Retrospectively the band became known as a “grime rock” band – suggesting that they were unpolished, working class and blue collar and while that description kinda suits them it doesn’t do their album Strays and the lead single Out Of My Head any justice.

Out Of My Head should have been a monster. It’s a relentless, driving rock song with a chorus that captures the obsession of the title perfectly.  It only pauses long enough to catch its breath around and hooky guitar signature before driving upstoppably onward.

It’s a song of behaviour on the edge, the kind of bad behaviour that you’d find on a True Blood episode – in fact this Malcolm Burn produced song wouldn’t be out of place on that shows soundtrack.

Junkhouse broke up, of course, but Tom Wilson continues to play in a number of different incarnations and as a solo artist. Out Of My Head though remains a landmark.

It was a formulaic song in the way in was structured and it was highly reminiscent of a Faces song like Maggie May or You Wear It Well more so than most of the rock music that had carried Kiss into the hearts and minds of fans around the world. It’s no surprise then that Stanley actually wrote it with the intention of Rod Stewart singing it. Hard Luck woman was later covered by Garth Brooks for a Kiss tribute album

Where Stanley was clever here is that he cast the title character as a completely different kind of woman than those usually found in Kiss songs. “A sailors only daughter” was not the image of the kind of woman that Kiss usually lauded and by giving Criss the task of singing this song it helped establish a character for the “cat” that actually had an identity. It was a process that had started with Beth and Hard Luck Woman bought in home.

Criss was a limited vocalist but his raspy tone and sincere performance on this song was ideal for what it sought to achieve.

It’s an unashamed dance floor filler, so long as you don’t mind dancing in a dark club surrounded by other creatures of the night dressed in black lace and leather and an excess of black eye shadow.

But credit where credit is due. The song is a brilliantly constructed piece of music. Built around a throbbing synth bassline the song continues relentlessly for over ten minutes, driving deeper and deeper into the abyss.

It opens with a choral overture that was actually performed by a 40 voice choir before a harpsichord motif comes into play. The choir returns sporadically to counterpoint the monotone vocal of Andrew Eldritch. The harpsichord returns as well in the moments that push the song almost to the point of self parody. But it never crosses that line.

Listening to the song in its entirety now its almost impossible not to admire it for its complete commitment to what it sought to achieve.

So along with Eldritch who was responsible for this milestone in goth rock? Look no further than the producer of the track Jim Steinman. And if that name doesn’t ring a bell then go ask Google.

Trust me , it explains everything.

In one corner there are those who suggest that its about the hallucinogenic effects of a 70’s “love drug” called Mandrax which was like the ecstasy of its time. There’s references to crazy dreams and trippy visions and coming down from induced highs – all of which tend to support that theory. In this respect it may be a  companion piece for Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.

In the other corner there are those who argue that the song is inspired by a series of posters for an airline that featured beautiful stewardesses and the line “I’m (insert name of hostie) Fly Me. Clearly the campaign would not go too well in the politically correct era of today! There’s plenty of direct lyrically references that support this theory as well and 10cc did have a bit of an interest in the theme of holidays. But the fact that in the song the plane crashes and the mortal Mandy is nowhere to be found (after the mystical Mandy saves the singer in a heavenly type way) indicates that if the airline poster was the inspiration the band took the story into places that the advertising agency never intended.

Whatever the case the song is beautifully constructed and performed and along with the equally sublime Art For Arts Sake was the highlight of the How Dare You album.

While 10cc were known primarily as an “art band” there’s something very moving about I’m Mandy Fly Me that transcends either of the interpretations. It’s a sometime overlooked classic of a band who had many.

Whether that’s true or not there’s no doubting that Devil Gate Drive was one of the earliest rock songs that had a profound impact on young Andrew.

Listening to it now it holds up pretty well.

“Hey, ya’ll wanna go down to Devil Gate Drive”

“Yeah”
“Well come on”

Before the drums have even started on this song a bold declaration has been made.

Suzi is the leader of this gang and she’s going to lead us to this dark and mysterious place that an impressionable 12 year old in Melbourne Australia could not even imagine going. We’re not sure what we’re going to find at Devil Gate Drive but sure as hell it’s going to be more exciting than anything to be found in a suburban bedroom.

By the end of the song there’s plenty of whopping and hollering and you just know that a good time has been had and you feel pretty cool to have been invited. You’re not sure what exactly happened in that forbidden location and in fact there’s nothing in the lyric to suggest that anything actually happened at all! But you had been invited, you were one of the gang and you managed to get through the experience without making a fool of yourself.

You belonged.

Devil Gate Drive was perhaps surprisingly built around a honky tonk piano and a tribal beat with the guitars actually playing a supporting role. It’s got a great chorus, a fist pumping anthemic feel and its sounds like a party on the wrong sound of town.

Try resisting that when your a 12 year old boy from Glenhuntly.

Superficially Runaway Train is an acoustic guitar based rock ballad that has as much in common with Kiss’s Hard Luck Woman or The Faces Maggie May as it does with the previous output from the former punk rock quartet. It builds from a strummed beginning and eventually with the overlay of strings becomes an almost perfect FM radio ballad.

