Spinal Tap’s Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest), David St. Hubbins (Michael McKean), and Derek Smalls (Harry Shearer) are back from the dead and join a long list of iconic pop and rock bands, such as the Eagles, The Who and The Doobie Brothers, among many others, who have repeatedly retired, but couldn’t stay retired and just want to rock again.
Like some of them, they’re older, maybe not wiser, but surprisingly sounding better than ever. And can you blame the boys, I mean men, of Spinal Tap for wanting to barnstorm around the world, play deafening music, and eat bad airplane food? Not to mention hobnobbing backstage with record company regional sales reps in satin baseball jackets and psychotic fans after their grueling 60-minute sets in some cavernous hockey arena.
How can a band who said in song “Tonight I’m Gonna Rock You Tonight” stay away from the rickety stages of the rock hell holes of middling American cities that most rock bands wouldn’t go near even after every member of the group just went through a messy divorce? The Tap members know that for their fans there is a majesty to rock that can only be experienced live in overpriced (thanks to Live Nation) nosebleed seats at venues more suited for pro wrestling.
The group returns to a record business that is all business and no record. How much the group will earn from Spotify plays for their new album will barely cover their M&M rider expense. But these veterans aren’t in it for the money, or even the fame, or, heaven forbid, the girls. They do it because they can’t face the fact that they’re old and basically want to feel young again, although two weeks on the road in the South or Midwest of America will make anybody old fast.
As for the new album, their fourth studio album and first since 2009, it’s just what we’ve come to expect from the trio even if the group’s hair is grayer and their leather trousers may not be as skin-tight as they were in the old days. It’s a little more poignant in spots, with less bloated musical pomposity. The album is the companion, or original soundtrack merchandising audio souvenir to the Martin “Marty” DiBergi (Rob Reiner) film The End Continues. DiBergi sat in the director’s chair of their previous cinematic endeavors. Since no one could get him out of the chair, they figured they might as well just make another movie.
The end continues with the spoken “Nigel’s Poem” that leads into something with a prog feel and echoes of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Another track on side one is “Brighton Rock,” which oddly has a West Coast feel. “The Devil’s Just Not Getting Old” pulls out just about every hoary satanic rock cliché one could summon.
Showing just how admired these veterans are, none other than Elton John and Paul McCartney guest. Like the Tap, those two are still on their game and their recent tours and albums are top-notch. John fits right in on the remake of “Listen to the Flower People” from the group’s acid-washed denim period, which is a lush psychedelic mindfuck.
John also turns up on a new version of their concert centerpiece “Stonehenge.” You can almost feel the damp mist blowing through the cobwebs of your mind on this one. Paul McCartney turns up on a remake of “Tea and Cakes” and again, these remakes are almost better than the originals. The song sounds like something McCartney could have written and his unmistakable vocals fit right into this ornate, yet subtle baroque pop ditty.
Side two starts off with the mellow “I Kissed a Girl,” not to be confused with the Jill Sobule song, which would have been creepy. The biggest miss here on an album filled with hits is the remake (or is it recycled) “Big Bottom.” Why these grizzled rock elder statesmen would have watered-down country pop entertainers like Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood add their cornpone shuck ‘n’ jive to something as iconic as “Big Bottom” is a head scratcher. “Judge and Jury” has an almost new wave feel, with the album bouncing back to the kind of sick (“Rockin’ in the Urn”) and gross (“Blood to Let”) material that make these legends such bad role models for tired, untalented, and unoriginal heavy metal and hair bands.
The album’s “producer” is Jeffrey “CJ” Vanston, who has worked with Guest, McKean, and Shearer and others on music film spoofs and with such musical artists as Dennis DeYoung and Def Leppard, two musical acts that clinch the kind of credentials one needs to work with the Tap. He also wrote “Let’s Just Rock Again,” the only song here not written or co-written by any of the members of the group. The Tap go through drummers like Donald Trump goes through lawyers and wives, and they have two studio and road-tested aces on this album (Russ Kunkel, Gregg Bissonette).
One of the nice touches in the presentation of the vinyl album is the Henry Diltz cover photo that echoes his iconic cover photo that he took for the debut Crosby, Stills and Nash album. If this will be the last image we will ever see on a Tap album cover, it’s a memorable one.
It’s great having Spinal Tap back. They remind us of a time when rock dinosaurs ruled the Earth and spandex was still legal in all 50 states. There will be a time when the group can’t make it onto a stage anymore, even with a cane or walker, and embarrass themselves by making music that even drunk teenage boys in the Midwest don’t like anymore. Let’s hope that sad day doesn’t come anytime soon. In the meantime, the three lads and their endless stream of session musicians and touring band members are going to just rock again, not only tonight, but maybe even tomorrow morning, although not before 11:45 AM.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B
