Hanoi Rocks
All Those Wasted Years

THE REVIEW

Starting with a very obvious consideration, that is, to fully grasp the essence and the way a band makes music, one must grab a "live" recording, I say that "All those wasted years" is the quintessential manifesto of the five glam-rockers from the cold of Finland, a band that, as I have already stated (for a detailed description, refer to my previous review), did not achieve a commercial success comparable to its potential.

So guys, imagine the scene, but imagine it vividly, it's 1983, we're at London's Marquee on a chilly winter day, the five youths from the Scandinavian peninsula are almost at the peak of their (modest) success, and on the tour to promote their latest work "Back to the mystery city," they hit the English capital. A year later, around the same time, during their first overseas tour supporting Motley Crue, they lost their drummer "Razzle" in a tragic accident (with Vince Neil at the wheel), and shortly thereafter they disbanded, but that is another sad story.

Let's get back to the CD, pardon, the concert; the venue is packed, there is great anticipation for the lively punk-glam-rock and also a bit of skepticism, punk is considered dead and buried here since the days of Sex Pistols. But there they are on stage, Andy McCoy more vigorous than ever with his Indy jacket and red cowboy hat, while "Mike Monroecito," in a black jacket with fuchsia trim, is faithfully made up and with the world’s most flamboyant and glam hair.
One, two, three, four... and off they go, after an initial intro titled "Pipeline," with "Oriental beat," from the self-titled album dated 1982, a classic, an initial taste of explosive energy, the first heartfelt sax solo by Mike and a successful attempt to describe a delightful trip to the orient that garnered much appreciation even from the Japanese. Then, there's hardly time to breathe, and they continue immediately with "Back to the mystery city," a magnificent song, a pounding tumult of rock 'n' roll, of colossal proportions that blends sparkling and inflammatory dynamism with the raw, stark aggression worthy of the "New York Dolls." This is followed by "Motorvatin" with its bass intro, delivering explosive power here as well, neck-breaking riffs, moshing, and tension.

The pace slows with the gloomy, sensual, evocative ballad "Until I get you," introduced with a simple "this is a song about a girl and a very beautiful boy," showcasing all the unrestrained passion of Mike, now seducer, now tormented by a languid feeling, which exudes suffering as McCoy on guitar seems to amble towards a sorrowful, tragic finale.
The atmosphere becomes increasingly intense with the psychotic, experimental "Mental beat." Here the five are dreadfully hallucinated, with Mike messing around with the microphone engaging the audience to sing the chorus, hysterical shrieks here and there before Razzle's semi-performance on drums; the piece ultimately dazes with its bacchanal march, a kind of orgy, and the audience, stunned, seems unable to distinguish Mike’s hairline from the neon lights of the almost completely dark venue.

After a pleasant guitar solo begins "Don't you ever leave me," the only piece slowed up compared to the disc version (the one from Bangkok), in fact, all the other tracks are faster, rawer, instinctual, and grandiose, demonstrating the punk heritage of Hanoi Rocks. "Tragedy" another unforgettable classic follows, tightly attached, rambling and cutting riffs, an infernal chaos among the crowd followed by "Malibu beach nightmare," relentless intensity, drums, guitars, and sax at a frenetic pace make it an unrepeatable track, even more so as a live performance where it appears more lively and exhilarating than ever.
Next is the quite pleasant, albeit modest, "Visitor" where Mike practically admits to being a scoundrel (those three|four things that a respectable rocker wouldn’t miss); and then the wonderful, evergreen, sincere, anti-rhetoric "11th Street Kids." The last climb before the final rush is given by the stubborn, hypnotic, "Taxi Driver," one of the favorites as a live performance, a threat to human tranquility and positivity, and the kick-ass rock’n’roll of "Lost in the city." There's also room for a bit of cabaret, with the amusing rhyme "Lightin Bar Blues," a genuine declaration of intent, a call to the purity of true rockers' attitudes
"I don’t need no diamond rings I don't need no Cadillac car I just wanna drink my ripple wine down in the lightin' bar." (Purity that they in fact lost, along with the drummer, with the dangerous company of the Crue).

"Beer and cigarette" another clear declaration of intent, destined to become a sort of anthem and acceptance, interpenetration of that state of complacent and damned stars marked by vices, but also a humble form of ethical primitivism, unfussy rock, flamboyant guitars, and Mike prancing with a harmonica at his mouth. And finally, the three covers, which, although they do not reach the effectiveness and malaise of the originals, are undoubtedly well interpreted and well played, according to their naughty full-of-fun style.
The first is "Under my Wheels" by 'Alice Cooper,' perhaps the best-performed of the three, in "I feel alright" Mike holds his own, but he certainly doesn’t have the sublime insanity of rabid stray dog-like Iggy Pop howling to his heart's content "I feel alright" with the crowd pleading not to be bitten by that wild and mad frenzy.

It concludes, before the final goodbyes, before what magnificently serves as a side dish on the DVD with "Blitzkrieg Bop" (with Mike and Razzle swapping roles) and inexplicably excluded from the CD, "Train kept a rollin," stretched to the extreme with the crowd singing it on their way home drunk and high, but conscious that nights like the one just passed are a huge breath of fresh air for music.