The First: Record I Ever Loved

Today’s embarrassing confession is by Mr. Chris Palagy

I stand by the first album I ever bought with my own money, Pearl Jam’s 1994 release, Vitalogy. Despite the mixed success of its avant-garde flourishes, it has memorable singles, is Pearl Jam at its rawest (Eddie Vedder never sounded more like a madman) and is probably the last album they made that has majority popular support. I remember what I did on the day of the purchase and at which K-Mart I forked over $25 of Christmas money, a lot for a fourteen-year-old with no job. Without my own CD player, I had to use the family stereo in the lounge room and, as a result, my mother came to know it as intimately as I did, whether she wanted to or not. If the latter, then I’m sorry, Mum.

But I’m not here to write about that album.

Instead, the first album I owned and loved was a gift my father gave to me (I later realised it was because he wanted to build a CD collection—a novelty at the time—for the newly acquired family stereo). The artist was familiar to us because of his contribution to 1991’s blockbuster smash, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, already a family favourite on movie night. I was overjoyed, and why would I not be? The sticker on the case of Bryan Adam’s seventy-five-minute opus, Waking up the Neighbours, boasted “15 KILLER TRACKS!”


The effect of this album on my ten-year-old self was akin to Kevin Costner shooting a flaming arrow at a barrel full of gunpowder. I wanted to be Robin Hood that year, and now I had a soundtrack. “(Everything I do) I do it for you” played in the background while I fantasised about rescuing my primary school crush from whichever villain had kidnapped her in my imagination. However, the analogue onto which I projected my youthful heroism was not Costner (nor even Christian Slater), but the clean-cut blonde Canadian belting it out in a forest in the music video (interspersed with clips from the movie, as was the style at the time). Adams was unknown to me then, though I later found out he was already a success (his 1984 album, Reckless, reached 2 on the Australian charts). It shames me to admit that he elbowed Icehouse’s Iva Davies out of the role of Man I Wanted to Be, which, if you’ve seen Davies rock a mullet and trench coat in the video for “Electric Blue”, was kind of a big deal.

While I continued to love the sandpaper-voiced one’s output for a couple of years (fun fact: “Please Forgive Me” is the only song I’ve ever called a radio station to request), it only took a few years to move on to my first real musical loves, courtesy of the later grunge era. I listened to WutN again recently and it doesn’t entirely suck. Songs like “Can’t Stop this Thing We Started”, “Thought I’d Died and Gone to Heaven” (fun fact: this song, possibly the album’s best track, was used to promote women’s netball games on the ABC) and, yes, that Robin Hood song are acceptable examples of commercial rock, and they’re not alone on the album (it does have fifteen killer tracks, remember). The disc has two main settings: party anthem and power ballad, and there are good and bad examples of each.

“(Everything I do) …” has both extremes of quality in one song. If you’ve never heard the album version, you may be surprised it’s almost seven minutes long. It’s just a shame that the extra two-and-a-half minutes don’t meaningfully build on the song but instead consist of a limp, largely instrumental coda that wouldn’t be out of place on a relaxation tape. “November Rain” it ain’t. And yes, that was me saying that the rest of the song is a good power ballad. You want to throw down? Okay, I confess: I used to be able to play it on the piano (fun fact!).

“House Arrest”, meanwhile, is one of the better party anthems—literally, because it details the shenanigans at what one assumes is the typical Adams shindig: making a lot of noise, dancing in unorthodox places and … actually, that’s it. No brawls, no drug busts and no cocaine-fuelled orgies, and yet the police still come and put everyone in cuffs. Disappointing, really. It suggests where WutN’s real weakness lies: its lyrics.

