Hanoi Rocks
Bangkok Shocks Saigon Shakes

THE REVIEW

I am about to review the first album of one of the most underrated bands in the history of music.
A little historical digression: we are at the dawn of the 80s, after the explosion of punk and the death of Lennon, there is a musical stalemate. From the cold of the Scandinavian peninsula, five defiant musicians start making their way, playing in clubs and living in the worst dives. Mike Monroe is the frontman of the group, with teased hair, lipstick, makeup, spandex, but also a lot of artistry. He studies piano and worships the New York Dolls. Andy McCoy will forge over the years a fierce guitar style unique in passion-dedication-curse. Their purely glam look and exuberance capture the attention of a generation that has not yet digested post-punk scabs and the sweetened ballads of disco music. The album in question is “Bangkok Shocks Saigon Shaker” which didn’t even brush against international success, something they only achieved with their fourth, “last true” album…underrated indeed. The ten compositions crafted by McCoy's exquisite taste merge extraordinarily with the pompous image of the frontman in a mix of glam-punk-street and rock and roll.

And now the songs…
It opens with “Tragedy” and its raw, evocative, and cutting riff, four minutes of furious rock characterized by an extraordinarily catchy chorus, and continuous liquid guitar phrasings. It is the song that exemplifies the band’s style, robust and essential, no frills, grandiloquent but effective.
If anyone has any doubts about Monroe’s sexuality, they should listen to “Village Girl” and they will be swept away. Despite the glam attitude, it seems that “good old Mike” hasn’t lost the habit of harassing girls, this fictitious ode to female purity is actually a way to… well, you get it. Musically, it has a rhythmic cadence almost like a tribal dance, with the usual singable and engaging chorus, but towards the end, the gem of Monroe’s piercing scream—seduction, excitement, and desperation in his strained vocal cords.
In “Stop Cryin” the story changes but only slightly; still the typical sound of the band, still Mike the seducer, here desperately trying to persuade a young woman to shed her underwear while the band keeps the sound on the brink before exploding with all the energy to accompany Mike’s exceptional sax solo. These kids have fun playing, and “Don’t Ever Leave Me” is further proof: it has very little of a ballad but it is indeed what it will become in the album and by extension in their discography. Much less rhetorical than many other hard rock or pop-metal scabs, it maintains a good rhythm, McCoy's solo is pleasant, and the finale with Mike whispering… “Is sweet to taste the lips between your legs...” is quite suggestive. These are the “Hanoi Rocks” take it or leave it, they play to live, to survive and their sole purpose in life is personal pleasure satisfaction. Side A ends with “Lost In The City” where the band seems to want to venture into the territory of early Mott the Hoople and naturally the “New York Dolls” a track with a frenetic rhythm, the guitar riff is epic and crazy at the same time, and ultimately makes you lose your head with its speed, bringing the album to an intensity it will not reach again.

Side B begins with “First Timer” which seems little more than a way for McCoy to show how many notes he can play... it’s a great filler, well played but nothing more. The intro of the next track “Cheyenne” is the classic thing you wouldn’t expect from guys like them, an acoustic arpeggio of baroque confidence worthy of the Stones’ Lady Jane, all seasoned with a thin layer of decadence from one of the sweetest harmonies before exploding into tormented chaotic rock’n’roll that kicks you in the butt. They tried to show they can do more than just make noise and I’d say they succeeded.
The next track, “11th Street Kids” is in my opinion, along with “Tragedy”, the best on the album and I’ll explain why: the guitar motif that accompanies it is crazy, I know, but there’s something in this damn song that moves me, it has authentic nostalgia and melancholy, moments of life that resurface “Remember all the nights we wrote on the walls that punk never die”, “Remember all the nights and days we spent underground”.. the sadness of those who, willingly or not, remain alone like a dog in the city they love, the sadness of those who have gone away forever, and the awareness that even though “here accidents happen every day” I’ll never leave 11th Street. Beautiful, sincere, moving, let’s set aside for a moment the skill of technically perfect show-offs which isn’t here, let’s just listen to the music, damn it!

The album could have ended here because the next two tracks “Walking With My Angel”, a cover by Gerry Goffin, and “Pretender” add nothing except confirming the fine work Monroe is capable of on the saxophone, an instrument somewhat unusual for the genre.

It is difficult to define the genre of the sound pumped out by these five guys; let's say that from a historical point of view they represent with their Nordic-European peculiarities a link between 70s punk/glam and 80s street scene, of well-known bands that sucked creative juice from these five rascals there are many… especially Guns n Roses and Motley Crue.