Classic Songs to Be Discovered, Influenced, Music

Anthrax: The Long Way Back to Cursum Perficio

My relationship with Anthrax did not begin with “Fistful of Metal”. Or “Spreading the Disease”. Or even “Among the Living”.

I arrived somewhere around “Persistence of Time” in 1990, which is probably why I have always heard Anthrax slightly differently to some of the people who grew up with them.

Then came the rap-metal experiment. And I’ll give them this: it was fucking cool.

Working with Public Enemy on “Bring the Noise” was genuinely different, and historically important. I understood what they were doing. I appreciated what they were doing. I could even recognise that it mattered. But it didn’t set my world on fire.

Then Belladonna was gone.

And, if I’m being honest, I didn’t really follow the band closely after that.

John Bush arrived and Anthrax didn’t collapse. They changed.

Bush’s voice was lower. Rougher. Heavier. More lived-in.

Suddenly Anthrax sounded less like a thrash band trying to survive the 1990s and more like a band that had discovered another version of itself.

“Sound of White Noise” arrived in 1993 and basically said: we’re still here. On the album was “Only.”

James Hetfield reportedly told Scott Ian and John Bush it was a perfect song. You don’t need to agree with Hetfield. But you understand the point.

“Only” is fucking good. And that album remains the obvious doorway into the Bush years.

But what interests me now is what those four records say about bands.

“Stomp 442” didn’t sound like “Sound of White Noise”.

“Volume 8: The Threat Is Real” didn’t sound like either.

And “We’ve Come for You All” arrived in 2003 sounding like a band that had somehow found another gear after everyone had already decided the interesting part of its career was over.

Four albums. Four different versions of Anthrax.

And there is another part of the Anthrax story that gets overlooked.

Scott Ian is the face of the riff machine. But Charlie Benante has been sitting behind the kit writing a huge amount of the music.

Benante doesn’t just play drums. He writes riffs. Which makes sense when you listen closely.

The best Anthrax riffs aren’t merely fast. They move. They swing. They stop. They start.

They punch you in the chest and then somehow make you want to jump around like an idiot.

It’s also why Anthrax never quite fit neatly inside the thrash-metal box.

They could be brutal without being miserable. Technical without becoming clinical. Heavy without losing the groove. And funny without turning into a joke band.

That’s a difficult combination.

Then Joey came back.

“Worship Music” in 2011. “For All Kings” in 2016. And suddenly the story became something else again.

The band was older. The world had changed. And yet Anthrax were still making records that sounded like Anthrax.

Then came the silence between albums. Ten years. That’s an eternity in modern music.

Especially in heavy metal, where bands have increasingly been turned into content machines.

Album. Tour. Album. Tour. Anniversary edition. Deluxe edition. Box set. Reissue. Tour.

Repeat.

Anthrax didn’t do that with new albums.

Scott Ian has explained that the band toured “For All Kings” through 2019, started working on new material, and then the pandemic threw the entire 2020 recording plan into a ditch.

And Charlie Benante wasn’t sitting around doing nothing.

He was also touring the world with Pantera, alongside Zakk Wylde, filling the roles associated with Vinnie Paul and Dimebag Darrell. That wasn’t some quick side-project cameo. It became a substantial touring commitment, beginning with Pantera’s return to the stage in 2023 and continuing through subsequent world touring.

So add the pandemic, the writing process, touring and the simple reality of being a musician in his sixties, and that ten-year gap starts looking less mysterious.

Benante has also offered an even more interesting explanation.

Sometimes he simply didn’t have anything to say.

I like that.

Because it’s honest.

There is something fundamentally broken about the idea that an artist should manufacture something simply because the calendar says it’s time.

Imagine telling a painter:

“Sorry, it’s been four years. We need another painting.”

Or a novelist:

“Your last book came out in 2016. Get typing.”

Actually, don’t tell George R.R. Martin that. We’re already waiting.

But that’s exactly how the music business increasingly thinks.

Content. Output. Engagement. Release cycles. Streams.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, the actual reason musicians started making music in the first place gets lost.

Maybe you actually have to have something to say.

That brings us to “Cursum Perficio”, released September 18, 2026.

Anthrax’s twelfth studio album.

Scott Ian.

Charlie Benante.

Frank Bello.

Joey Belladonna.

Jon Donais.

And Donais is an interesting piece of this story.

He’s not an original-era Anthrax guy. He’s from Shadows Fall, one of the bands that helped define the New Wave of American Heavy Metal that emerged around the turn of the millennium. Shadows Fall have released seven studio albums, toured extensively around the world and spent years building their own place in American metal before Donais eventually joined Anthrax.

So even the current Anthrax lineup isn’t simply preserving the past.

You’ve got members carrying four decades of Anthrax history, a guitarist who came out of another generation of American metal, and a drummer who has spent the last few years simultaneously carrying the legacy of Vinnie Paul onstage with Pantera.

That’s a lot of history in one band.

