Whitesnake's "Night" Creature a Singularly Ghoulish Delight

It's true. "Still of the Night" from Whitesnake is my all time favorite rock song. I always will have a soft spot for the hard rock/heavy metal era which grunge pushed into a coffin and promptly sealed the lid on. It sends all the right shivers down my spine. There's a gigantic, menacing wall of guitars that plunges downward relentlessly. David Coverdale who, after all these years, remains the one constant in the band lineup, oozes bad boy charisma. He's a beast on the prowl who won't be stopped until he has the object of his sexual desires wrapped up in his arms. Tommy Aldridge astounds me with the way his drums batter, pummel, smack, mutilate, and essentially stun with their viciousness. I recommend if you've never heard this throbbing slab of heavy metal excellence go for the extended play version. The edited single version I owned at first snips away at the climactic segments of the song, and that's a crime no jury should ever allow to let go unpunished. The bridge is particularly steamy. Tommy's thunderbolts are pulled back to a quiet little series of taps on the shoulder. David has hit a pinnacle in his demonic tone of voice. Even when the bridge is apparently finished that merely leads down a long corridor where guitar is turned into an orchestral bass. David is never far behind with his putting orgasm on vinyl approach. "Ooh baby!! oooh! AAAAAH!!" Cue the drums once more. John Sykes, Adrian Vandenberg, and Rudy Sarzo align forces for what's a fret equivalent to gathering clouds about to uncork a mighty storm over the land. The alto guitar that ushers us back the series of notes the song started out with is, as Jack Black might put it, face melting. Imagine someone revving that note directly up and down your spine. You'd be reduced to rubble almost instantly. So...I talk about how great the conclusion is. Reason? Pure symphony. I guess that's what happens in a professional ballgame when you've reached the apex of all the players being on the same page in the playbook. They're all way out in the land of fifth gear. If that's all Whitesnake ever committed to disc I'd already be on my knees thanking the gods of rock for the unmatched experience. Whitesnake doesn't skimp on this blend of erotic licks and no holes barred power. If I come across like some stammering fan boy you'll have to pardon me. It's such a magnificent slice of metal that no artistic means of writing about it could ever do it justice. This is steam without forking over obscene money for the time in the spa. Ir holds up well over time. There's no reason to think it won't always will.