Billy Idol - Rebel Yell

Equal parts hard rocker, glam rocker and punk rocker, Billy Idol has managed an estimable synthesis of the music of three decades on Rebel Yell, his second solo album. From the Sixties, he’s brought a fair measure of pop economy and a kaleidoscopic palette of sound effects. From the Seventies, he’s taken the larger-than-life sound of big guitars, thunderous drumming and industrial-strength singing. And from the Eighties, he’s adapted the sonic Bauhaus architecture of new music, with its straight, streamlined edges. In short, Rebel Yell is a ferocious record, sharp as a saber, hard as diamond, as beautiful and seductive as the darker side of life with which it flirts.

Idol must share some of the credit with guitarist Steve Stevens, with whom he’s established a partnership whose chemistry is not unlike that between Iggy Pop and James Williamson. Idol’s lyrics partake of our deepest subconscious, sexual and nocturnal drives; his saturnalian cravings find musical expression in the wide array of sounds Stevens is able to coax from his instrument, be it the unnerving metallic march of “Daytime Drama,” the lurching, out-of-focus psychedelia of “Flesh for Fantasy” or the skittering, arpeggiated runs that frame “(Do Not) Stand in the Shadows.”

Rebel Yell occasionally toys with decadence, taking fleeting glimpses behind doors that are better left unopened. But this is part and parcel of Idol’s lust for life, which seems almost indiscriminate in its thrill seeking yet full of boundless pleasure with each new world that rolls over the horizon — and this isn’t decadent at all. At a time when too much of what comes over the airwaves is all sweetness and light, or mere undifferentiated head-banging, Rebel Yell is an intelligent assault upon the senses, and a rallying cry to the reckless enthusiasm of youth. Worth a good, lusty holler for sure.

Billy Idol - Billy Idol

Billy Idol's self-titled debut album eventually broke the singer in America, but not without a struggle. In 1981, he left Generation X and launched his solo career, borrowing the group's final single, the dance-rock standard "Dancing with Myself," for his first solo release, a four-song EP called Don't Stop. Billy Idol was prefaced in June 1982 with the single "Hot in the City," which made the Hot 100, but the album was given a second breath of life (and a higher chart peak) a year after its release when its second single, "White Wedding," finally caught on after an eye-catching video played on MTV and made the Top 40 in July 1983. An attempt was then made to resurrect "Dancing With Myself," which was added to the album (the track "Congo Man" being deleted). Those three songs remain the album's strongest, if only because they are the best realized as songs; elsewhere, Idol and guitarist Steve Stevens have constructed a series of dance-rock tracks along the lines of "Dancing With Myself," mixing quick tempos with slashing guitar chords and occasional hook elements (a backup choral chant here, a saxophone part there), but seemingly have forgotten to write real songs to go on top of the tracks. The result is an uneven collection. This reissue presents only the ten tracks from the second version of the album.

Billy Idol - Whiplash Smile

It’s easy to sneer right back at Billy Idol. He shakes his fist a lot. He wears leather underwear. He shampoos with glue. The appearance of snarling Idol replicas in David Lee Roth and Talking Heads videos reflects his successful construction of a visual signature, which is nearly a prerequisite for Eighties pop stars. But Idol’s rebellious pose lacks humanity. Until now, he has hidden behind the frozen emotion of a sneer. On his new record, Whiplash Smile, he tries to establish some distance from his image. With Rebel Yell, Idol’s third album following the demise of his punk band, Generation X, Idol joined the cover-story, multiplatinum, Grammy nominee circle of megastars. But the compromises he’s made along the way seem to have made him ambivalent about his success. And the end of his seven-year relationship with dancer Perri Lister may have helped to put his stardom in perspective for him. During the painful, introspective year and a half Idol spent making the record, he returned to the music he grew up with. He covers William Bell and Booker T. Jones’s Stax-era “To Be a Lover” (a wise choice for the first single, since pianist Richard Tee’s gospel punctuations and a female backing chorus distinguish it from Idol’s past work), and his own lyrics refer to Elvis Presley, Gene Vincent and Johnnie Ray and recycle images and song titles from Bob Dylan, Jackie Wilson, Eddie Cochran, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and the Rolling Stones.

From “Dancing with Myself” to “Flesh for Fantasy,” Idol’s song writing has had an estranged, almost alien point of view. But on Whiplash Smile, the chronicle of a “real person working his own life out” (as Idol puts it in a publicity bio), he brandishes all the confessional humanity he can muster. Unfortunately, Idol’s repertoire is mostly limited to hackneyed romantic themes and stale imagery. Tears well up in five of the ten songs, and when Idol isn’t “crying” (rhymes with “dying”), he’s declaring his “desire” (rhymes with “fire” and “higher”). The steamy propulsion of Idol’s music, which takes the rock-disco style of Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” to its sonic limit, is more persuasive evidence of his personality. Although producer Keith Forsey and guitarist Steve Stevens receive much of the credit for the thrill of Idol’s records, the mediocrity of many of their outside projects (including Forsey’s handling of Charlie Sexton’s debut and Stevens’s work on the Top Gun soundtrack as well as his sessions with the Thompson Twins and Ric Ocasek) indicate that Idol galvanizes their collaboration. On Whiplash Smile, Forsey records the synthesized and sequenced rhythm tracks with as much force as possible, and Stevens’s robot noises pierce the metronomic pulse.

This absorption with his own stardom is a strange fate for Idol, who chose his surname in ’76 when he was just another London punk spitting at established rock stars. Now that he’s a media idol himself, his moniker has ironic repercussions that invite accusations of hypocrisy and compromise. Idol is smart enough to recognize this quandary, and he’s sincere enough about rock music to want to produce more than just a smattering of great singles. But even though Whiplash Smile is as forceful and dynamic as any album made this year, its trite lyrics prevent it from being the breakthrough he so clearly hoped for.

By Rob Tannenbaum

Billy Idol - Kings And Queens Of The Underground

Kings & Queens Of The Underground was Idols’ first album for nine years, but it feels like an epitaph: half celebratory valedictory, half wistful farewell. It sounds like the final album someone obsessed with the daft old-fashioned notion of the redemptive power of rock’n’roll might make. It takes itself very seriously and it is monumentally silly. It features absurd posturing yet it is really quite poignant; Billy’s Last Stand, as he takes every musical and lyrical cliché and affords them a deep resonance, a touching meaning, because he is a true believer. And because the now 66-year-old caner knows he might not get another chance.