Kickstart My Heart: A Motley Crue Day-by-Day

Introduction
W
elcome back, folks, and pull up
a chair as we enter the wide, wild
world of Mötley Crüe, LA’s most notorious
denizens, bad boys so you don’t
have to, makers of a gritty, streetwise
form of hair metal (wot?) that has sold
tens of millions worldwide and caused
much drinking and drugging on the side.
But a few things first: as point of process, consider this “introduction” a
quick hello from your intrepid author and a place to set the stage for the rock
’n’ roll debauchery to come. Oh, indeed, we will learn much about Vince, Mick,
Nikki, and Tommy as the pages flame on, but in terms of words direct from your
ringmaster, well, I’ll be checking in for each of the decades with a treatise on the
ten years of the Crüe about to unfold, and then letting the timeline tell the rest.
And hence this is not the place to say too much about the Crüe, but suffice to
say, the band has been part of my life for well on more than half of it. I can’t say
it’s all been pretty either, ’cause as Nikki is wont to so honestly attest, the band’s
third and fourth albums, Theatre of Pain and Girls, Girls, Girls, marked a degeneration
of songwriting quality that this
author has never gotten over.
So, in a general sense, loved
the band’s goofy, charmed debut,
but was intimidated, confused,
and disturbed by Shout at the Devil’s
carnal idiocy (but it’s far and
above my fave); and then kinda checked out
for a while, disgusted by how the debauchery
impeded the band’s ability to deliver what all
of us fans not living in Hollyrock desired
from the band: actual good records to power
up our metal-mad Friday nights with might.
I could spend two pages listing all the
bands that were kicking ass all over Mötley
once the belching black smoke of Shout at the
Devil cleared, and like I say, there’s been a
grudge ever since that decline. More on this
in my decade-specific rambles, but to switch
into happy glide again (and as a brief survey),
it was inspiring to hear the band come
back strong with Dr. Feelgood (grudge still in
place, my brief on this has always been “real
stupid people trying real hard”).
Mick taking a few cues from Blackie
Lawless and the W.A.S.P. man’s penchant
for microphone decoration. © Greg Olma