Illegal Foreign Object

By late 1986, Mötley Crüe was one of a handful of bands that could realistically claim the title “biggest band in the world”. Multi-platinum success with Shout At The Devil and Theatre Of Pain (which included the Brownsville Station smash cover “Smokin’ In The Boys Room” and the MTV-fueled juggernaut power ballad “Home Sweet Home”) nestled the band alongside fellow superstar stadium acts Van Halen, Def Leppard, and Bon Jovi.

Mötley Crüe is also one of those bands that always seems to be on the brink of implosion. Its members come from different walks of life and never seemed to care for one another beyond what they could provide the band. On the come-up, the four of them locked arms, got back-to-back-to-back-to-back and fought off all threats to their success. They didn’t like each other but understood that they needed each other. But after selling several million records and touring the world a few times, egos (goosed by alcohol, drugs, women, immaturity, and, I mean, let’s be honest, a lack of intelligence) took over. When the collective became a group of individuals, the music suffered. It’s a tale as old as rock ‘n’ roll.

Girls, Girls, Girls, released in 1987, was the album meant to catapult the band into a stratosphere all its own. Instead, it became the album that nearly destroyed the band. Bassist Nikki Sixx has said he wrote the entire album while in the throes of heroin addiction. If you smell a wafting of bullshit from that sentence, you’re probably not far off — Nikki leans hard into hyperbole and yarn-spinning. Still, the band was at a breaking point. The gang mentality that fueled the climb to the top was gone. 

Rather than an ascension to the greatest of heights, the band sat back and peered hazily through the bottoms of an ever-growing number of Jack Daniels bottles as opening act upstarts Guns N’ Roses and a newly reformed Whitesnake regularly upstaged the headliners. It (they) got so bad that management pulled the Crüe off the road. Not because they were getting blown off the stage every night — it was because the moneygrubbers became convinced that at least one of the members of the coked-up cash cow was going to die.

Much like Theatre Of Pain before it, Girls, Girls, Girls is a byproduct of complete dysfunction. Also like Theatre Of Pain, Girls, Girls, Girls is a neutered, toothless testament to the power of good management, top-tier targeted marketing, the influence of magazines and radio in the eighties, and proof that there truly is no such thing as “bad press”. Girls, Girls, Girls is the album Mötley Crüe made to show fans they were the same bunch of hungry, feral savages from the Too Fast For Love and Shout At The Devil days, but all the Harleys and leather jackets in the world couldn’t cover up the truth: Mötley Crüe had gotten soft. Girls, Girls, Girls isn’t a bad album — it just isn’t a good album either. It sounds like a band limping to the finish line (the mostly abysmal, dying animal crawl of Side B offered little to discourage such an opinion). The fact the band was able to clean up long enough to release the shimmery, hook-laden Dr. Feelgood is pretty astounding.

There are moments, of course. “Wild Side” strikes the perfect balance between the grit of Shout At The Devil imagery and Theatre Of Pain glam. Guitarist Mick Mars’ playing and Vince Neil’s starved-rat-stuck-in-trap vocals carry the song. “Girls, Girls, Girls” is by-the-numbers mid-’80s hard rock — instantly recognizable riffs, sing-a-long choruses, and an iconic, hummable solo. It’s a mixed bag after that, unfortunately. Songs like “Dancing On Glass” and “Five Years Dead” almost hit the mark but lack authenticity — they sound like what the band thinks you think they should sound like. Unfortunately, that feeling mires much of Girls, Girls, Girls — it sounds panderous. “All In The Name Of…” is a perfect example — the riff, melody, and solo are all top-notch, but the vapidity of doing anything “in the name of rock ‘n’ roll” is just stupid, regardless of the era. It’s fun, but it’s also incredibly silly. Then again, I’m seeking meaning in a Mötley Crüe cock rock b-side, so who’s the real asshole?

Bon Jovi’s ceiling was higher, Guns ‘N’ Roses was raunchier, Def Leppard’s musicianship was better, and Van Halen’s run at the top was longer, but no band was more notorious than Mötley Crüe. They may have been doped up, alcoholic egomaniacs running amok, but they were also my favorite band when I was a kid. Don’t ever tell me that targeted marketing doesn’t work.

Tracklist:

1. Wild Side 10/10
2. Girls, Girls, Girls 10/10
3. Dancing On Glass 7/10
4. Bad Boy Boogie 6/10
5. Nona 7/10
6. Five Years Dead 6/10
7. All In The Name Of… 6/10
8. Sumthin’ For Nuthin’ 4/10
9. You’re All I Need 8/10
10. Jailhouse Rock – Live (Elvis Presley cover) 4/10

Grade: 68