You might say that lyrics are low-hanging fruit for this kind of recording but Adams takes the silliness beyond the norm. Take the album’s final track, “Don’t Drop that Bomb on Me”, ostensibly the kind of plea for world peace/environmental preservation (the song can’t decide) that Bono would write if he had a lobotomy. With a completely straight face, Adams declares that “If we want a little peace/Then we’ve got to fight”. Some choice samples are the opening verse:

“We sailed our ships upon the shores
That once were out of reach
Turned the silence into war
And bloodied up the beach
Trashed the forests and the trees
Til there’s nothing left to cut
We raped the rivers and the seas
And turned the land to dust”

… and the first lines of the chorus:

“Don’t drop that bomb on me
Save that little tree
Don’t drop that bomb on me
Save our seven seas”

Yes, it’s confused, as if Adams had used a warm-and-fuzzy-issue dartboard and crammed it all in there. It’s primary-school poetry designed to win a district prize and get printed in the monthly newsletter for all the parents to read. One can live with that; what’s harder to live with is WutN’s misogyny. The more palatable of the two examples is “Hey Honey—I’m Packin’ You in”, a send-off to a girlfriend who has just broken the last straw. On the surface, it’s reasonably harmless but there’s a subtext to a lot of the lines:

“Had enough of your faddy diet/I can’t wait for a real good fry-up” = I expect you to cook for me and cannot make meals for my own damn self

“Don’t wanna hear how you gotta be thin” = Your body issues are trivial

“Don’t wanna hear you waggin’ your chin” = Are you talking again, woman?

“Had enough of your hand in the till” = Have you spent your allowance already? We rock stars aren’t made of money

“Sick and tired of this and that and askin’ for favours/And usin’ up my brand new razors” = I wasn’t prepared for the “giving” part of being with a partner and those toiletries were clearly labelled

“Had enough of your leavin’ for days” = I am annoyed that you have a life outside this relationship and have left me to fend for myself

“Had enough of you hangin’ ’round bars/And crashin’ up my favourite car” = You’re a floozy and women can’t drive

And so on. To sum up, this song was written when Adams was a frat boy. Am I reading too much into it? Not when it appears on the same album as the bigger offender, “Touch the Hand”. I could do the same as above and break down some select lines, but you know what? Every single line of the song contributes to its offensiveness. I can barely read the lyrics without reeling with flabbergastedness (totally a word). Don’t believe me? Look at them. Look at them.

In case you couldn’t bring yourself to do it for whatever reason, there is a clear message: “Hey, ladies! You want equal rights and representation? Well, being a man is hard! I’ll gladly do all your lady stuff for you if you want to see what it’s like to be a male in this world.” There is no subtext here. That is what this song is clearly about.

Perspective can be a bitch, but my love affair with Adams (during which he treated me with decency and respect because I’m not a woman) wasn’t long for this world. It was gone well before “The Only Thing that Looks Good on Me (is You)” came out in 1996. The first sign that all was not well was as early as 1992. I was in my final year of primary school and one of my classmates, at the age of twelve, derided my lack of hipness, mocking my love for the fifteen killer tracks. “What do you like, then?” I asked. The answer was the Violent Femmes, a band I’d only heard of by seeing their tour posters plastered around Sydney. They sounded cool. This made me worried that I was not cool.

But the death knell came with my father’s changed attitude towards the album. In the early days of my relationship with it, he hated the thing. A family friend visited one day and wanted to know what I was listening to. “It sounds like a bloody swarm of bees!” Dad spat out. Cut to a few years later and my parents were playing WutN at their dinner parties while I was furtively using headphones in the family stereo to listen to obscenity-laden releases from Soundgarden, Tool and Faith No More, bands I still listen to twenty years later. This is not the case with Bryan Adams, though I hear he has a new album out. Maybe I should tell my folks.

I’ll leave you with one more fun fact, something that says volumes about Waking up the Neighbours’ place and time in musical history. Want to know what Adams’ band was named, and still is? Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Bryan Adams and the Dudes of Leisure!




The First: Band That Ever Betrayed Me

A series exploring first musical experiences…


I was 13 in 1993 when I discovered the Red Hot Chili Peppers. My brother in law lent me a pirated cassette of Blood Sugar Sex Magik and it changed the way I heard music. Until then I had dabbled with bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam, embracing the grunge movement but not feeling like it really spoke to me. They were gloomy adult bands and the stunted emotional maturity and earnest optimism of Red Hot Chili Peppers was perfect for a teenage boy. Sure, they had their sad songs and they had their drug problems, but they also had a guitarist and a bass player who could create magic.

