Music

Mötley Goüge

Wanna hang out with Vince Neil? Got an extra five grand on ya?

By Scott Faingold 

It started out as a normal day for Tim Murrah, owner of The Mink Bar on Main Street.

"I go to work and there's a message on my answering machine from Mötley Crüe's management," Murrah told Wack in an exclusive interview. "So I got in touch with the guy [one "Rob" with Upper Deck Management], and he says, 'Hey, we're lookin' for somewhere to take the Crüe after the Houston show and we wanted to come by,' and I said, 'Yeah, okay, fine.' So he goes, 'Well, are you up for it?' And I didn't know what he was gettin' at. So I just said, 'Yeah, feel free, bring 'em by, we'll take care of 'em.'

"And then he was like, 'Okay, well, here's the deal.' And I was like, 'Wh-what deal?' And he goes, 'It's $5,000.' And I was like, 'What, are you jokin'?' and he's like, 'No.' And I said, 'Hey, y'know, what the heck? Five thousand dollars for what? What do I get for $5,000, dude? Are they gonna perform for me? Are they gonna shake every fan's hand? Are they gonna wash dishes? What are they gonna do for 5,000 bucks?'

"So he was like, 'No, you don't understand.' And I said, 'You're right, I don't. What the hell?' And then he goes, 'Well, for, uh, $5,000, we'll bring the band by and it'll be the talk of the town. Everybody loves the Crüe.' And I said, 'Look, dude: I don't have to pay anybody to come to this bar. If you're into it, you're into it -- you and your cronies are more than welcome to come, but I'm not givin' you one red cent.'

"And he's like, 'All right, look: Let me shoot straight. I can't guarantee the whole band, I can only guarantee Vince Neil...But usually Nikki [Sixx], who's a big superstar, goes along with Vince.' And I said, 'Well, what does Vince do, dude?' And he goes, 'Well, Vince'll come in, sign a few autographs and hang out for an undisclosed amount of time, I can't guarantee how long, a-and you know, whatever.'

"And so I was like, 'No, dude, I can't.' And he goes, 'Y'know there's loads of other clubs that are interested in this.' And I said, 'Well, hey, right on, man, go make your money somewhere else.'

"And I didn't think of it when I was on the phone with him, but afterwards I was like, what a scam! They could set it up with [us] and then the next guy and the next guy and in a 45-minute round trip, Vince Neil could gross an extra $15,000 on the night. What, you're gonna get paid $150,000 [to play], plus who knows what in merchandise, and then you wanna go out and rape somebody for an extra couple grand?! I dunno, maybe those pathetic places, like Dirt Bar or Crome, who want so desperately to be seen as 'the cool rock place' or whatever...maybe it's worth it for them to pay $5,000 just to say, 'Oooh, Vince Neil walked in our front door.' But that's like sellin' your soul, y'know?"

We know, dude. We know. "Rob" from Upper Deck could not be reached for comment.

CRITICAL FATWA

All hail "Love Rollercoaster," a sweet slice of 1975-vintage funk brought to us by the Ohio Players. There is not enough funk in this world. So we welcome every bite of funk that has been fed to us and every band that cooks it. Oh, Ohio Players, the sins that have been committed in your name! This weekend, the companies that own the rights to your song "Singing in the Morning" have won a sampling lawsuit against Bad Boy Records regarding the classic Biggie record Ready to Die. They won a lump of cash, which is permissible; mo' money, mo' problems, Puffy. However, the lawsuit also forced record stores across the country to pull the Biggie CD from shelves. For denying the world this fine record, these companies have earned themselves a fatwa!

Certainly, the pull is temporary. But that is of no consequence. For a footnote in music history and a boatload of cash (how much of that will go into an artist's pocket?), you have prevented some fresh-faced young man from discovering the bliss of Brooklyn gangsterism served up Biggie-style! The boy may be forced to buy the new Matisyahu record instead. His soul is lost forever and the blood is on your hands.

Fatwa! May the rights of all your music revert to the artists, may your mountain of cash be possessed by the ghost of Biggie -- and may it haunt you with well-crafted curses! It is written. -- The Ayatollah of Rock

THEY ARE NOT MEN

Devo's a fucking joke. Seriously. The energy domes, Chinaman, Booji Boy -- it's all intended as some snarky postmodern riddle about how you and I are fat morons with few interests beyond jerking off and eating doughnuts.

It was a pretty funny joke, too, until the band left Akron, did coke with Dan Aykroyd and began to suck.

Now the joke's on Devo, whose members have been reduced to the corporate blow jobs they so loudly mocked in the late '70s. They and their fans may tell you that it's all part of the joke, but it's not. Bassist Jerry Casale is truly a Mongoloid, as is his most recent pet project, Devo 2.0.

Devo 2.0 is a tween tribute band devised by Casale and funded by Disney in the belief that ten-year-olds love ironic punk songs like "Freedom of Choice." The band's five members are between ten and 13. Their interests include Kelly Clarkson and musical theater. They will be performing at a mall near you.

Sure, it's the ultimate gimmick of devolution, but it's also downright embarrassing to hear 13-year-old lead singer Nicole defile the beauty that is "Girl U Want" for the sake of Casale's wallet.

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