Graded on a Curve:
White Wizzard,
Flying Tigers

It’s seldom a band releases an album so bad in so many ways all you can do is fling your hat into the air and shout “Huzzah!” Pulling off such an audacious feat requires teamwork, dogged persistence and no small amount of unshakable stupidity. It also helps to have no taste.

One such band is Los Angeles’ White Wizzard. One of the things that makes White Wizzard so wonderfully special is their subject matter, which on their 2011 sophomore effort Flying Tigers includes the lost city of Atlantis, the pyramids, the War of the Worlds, a kid from a far-off galaxy named Starchild, and the Rainbow Bar and Grill in West Hollywood. That’s a lot of ground to cover in less than an hour, but if there’s one thing White Wizzard love it’s a challenge.

One of the most pressing questions about Flying Tigers is whether it’s a concept album. The short answer is yes, with caveats. Nine of the LP’s twelve songs take us to astral and/or demonic realms; the remaining three take us to Los Angeles and Tokyo. How did these outliers make it on to the LP? My guess is they separately creepy-crawled into the studio in the dead of night and accidentally hit record while wrestling for a Snickers bar.

Songs like “Starchild,” “Starman’s Son” (I’m taking it they’re the same person), “War of the Worlds,” “Dark Alien Overture, “Fall of Atlantis,” and “Blood on the Pyramids” lead me to believe that bass player and lyricist Jon Leon has watched every pseudo-documentary about ancient aliens ever made, and believes they’re the gospel truth. Tell him Adolf Hitler traveled to earth via the Jefferson Starship and he’ll ask you if Adolf took any selfies with Grace Slick.

There’s nothing particularly special about White Wizzard’s species of speed metal, although I would suggest they trade in the leather jackets lest someone mistake them for Motorhead. Better they go with kimonos, because they often break into Rush-lite prog-rock. Singer Wyatt “The Screamer Demon” Anderson has an impressive vocal range, but he should be singing for somebody else, like a Rush tribute band for instance. His voice distracts from rather than complements the music—it’s like trying to listen to one band while a guy from a different band screams in your ear.

“Fight to the Death” is a generic punk metal hybrid ill-suited for Anderson’s vocals, to say nothing of Leon’s go-nowhere guitar solos. “Fight to the Death” has some fight in it, but again Anderson is the last person who should be singing it. As for the music, think Rush without the virtuosity, and believe me when I’ve never had anything positive about Rush’s virtuosity. I take it back, Geddy! I’ll never say bad things about you again!

On “Night Train to Tokyo” Anderson tries on his Steve Perry voice, making me wonder if his demon within isn’t the lead singer of Journey. On “Night Stalker” Anderson sings, “Every night is Halloween,” and he’s right. Toss this song into a kid’s trick or treat bag and she won’t scream, she’ll go “Eew.” And then we have “West L.A. Nights.” “Rainbow’s rocking and the boys are ready to go,” sings Anderson, which is all the proof I need that the Rainbow’s booking agent should be fired.

The storyline of the very Rush “Fall of Atlantis” is hopelessly convoluted, but what I can tell you is aliens came from some distant empire and everyone died. There’s also some nonsense about the “DNA of the chosen one.” It’s really cool if you’ve just done eighty bong hits in eighteen minutes, as is “Blood on the Pyramids,” which is even harder to figure out than “Fall of Atlantis.” I do like that “Pyramid eye seeks realms beyond the sun,” because the last time I checked the pyramid eye on the back of the dollar bill in my wallet it was ogling my ass.

My personal low points on Flying Tigers are “Starchild” and “Starman’s Son.” “Starchild” has the same slow to fast dynamic as Styx’s similarly themed “Come Sail Away,” but it lacks the latter song’s deep metaphysical import; I can’t imagine a bunch of stoners in a dorm room listening to “Starchild” saying, “This is some heavy shit, dude!” Instead Anderson natters on about souls flying away on stardust and touching the sky on dragon’s wings. There’s nothing about a gathering of angels who turn out be aliens who invite you to board their starship on its way to some distant galaxy, or a Ted Nugent concert maybe.

On the pseudo-prog number “Starman’s Son” acoustic guitar wank alternates with Anderson’s shriek and Leon’s speed guitar wank, and the message seems to be that while we’re all “screaming at the sky” for Ziggy Stardust or whoever to save us “there is no messiah or king on high” and we’re just going to save ourselves. Where’s the Jefferson Starship when you need them?

With Flying Tigers White Wizzard created not just a landmark of mediocrity, but something far more interesting—a spectacular example of what can happen when dumb is given free rein to let down its hair and just be itself. Ignore the lyrics and what you have is generic metal likely to please the sorts of people who go in for generic metal. As for its lyrics, they’re for fans of Rush’s “Closer to the Heart.” Except “Closer to the Heart” is smarter. God help us all.

GRADED ON A CURVE:
D-

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