Tacked onto the end of the C-90 cassette was The Uplift Mofo Party Plan. This discovery led me to their back catalogue and I snapped up Freaky Styley, the self-titled debut, Mother’s Milk and my own copies of Blood Sugar Sex Magik and The Uplift Mofo Party Plan. It was the first time I had truly immersed myself in a band and its history. I read everything I could, learning about their formation, the death of original guitarist Hillel Slovak, the arrival and departure of John Frusciante, and their acquisition of Dave Navarro on guitar. This set up 1995 to be the year that I was a fully paid up fan. I was at the bleeding edge of Chili Pepper fandom and the anticipation of their new record was at fever pitch.

I had never before been so in love with a band. I listened to them every day, knew every pornographic lyric Anthony Kiedis had sung in his four-note range, knew every guitar riff, and every bass line. I dreamed of seeing them live and imagined how it would feel to have my life completed in such a way. I lined up and pre-ordered their new record. I had to put a $5 deposit down to secure a copy of the limited edition, individually numbered gold CD. Limited edition took on new meaning when the CD I received was numbered 350 000.

Then the day came. One Hot Minute was released. And it sucked.

There is argument among the faithful over who is the definitive Red Hot Chili Peppers’ guitarist. Some say Frusciante, who presided over their most commercially successful records, while others maintain that Slovak remains the original and the best with Freaky Styley a testament to his funk chops.

All I know for certain is that Navarro is most definitely not it.

The guitars were all wrong, there was no funk, no slink, no sultry, and the lyrics were even more woefully adolescent than usual. Navarro’s style was too traditional and he lacked any kind of chemistry with Flea, the foundation stone of every Chili Peppers’ record.

I really tried my hardest to like One Hot Minute. I listened to it a lot. I watched the videos. Stuck a poster of the band on my wall and as much as I could convince people I liked their latest record in spite of reviews to the contrary, I couldn’t fool myself. The spell had been broken and no amount of wishful thinking could heal the cracks in my heart.

I saw them live the next year and it was underwhelming, partly because they weren’t very good, but mostly because they didn’t feel like the band I had fallen for.

In hindsight, it was almost inevitable that I would be let down. My fandom coincided with their least productive period as a band. Heroin addiction and personality clashes affected their musical output and it would eventually end with Dave Navarro being fired from the band. They have since disowned the record and only play “Pea” in live shows anymore. John Frusciante returned and they made Californication, which was a vast improvement, but listening to that, and By The Way, was fueled more by nostalgia than their renaissance.

This pattern of obsession and disappoint would repeat itself with other bands, notably and embarrassingly with Manic Street Preachers. But as much as I would fall in love with other musicians’ work, and even harder than I had with the Chili Peppers, the first heartbreak still stings 20 years later.

The First: Band That Ever Betrayed Me

A series exploring first musical experiences…


Senses Fail are one of my all-time favourite punk bands…well, they were. The 2004 album ‘Let it Enfold You’ and 2006 follow up ‘Still Searching’ are two of my favourite albums. Reflecting on why I love these records so much, I realise I have odd emotional connections with music. Rather than just judging something on its technical brilliance or lyrical genius, I like music that seems relevant to me at particular times. However, as much as I love these two records, I can’t bring myself to enjoy their latest efforts.

In 2008 they released ‘Life is Not a Waiting Room’, their sound was still quite enjoyable and similar to previous records, but there was something empty about the lyrics. I still to this day am yet to listen to it in its entirety without getting bored. Much to my delight the 2010 release ‘The Fire’ pulled me back in with heavier music, melodic choruses and mature lyrics that still carried the same weight as their older songs.

