CHEAP TRICK: THE DOCTOR (1986)
1) It's Up To You; 2) Rearview
Mirror Romance; 3) The Doctor; 4) Are You Lonely Tonight; 5) Name Of The Game;
6) Kiss Me Red; 7) Take Me To The Top; 8) Good Girls Go To Heaven (Bad Girls Go
Everywhere); 9) Man-u-Lip-u-Lator; 10) It's Only Love.
A more appropriate title for the album would be
The Doctor From Hell, which is
precisely the kind of function that Tony Platt, now officially promoted to the
position of the band's producer, is (largely successfully) trying to exercise
for Cheap Trick here. You know what is the most viciously sadistic part about
it? These songs, most of them still written by Nielsen and Zander, aren't
really all that bad — once you get past the initial sugar-shock, two or three
listens are enough to prove that the boys still have not completely lost their
pop instincts. In fact, with a little stretch of imagination, I could see the
album turned into a... well, say, a halfway decent Duran Duran record
(although you'd still need to color it a little darker).
The principal problem, on which I agree with
popular / critical opinion, is the awful, awful sound: 1986 in all its glory,
with all the three main textural elements (Nauseous Synthesizers, Steroid Pop
Metal Guitar, and Ridiculously Loud Electronic Drums) taken to the extreme —
no, the boys have not yet mastered the art of the tear-jerking power ballad to
complete the picture, but they have completely adapted to The Age of Excess,
and almost everything that could be declared «good» about The Doctor is instantaneously drowned in such a raging sea of
electronic-metallic noise that it makes Standing
On The Edge sound like Woody Guthrie in comparison.
Case in point: ʽRearview Mirror Romanceʼ. Strip
this song of its ludicrous drum, synth, and ecstatic vocal overdubs, and I can
totally see it as a fine, enjoyable power pop anthem — roll the tape all the
way back to 1977 and give it to Blondie. But as the song goes on, the level of
noise and chaos only increases, with more, more, more sonic idiocy (ever louder drums, ever more synth overdubs,
ever more stupid tape manipulations with Robin's vocals), leaving you with
little more than a confusing headache in the end. And, mind you, this is one of
the better songs on the album —
relatively catchy, relatively inoffensive, and even with a bit of acceptable
humor.
The sleaziness quotient is also increased, with
song titles that speak for themselves — ʽMan-u-Lip-u-Latorʼ? ʽGood Girls Go To
Heaven (Bad Girls Go Everywhere)ʼ? And ʽThe Doctorʼ sure as hell ain't about
lobotomy, which is the only thing that could have truly helped the album: no,
it's about "making house calls in the middle of the night" (listening
to this song and realizing that there actually may have been impressionable human beings of the female sex in 1986
to feel aroused by this mating call just makes me feel dirty all over, and not
even in a good way). This combination of cheap sexual aggression with horrible
sonic ideas lands the band square in the same field with contemporary Rod
Stewart — not even contemporary (let alone classic) KISS, who at least were
consistent enough to keep up a «dirty» visual image along with the «dirty»
musical core; whereas hearing this crap from pretty boy Zander and nerdy freak
Nielsen leads to nothing but an endless series of facepalms.
Since most of the rockers are so deeply
infected with cocky crap-ola, it is no wonder that the sentimental songs stand
out as the finest on the album — in particular, the single ʽIt's Only Loveʼ,
based on a sad little riff that I think
these guys pinched from solo McCartney, though the name of the song escapes me
at the moment; and I'd also have to mention the triumphant chorus of ʽTake Me
To The Topʼ, which is really a cool melodic find and even contains a bit of
emotional catharsis (no, really). That is not to say they are wonderful or
anything, but they are a wee bit less cluttered and obnoxious than the
rockers. And, for honesty's sake, I must also tip the proverbial hat to
Zander's falsetto hook on the "take each and every day as if it is your
last" line from the opening moralistic number ʽIt's Up To Youʼ, which
basically invokes us to shake awake and enjoy The Doctor with all the strength of our hearts because, who knows,
maybe the next thing happening is a brick falling on our head, and do we really want to end our life overcome
with such negative emotions? It's a good chorus anyway — too bad you have to
chop your way through an electronic jungle to get to it.
The bottomline is — contrary to rumors, The Doctor is so goshdarn awful not because Nielsen and Zander have
completely run out of talent (which
is what the record executives thought, and saddled them with corporate
songwriters for the next album), but because they have completely run out of taste. For classic Cheap Trick, irony
and multi-layered composition were their regular trademarks; by the time we
reach The Doctor, «straightforward
stupidity» is the word of the day. Thumbs down are inescapable here, but the
record is worth hearing at least once as a strong purgative — and if your
stomach is strong enough, hearing twice or thrice to understand what it really
means to take some potentially decent songs and spoil them so thoroughly that
no self-respecting person of good breeding would ever want to marry them.
Thanks for your work. One thing, though; will you re-review Captan Beefheart's discography? Anyhow, every one of your inputs are valuable and enjoyable. Thumbs up.
ReplyDeleteTotally agree with you George .... underneath the overdone 80's production aesthetic lurks a decent Cheap Trick Pop album. At the time of release, I kinda tolerated and even liked some of it, but the passage of time has rendered The Doctor unlistenable for all intents and purposes (except for maybe, Take Me To The Top and Good Girls).
ReplyDeleteI am not passing judgement...
ReplyDeletebut this album seems to have been made under the influence of a massive pile of cocaine. I can see how it would have made sense in that context.
BTW. This continues the tradition of pushing Neilsen out of the cover art. Next Position Please pushes him out of the frame. Standing On the Edge has him as the murkiest and hard to see in the fog. Now The Doctor gives us an ameobic mass...