Golden Earring Knows Its Way Around The Twilight Zone

It's not so easy for groups with a decades-long history to pass through the rinse cycles of changing tastes without losing some artistic credibility along the way. For example Jefferson Airplane started out as one of those outfits where you could smell the drug inhalations on tracks like the ubiquitous "White Rabbit". When the '60s bled into the '70s and the Airplane got revamped into Jefferson Starship it added a contemporary rock sheen that didn't compromise the original mission of what the Airplane set out to do. In the case of "Dreams" the band even landed a top 5 seller. Exit the '70s "Me Decade". Enter the '80s  in which having it and flaunting it got comically ridiculous. The early '80s saw Jefferson Starship still maintaining its dignity. I confess YouTube is what I have to thank for being able to revisit the fist in you face toughness of "Stranger", which came out whilst Aynsley Dunbar was still the drummer. I drool in awe at how jacked up his work was. His sticks jabbed you right in the mush until, like a journeyman fighter, you came to like being belted. By the mid-'80s Paul Kantner and Grace Slick's discordant legal dust-up left both that marriage and the Jefferson Starship name compromised. Paul fought to slice off the Jefferson half for himself. What remained was Starship, an incarnation of the once integrity-rooted band that caused a pretty profound wave of reverse peristalsis (chunk blowing) when it unleashed "We Built This City" on a head-scratching public. Personally I think that song is a harmless adult contemporary single. Is it the pinnacle of the band's career? From a chart standpoint I'd be tempted to say yes. The artsy purists would likely say they collectively opted to stick 45 caliber pistols down their throats. Unshakably sanitized it might be. The apocalypse realized? Not so much. Like Jefferson Airplane, Golden Earring's career got its humble start in the '60s. Yet another example of a band whose fortunes were, for however brief a time, kick started by submitting a vid clip to MTV. In the band's defense, its 1982 goose pimple promoter "Twilight Zone" could've delivered its sizable punch to the masses without demonstrating to the media circuses it could juggle style alongside substance. In 2013, the band's appeal has been relegated to its Dutch home turf. The gifts they've left American audiences are twofold. "Radar Love" sounds like wind at your back. Harley Davidson torque under your fanny. Bugs in your teeth. In essence, just the kind of greasy long-haired morsel of subtlety devoid rock machismo that the '70s had in spades. "Twilight Zone", which peaked at #10 in Billboard Magazine in 1983 is to this day a chilling experience. From the second Rinus Gerritsen checks in with those macabre keyboards you know you just left the security of your warm bed. Fasten the seat belts. Be really sure of who and where you are. Your life's about to get ghoulish. It's no understatement for me to say that every note is a nonstop descent into undiluted madness. One long roller coaster ride of rampant nervousness, vulnerability, and prevalent fear. Nothing like peeking in on the psyche of a man who doesn't know where to go now that's he's gone too far already. If "Soon you will come to know (ka-boom) when the bullet hits the bone". isn't a hall of fame musical sentiment then the bar for excellence needs to be given complete examination. If I knew the trade secret for what makes a tantalizing pop/rock single I'd bottle it and become snobbishly rich. I'd have to think it's about having the horse sense to know where each piece of the jigsaw puzzle ought to fit and combining that with the pitch perfect timing that studio coordination can offer. Rinus's bass breathes down your neck with each loop. Danger is on your tail and it's going to get its due whether you're prepared for it or not. Vocalist George Kooymans masters taking listeners on a vicarious trip to the epicenter of his unreliable heartbeat. If you're coated in his sweat after listening, don't say I didn't warn you. Cesar Zuiderwijk drums with a series of malicious thuds. At the bridge his skins echo the peril of thunderclaps in a driving storm, which is fitting given that's just the sort of weather Austin had last night. Sawed off. Nuisance enough to prevent you from nudging even one rung away from red alert. Barry Hay, the other tonsil flasher at this demonic dance, sings with an urgency to match George's. Both Barry and George mesh flawlessly during their respective turns on guitar. If it's possible to unearth a kernel of rock raunch from within this flood of fearfulness they've turned the trick. An even more impressive trick is that "Twilight Zone", while undeniably (to me anyway) an unsettling voyage through a crypt-littered looking glass, doesn't succumb to the bombast hair metal bands could make an enviable living staking their reps on. Restraint is commendable (Yes, that means you Nicki Minaj) whether in the creative lifespans of divas, country boys, or, in this case, veteran album rock radio yarn spinners. Golden Earring knew when they'd maximized the throttle. Once you've got your audience by the scruff of the neck, don't strangulate them. Lesson learned. The reward for the band was their final trip to the American top 10. For us it is the friendly wink that comes from knowing where all those goosebumps came from. This concludes my salute to Twilight Zone Day. Feel free to towel yourselves off upon noticing the house lights just came back up.