Naturally, I was super keen for the release of their next album ‘Renacer’ in 2013. But to put it nicely, it sucked. The pop-punk vibe was gone and there was now a heavy emphasis on a more classic punk sound, fast drums, screeching/talking vocals and hardly a single song that had the catchy vocals and lyrics that Buddy Nielsen is famous for. Gone were the emotive words and personal stories, instead replaced with odd songs with repetitive screams of things like “silver and gold”…what does that even mean?! Are we singing about jewellery? Had they competed in some kind of Olympic event I was unaware of? WHAT?

I chalked up this whole disappointment of a record to being a result of experimentation.

Then it was announced that Senses Fail were releasing a sixth effort. ‘Pull the Thorns from Your Heart’ was released 30th June 2015 — I have never been more disappointed. The singing is minimal, the old-school/classic messy punk sound is all over the record and there is not a single track that I have managed to listen to in its entirety.

I loved this band, their lyrics, melodies and pop-rock sound grew and changed as I needed them to. But these last two albums have put me off completely. If you asked me in 2013 who I would kill to see live, it would’ve been Senses Fail – hands down. Now, I am struggling to care if they stopped playing altogether.

The First: Record I Ever Loved

A series exploring first musical experiences…

The First: Record I Ever Loved

Poison – Open Up and Say…Ahh!

I don't remember the cover being this lame...
I don’t remember the cover being this lame…

1988 was a landmark year for hair metal. Def Leppard, Guns N Roses and Bon Jovi all released classic albums: Hysteria, Appetite for Destruction, and New Jersey respectively. It was also the year that, as an 8 year old, I discovered the first record I ever loved. I still have a vivid memory of going to the record store in Henderson Square, West Auckland, and finding it in the racks of vinyl. Of course I didn’t buy it on vinyl, I took that to the counter and asked for the cassette version to put in my walkman.

I was hooked from the moment “Love on the Rocks” came through my headphones and remained enthralled until the final screech of “Bad to Be Good”. I pored over the lyric sheet and understood very little of the sexual overtones, but that didn’t stop me memorising every word. The record features some of the band’s most recognisable tracks including “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”, “Fallen Angel”, and their biggest hit “Your Mama Don’t Dance”, which is, bizarrely, a Kenny Loggins cover. I listened to that tape until it was so stretched that everything played at least a third slower than it should have.

Even now, listening to it again to write this, I can see why I liked it. It had a sense of being otherworldly and outside of what I could imagine. My previous musical exposure was from the Tour of Duty soundtrack, a 60s compilation I listened to endlessly, but those songs sounded earthy and human. Poison were mind blowing for a preteen. Where Guns N Roses had a more sinister aura around them, Brett Michaels and co were hairsprayed and airbrushed into oblivion, which made them seem more like unicorns; beautiful, unattainable and incomprehensible.

– Aaron

Evanescence – Fallen



When I was twelve I didn’t need music that was good, I needed music that explained how I felt. Unfortunately for 24 year old me, that music happened to be Evanescence’s debut album Fallen. I have no difficulty admitting that their lyrics are simple and lame and their guitar riffs (if you can call them that) are amateur at best. But when I was twelve, these guys could do no wrong. Looking back on it, the real reason I adored this album was because it meant something to me.

At that age, having a best friend who is a few years older than you can be an awesome thing. I learnt about sneaking out, lying to parents about where you would be,  got drunk at the tender age of about 14 (or younger… the details are hazy) and had someone to look up to. Naturally, there was also the bad. This friend was also my first point of contact with mental illness. When you’re young and you experience things like attempted suicide and depression, you don’t really know how to respond, act or feel.

When Fallen was released, I had almost lost my best friend and I had no idea how to feel. Ja Rule and Ashanti didn’t cut it and Blink 182 just felt like a joke. Evanescence managed to write simple lyrics and music that in the lamest way possible, captured my mood and emotions of the time. Listening to their album now makes me cringe, but all those memories are just as strong as ever. I fell in love with that album because for that 48 minutes, I had something that could put my tween emotions into some kind of cohesive explanation. This album managed to make sense of all the shitty things that were happening around me, so for a while heck yeah I was Evanescence’s biggest fan, just ask my mum.

– Sharni