Extreme Was (And Is) Extremely Talented

Hi everybody. Since I've had one of those days where the craziness quotient has been off the charts I'm going to level with you. I was all set to offer you a review of the latest CD from Darius Rucker titled "True Believers". Had the tracks lined up. Was going to check YouTube to see if all the tracks were available to sample. Already had a thing going for "Wagon Wheel". So what happened? Why are we not backing away from the terminal on our way to a countrified flight with the dude who had been more about Hootie and less about honky tonk? For the same reason many parents are more than happy to pop in a video when their kids are driving them past the brink of insanity. 'Cause it's the fastest way to dope up my nagging headache and keep my from jumping off the ledge. So...on to tonight's assemblage of thoughts or, unnecessary word barf, if you don't particularly fancy where this voyage is going to end up. Boston has given us many culturally wonderful things. 'til tuesday springs to mind. Aerosmith better be on somebody's Beantown Hall of Fame list. That the five of them haven't dropped dead of drug abuse qualifies as a holy miracle. For one baseball season during the 2000s, even the perpetually cursed Red Sox got to raise their glasses, chugging down a chalice of victory. The Boston product that leaves me yearning for more is Extreme. Let me settle your hash for you right now. Anybody who dares think Extreme is just another one of those pretty boy metal bands that spent more time on Aqua Net and less on constructing admirable songs can take a long walk off a short pier. Even though lead singer Gary Cherone claims the song embarrasses him, "Kid Ego" was a much needed wag of the finger to arrogant people. Seeing as how I was experiencing the full flower of one during my high school days I completely appreciated someone using recorded music as a way of telling me: "Peace out, mate. We have your back." The aforementioned song originated from this band's 1989 debut. By this time glam metal had essentially oversaturated the market. Extreme's entire output makes Warrant look like, well, Warrant. "Cherry Pie". Hmmm...Jani Lane himself said he could kill himself (shoot himself, words to that effect) for having written that song. All Extreme did was strip it down, strum it up and max out on the harmonies for "More Than Words". Big #1 hit. Nothing fancy pants. The video looked like it cost all of $20 to make. At times the simplest ideas are the best. Loved "Pornograffiti". "Get The Funk Out". That's what I is a' talkin' 'bout. Great bass riffs from Pat Badger. Gary's layin' down the law and then, oh Nuno Bettencourt you incorrigible devil you. The sorcery he unleashes with his guitar during the bridge. Anybody wanna test his pee? The boy went up down here there and somehow managed to hook up again with the body of the song again. And those horns. Gettin' all Las Vegas sideshow review on you, slapping you upside your huge melon heads, and makin' you like it. And how could I forget Paul Geary. He ain't the drummer boy these days but in '91 he was vicious. On "Funk" he was copping an incredible attitude. Start to finish a autopsy report worthy killer kut...I mean cut. I would've loved to have been privy to those recording sessions. "Hole Hearted" was the sort of song that managed to be youthful and vibrant but, at the same time wouldn't make your parents get all moral majority on you. None of the barnstorming of "Get The Funk Out" but no less an irresistible force. Okay so we got the appetizer and then the soup/light entree course. To my way of thinking the most dazzling delicacy in the Extreme culinary canon is "III Sides To Every Story". This is their "Pet Sounds", their "Rio", their "Thriller". If there's an act out there that had a magnum opus, let's shuffle this beauty right up in its bizness shall we? The first half contains a murderer's row of hard rockin' booty whoopers such as "Rest In Peace", "Peacemaker Die" (complete with excerpts from Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech) and "Cupid's Dead" where once again Nuno displays both his mind-defying skills and marathon racer stamina. Crazy is as crazy do. These tracks are assembled under the heading "YOURS" this hints at the notion that we the people in order to buy a more perfect album would prefer a healthy dose of rock right up front, no money down, no beginning of no beguine. The second half is grouped under the heading "MINE". The songs in this section are more sensitive, huggy, kissy, smoochy, let's get our awkward trouble causing feelings out there so they can be stomped on. Only joking. No stomping. However there is a "stut-tut-tuttering p-poet." in "Tragic Comic". So cute you want to pinch its cherubim cheeks. Gary wears the coat of hapless romantic well. The song I gravitate towards again and again is "Seven Sundays". That's art, folks. The harmonies here sway back and forth like palm trees in Palm Springs. The piano work is breathtaking. I want this song to take me in its arms, whisk me away from my corporate dungeon, and show me up close what Eden is really like. Right down to the last "plink" it's a revelation of prime fusion songcraft. It enraptures me every time. Then there's "The Rest of the Story", that closes with "Who Cares". Highly ambitious project and very underappreciated at the time. By 1995 grunge ruled the landscape. Still "Waiting For The Punchline" did have its singular moments like "There Is No God" and "Evilangelist". Haunting effect. Not a big seller, which may have more to do with the music climate than with its relevance as an artistic endeavor. By 1998 Gary had stepped into the wing tips of David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar, becoming (not too succcessfully) the third lead singer for Van Halen. As rock marriages go this union should have been annulled right at the start. Was thrilled to see Gary pop up because, as this column hammers home with the subtlety of a tire iron to the skull, I am a big Extreme backer. However, Gary had no business being pushed into that spotlight. Wrong mix. Not a taste I'd like to experience again. Ten years later Extreme was back from the not quite truly dead with "Saudades de Rock" along with a highly capable new sticks slinger named Kevin Figueiredo. Admittedly I wasn't as smitten with it as the rest of the catalog but a worthy return nonetheless. I'd tell you which tracks cut my mustard but, it has been awhile since I listened front to back. Point is I'm a loyalist for these Beantowners. If they drop a new record in 2013 I'm all over it like Ted Nugent at a rifle lovers convention. Extreme spits on your hair metal mush. Spits on it. Polishes it. Makes it suitable for polite or beer swilling company and then shows real class by refusing to belch in your face after the meal is over. Them's bona fide palpitations. Each flutter well-deserved.