Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, April 18, 1990 TAG: 9004180469
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E=12 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: TRACY WIMMER STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It's almost like a rap tune in my head when I think about heavy metal lyrics. No less was true when I glanced over the words on Whitesnake's "Slip Of The Tongue" cassette Tuesday afternoon.
After all "Here I Go Again" and "Is This Love" off the group's 1987 self-titled release are fairly decent rock tunes - and not too offensive. (That album sold over 6 million copies in the United States alone. Some of you are probably humming the choruses right now.)
But unfortunately the five-man band entertaining the 3,500 member audience - at least 500 were comp tickets - at the Roanoke Civic Center Monday night not only slimed them with their music, they slimed them with their mouths in between.
Lead vocalist David Coverdale yelled some rather raw remarks about Roanoke womanhood. . . ". . . which leads us to our next song." The throngs of teens screamed.
This was the tame stuff that introduced "Kitten's Got Claws," a little ditty that had nothing to do with felines.
What's sad is these guys are genuinely talented. With good reason, Guitar Player magazine named Steve Vai best guitar player of the year two years running. And then there is Adrian Vanderberg, whose cult-like guitar solo was as haunting as it was energized.
But Coverdale's mouth . . . gee. You don't expect a bunch of long-haired pretty boys in leather and sleeveless T-shirts to be choirboys. And I've been known to tell people who want to censor lyrics to try that knob on the radio marked "on and off," but people sending their kids to a Whitesnake concert need to understand a few things.
That child of yours who spent the better part of two months' allowance on a Spandex dress and stiletto heels is hearing it all. How else would that jerk onstage impress teen women?
As for the 15-year-old girls, take it from someone who has loved rock'n'roll at times more than the air she breathed, throw away those cigarettes. They're not cool anymore. But most important, don't scream so jubilantly when some drop-dead hunk is insulting you with his lyrics. It's called "sexism."
And one day you're going to realize . . . that joke's on you.
by CNB