across the street, ‘Can you even name a song?’ Yep, that guy.

By then I could. There was rock awareness at large thanks to the hand-me-downs of schoolmates’ older siblings. Hysteria, Appetite and even Girls were making the rounds, but in an effort to acquire Alice Cooper’s new single “Poison“ without the rigmarole of asking for yet another heavy metal album before this “phase” was over, my parents settled for Let’s Do It Summer 1990 released November 1989 in anticipation of the warmer future. The compilation also featured the song “Dr Feelgood“ (recognisable from the blink, and you’ll miss it TV commercial teasing the band engulfed in flames) and at the same time a karaoke cassette called Be Your Own Rockstar displaying piss-poor, vocal-less renditions of current chart toppers such as “Dr Feelgood“ meant I now had the lyrics. By Christmas I’d amassed the back catalogue and I studied vigorously, but fever pitch was just around the corner when Motley Crue announced their very first Australian tour.

Alas, at nine, my parents would not allow me to attend the fireworks display at Melbourne’s National Tennis Centre and by all accounts the loudest concert ever, but I would see Aerosmith five months later – like the toxic twins were somehow less of a bad influence. Aerosmith were safe because my parents had seen them on the Toys In The Attic tour in Maryland 1975 at, y’know , the height of the band’s heroin abuse, besides the support band Slade apparently mopped the floor with Aerosmith, so I was somehow free to knock myself out. But still I pined for the Crue. Late-night TV commercials promoting the tour pulled me from my slumber, the Six-o’clock News crossed to fan frenzied, Motley-mania at Melbourne Airport, the night of the event mum mentioned that ‘the concert would be over by now’ when I awoke for no discernible reason and the final wave of grief came while watching (instead of participating in) their live TV appearance on ABC’s Countdown… In hindsight, I was probably too young or innocent for this one. YouTube continues to remind of the chaos and tears as fans are visibly crushed against an unstable makeshift glass barricade for a better look at the Crue (or The Motleys and Mike Mars as the hosts incorrectly refer to them). But the point stands: Given the chance I would have been at that show screaming like some teeny-bopping, buzz-killing, more effective precursor to grunge and knowing the Crue-headed kids from school, I would not have been the anomaly.

For those who held on, we would next see Motley Crue 15 long and rough years later. Time for change indeed: Vince Neil fled, John Corabi soared but record and ticket sales tanked, Vince returned unconvincingly, the Australian Generation Swine show at Melbourne’s Festival Hall was cancelled shortly after it was announced, Tommy left to rap, New Tattoo came out on import, Best Of albums were in abundance (one review declared ‘this wasn’t what we meant by glam revival’). This penance for partying was such that I wasn’t even anxious to read The Dirt when it was first released. It wasn’t until three separate acquaintances (none of whom had any prior interest in the Crue until the book) asked to borrow my x-generation, pirated VHS tapes of eighties concerts did I recognise that something was afoot. Four years later they held the world’s most bankable tour and have since traded arenas for stadiums proving one vindication after the next.

In a desperate search for a new perspective from the one so firmly entrenched, I listened to Dr. Feelgood. I imagined hearing something independent of the noise from the Billboard charts, flying drum kits and celebrity weddings that have come since. I was almost willing a scrap of “rubbish” to present itself. To scrutinise and dissect each turn would take another 30 years but what I did hear this time around was an admittedly problematic bad boys schtick, but otherwise, Dr. Feelgood as the real-deal-rock-n-roll triumph I’d always known it to be. The production values they had been building towards since day one. The strength of sobriety with focused and sophisticated melodies. The arrangements carefully crafted no matter how 4/4 rock it gets. The unique personalities of Vince, Nikki, Tommy and Mick all immortalised. It becomes the accidental masterpiece that had no intentions of being anything other than a solid rock album. But the ultimate clarity came afterwards when I recognised that mate is absolutely full of shit, and I should really let him know.