On Through the Night - Def Leppard (CD 1988)

One score and three years ago (that would put us back in 1983), I wanted to be Joe Elliot. If the Devil himself had asked me to remove my johnson with a potato peeler for the prospect of becoming Def Leppard's singer, I would gladly have shouted "Ruffles or regular?" and gone to work.

You see, Def Leppard was the first band I ever saw on MTV. I'm not just talking about the ultra-cool videos they made for "Rock of Ages" and "Photograph"; they seemed to constantly be rapping with Mark Goodman or Martha Quinn. I begged my parents for Union Jack boxers and damn near rendered myself infertile trying to master that spreadeagle jump that Joe pulls off in the video for "Photograph". I was a Leppard Scout all the way, although "Shout At The Devil"-era Motley Crue captured my fancy as well.

It's easier to put the band in perspective now that they're basically nobodies. Oh, don't even try to tell me how great their last few albums were- the Leppard is also dumb and blind for thinking that it's relevant in this hip-hop hell. The only guys keeping rock music alive nowadays are a bunch of screaming wiggers and Johnnys-come-lately-to-the-New-Wave-scene. The jungle is no longer a place for the auditorily-impaired kitty to play. Yet still they soldier on.

I'm gonna give "High & Dry" and "Pyromania" the full Pyfr later, but right now I wanna talk to you about the Lep's first album. It was called "On Through The Night", and it came out in 1980. Given the music-buying public's fascination at the time with disco and New Wave, it's a wonder they even got signed, but once the British heavy metal trend kicked in, these guys were poised to join the celebration with the likes of Iron Maiden and the already-established Judas Priest.

"On Through The Night" is an iffy affair that has about five good songs and a bunch of clownballs. They were oh so young when they recorded it (drummer Rick Allen was about sixteen or seventeen), and they sounded like a bunch of high school kids trying to synthesize their favorite elements of AC/DC, Rush, and T. Rex. The musicianship was already reasonably tight, but boy does Joe Elliot sound a far cry from his "Pyromania" days. He even looked different then, with some kind of white-boy Afro planted atop his head. With the scream came a much cooler-looking do.

The album mostly consists of simplistic, anthemic numbers that loudly trumpet the virtues of rock n' roll ("Rock Brigade"), kiss America's butt ("Hello America"), or flaunt a lightweight sense of hedonism ("Wasted"). Joe did considerably less screeching at this point in his career, but "Steamin'" Steve Clark and Pete Willis alternate their power chordage with some surprisingly adept lead playing. They weren't about to unseat Eddie Van Halen, but they sounded awfully professional for their age.

My favorite would have to be the balladish "Sorrow Is A Woman", where the band shows off the dynamics and melodic sense that would make them millionaires by drinking age. Even the vocal harmonies were present, though not nearly as lush as they would later turn out under the guidance of Robert John "Mutt" Lange (who has produced everything from AC/DC to Backstreet Boys records, AND gets to nail Shania Twain every night). Whoever this "Colonel" Tom Allom producer is, I'm going to credit him with turning a bunch of Sheffield snots into a band that wasn't just wasting record label money in the studio.

Also worthy of your firstborn is the grooving "Answer To The Master" with its catchy harmonized guitar line. I'd normally cringe to hear a band as unintellectual as Def Leppard move into Killing Joke's territory, but "When The Walls Came Tumbling Down" is a bearable attempt to tackle the end of the world. It and the album ender "Overture" show off whatever prog rock tendencies they may have had, which were wisely jettisoned by the following album. They may have had some musical skills, but Def Leppard was in no way meant to serve at the Court of the Crimson King.

Of course, it isn't a Def Leppard album if there aren't several throwaway tracks, and this one's got its share. "It Could Be You" charges enthusiastically into the absolute center of nowhere, and "It Don't Matter" couldn't have had a more appropriate title. "Satellite" has its moments, but does not stand a chance of edging out "Wind Beneath My Wings" at the high schol prom. "Rocks Off" is just a goofy jam-out that I need about as much as Detroit needs SUV-sized crab lice terrorizing its city streets.

I'm giving this album three stars, but that's actually a compliment. The first time around for metal bands is often a dreadful affair that can leave the listener feeling sore, ashamed, and in need of a groomer. Def Leppard had already worked through a lot of their growing pains by the time they hit the studio, and while it's nowhere near "High & Dry" or "Pyromania", it certainly has some tracks that move and show maturity. Ozzy apparently thought so, since he brought them to America as an opening act. Of course, boys will be boys, and a Leppard bio I once read claimed that Rick Allen had to see the doctor several times for gonorrhea.

Maybe I spent all that time longing to be the wrong Leppard.