But was it so out of character?

Dave Pirner had always been a masterful wordsmith and on this song he still manages to tell his story using some clever phrases and some raw edges. It’s doesn’t come across as a deliberate attempt to sell Soul Asylum’s soul. His voice still aches, the guitars still jangle like exposed nerve ends and the subject matter isn’t so different from what he had dealt with previously.

In fact had the song not been a hit would it have still been seen as a commercial sell-out? I doubt it.

Sure Runaway Train isn’t the best song in the Soul Asylum catalogue, in fact its not even in the best half dozen songs on the Grave Dancers Union album, but it is a solid member of a great collection of songs.

It’s not their fault or the songs fault that it became so damn popular!

That was in 1992. It’s now 2010 and the Bon Jovi caravan is still rolling. I think its safe to say that Keep The Faith did its job.

The song works as a re-invention because it manages to build a bridge between the big, bombastic rock anthems that had made the band chart topping machines and a more organic, heartland rock style that allowed them to grow up in public. Keep The faith was built around an incessant rhythm track that introduced a very welcome “funk” to the Bon Jovi formula. Bass and drums actually drive this song and lead vocalist Jon Bon Jovi seems content to settle into the groove.

Of course there’s still a big fist pumping chorus and a Richie Sambora guitar solo in there but these elements are able to play a more balanced role than they needed to in the past.

The song is actually the prototype for Bon Jovi’s later hit songs – it’s a suburban call to arms – it doesn’t actually give any instructions about how to break the cycle of mediocrity but it strongly urges not to succumb to it either.

There’s actually better songs on the Keep The Faith album (like Dry County, Woman In Love and If I was Your Mother), but as a statement of intent this song was as important in Bon Jovi’s career evolution as any.

The song was actually inspired by the New York mugging of NBC news anchor Dan Rather. While beating him Rather’s attacker apparently kept repeating “Kenneth, What’s The Frequency?”

It turns out that the attacker later (after the song was written) explained that his repeated statement was prompted by his belief that the news media was beaming signals into his head.

Michael Stipe has been quoted as explaining the song this way “It remains the premier unsolved American surrealist act of the 20th century. It’s a misunderstanding that was scarily random, media hyped and just plain bizarre.”

It’s almost as if the explanation of the attacker came to fit the song as you could easily imagine Stipe at least sympathising with that viewpoint. (It might also explain why I named the news pages of InPress “What’s The Frequency”)

The other element of interest about this song is it apparently grew from another song called Yes, I Am Fucking With You. Late in the song Stipe substitutes the words “the frequency” with “don’t fuck with me”.

This song contains some of Michaels Stipe’s best quoted and most resonant lines. “you say that irony was the shackles of youth”, “to withdraw in disgust is not the same as apathy”.

The theme of media duplicity and the various references to being “fucked with” make this one of REM’s nastiest and most untrusting songs and when Peter Buck delivers his guitar solo backwards it all adds up to an extremely spiky piece of music.

Gudbuy T’Jane was one of a string of hits for Slade most of which featured mis-spelt titles, but to me this was the best of those songs.

Apparently young Jane was a bit uppity and the line “Got a kick from her ’40s trip boots” is a reference to her kicking Noddy Holder up the arse when the band were taking the piss. It seems Jane was very proud of her boots, saying they were antiques from the 40’s. I don’t think Slade were all that impressed.

It really doesn’t matter who Jane was. The song is a gem anyway. It opens with a tribal drum beat from Don Powell before Noddy delivers a typically gruff vocal that epitomises the band working class roots. The chanted vocal chorus and the incessantly looping guitar riff are all typical Slade but this song is one of their best because it manages to shimmer and shake as well as stomp.
This has a lot to do with the use of percussive shakers right through the song that is reminiscent of the Rolling Stones’ song Jumping Jack Flash. Producer Chas Chandler allows the song to built into a big booming echo laden finale that makes it one of the “bigger” Slade songs by its end.

This could have been about any Jane – any feisty young lady that working class lads would alternatively describe as “a queen” but at the same time would kick them in the arse. Good stuff!

Courtney Love – punk rocker, turned tabloid disaster-area turns on the celebrity culture that has so offended her and spits in its eye and kicks it in the nuts as she leaves. She takes aim at the culture of “hooker/waitress/model/actress” and the machine that sucks them in and spits them out. Of course nothing was achieved by her rant – the same machine still operates unabated today. It wasn’t gonna stop just cos Courtney Love decided to point out its obscenity.

The remarkable thing about this song is that is gets in spits its bile and is gone again in no more than 2.40, yet every time you hear it you feel like you’ve been dragged through a long and involved wringer. It feels like an epic rock track but in fact it’s a very punk rock styled single.

Billy Corgan clearly had a bit to do with the music and the big chords in the opening riff are very Pumpkins like but that’s hardly a drawback. This is probably the best vocal Courtney Love ever performs and alas she wasn’t destined to top this song for relevance or its ability to resonate in the moment.

It’s a cracking song though.