And if you’re expecting a concept album, forget it.

But there is something underneath “Cursum Perficio”.

Time. Age. Loss. Politics. Memory. Mortality. The absurdity of getting older while the world keeps getting weirder.

“The Edge of Perfection” is about chasing an impossible ideal.

Health. Happiness. Love. Empathy.

The things you spend half your life trying to understand and the other half realising you should have understood earlier.

The ethereal clean-tone chords give way to blast beats and T1000 down-picking.

Perfection right there.

And the “wo-oh-ah” chants are subtle but important.

“Nobody’s coming to save you.”

The ugly moment when self-awareness stops being interesting and becomes responsibility. You can analyse yourself forever, explain every scar, blame every circumstance, but eventually the excuses run out.

Nobody is coming.

You have to pick up the pieces and decide what happens next.

“It’s for the Kids” goes after the horror and normalisation of school shootings.

“Your thoughts and prayers mean nothing.”

This is Anthrax doing what metal does best: taking the polite language of institutions and throwing it back in their faces.

We’ve heard the statement. Seen the ritual. Watched nothing change.

The song isn’t asking for another speech.

It’s asking why we keep accepting one. At some point, words become wallpaper.

Listen to the solo by Jon Donais.

“Everybody’s Got a Plan” looks at division and the machinery of divide and conquer. It’s got an intoxicating vibe, especially in the verses.

“Great events turn on small hinges.”

History rarely moves the way we imagine.

We obsess over the big speeches, the big leaders, the big moments. But the world can turn on something tiny, stupid, accidental.

Then we’re left fighting each other, wondering how everything got so fucked up.

“The Long Goodbye” deals with dementia.

“Authentic in its mediocrity.”

That’s the line.

It turns the song from being about death into being about something worse: slowly disappearing while still alive.

The routines. The clock. The obligations. The days that look identical.

We call it normal life.

Maybe it’s just death happening incrementally, one ordinary Tuesday at a time.

“NYC 93” looks backward at the chaos of the band’s early-90s existence.

“I’d never been so awake in my whole life.”

That’s the song.

Not New York. Not 1993. Not the drinking, chaos or skeletons.

It’s about being broke, reckless, young, slightly fucked up and completely alive.

And then there’s the adult looking back and realising that chaos wasn’t necessarily the problem.

It was also the source of the electricity.

“Enough skeletons to fill Père Lachaise” is great because the song suddenly gets bigger than one guy’s memories.

Everybody carries ghosts.

Everybody has a version of themselves they buried somewhere.

And then:

“It ain’t worth doing unless you do it to death.”

It sounds like a death wish, but I don’t hear it that way.

I hear commitment. If you’re going to live, make it count. If you’re going to make something, fucking make it.

Which brings us back to that first verse.

1993 wasn’t necessarily better. It was just more alive.

And then there is the title track.

“Cursum Perficio”.

A Latin phrase that translates roughly as “I complete my journey” or “My journey is over.”

Which, depending on how you want to read it, sounds an awful lot like an ending.

“Failure in every success / So choose to change.”

That’s the line.

How much of your life is circumstance, and how much is the story you keep telling yourself about it?

The veil is the bullshit.

The damaged lens is the way we interpret our own history.

You can spend your entire life looking backward through fear, regret and failure—or eventually decide that the interpretation itself has to change.

And then:

“Death should tremble to take you.”

That’s the payoff.

Not because death has been defeated. It hasn’t.

It’s because you’ve finally stopped living like someone waiting for permission.

The journey’s over.

But the final line tells you it isn’t really over at all:

“It’s always been your choice.”

That turns the title inside out.

Cursum Perficio isn’t necessarily “this is the end.”

It’s: you’ve reached the end of one version of yourself.

Now decide what happens next.

And maybe that’s the best way to hear Anthrax in 2026.

They’ve survived Belladonna leaving.

They survived the Bush years.

They survived changing labels, changing formats, Napster, downloads, Spotify and the collapse of the album business.

They waited when they had nothing to say.

Charlie Benante went and played Pantera.

Jon Donais brought another generation of American metal into the room.

And now they’ve made another Anthrax record.

Maybe “Cursum Perficio” is the end.

Maybe it isn’t.

That’s not really the point.

The point is that Anthrax have spent forty-plus years proving that the obvious ending isn’t necessarily the ending.

Sometimes it’s just another change in direction.

Sometimes the smartest thing a band can do is wait until it has something worth saying.

Then turn the amplifiers on.

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Classic Songs to Be Discovered, Derivative Works, Influenced, Music, Unsung Heroes

Airbourne – Airbourne: What Kind of Music Do You Play?

Rock?

Hard rock?

Heavy metal?

Classic rock?

No.

AC/DC music.

Maybe we should finally admit it’s a genre.

Because here we are again with Airbourne, six albums into a career built on guitars, drums, sweat, beer, volume, riffs, choruses and a complete refusal to overcomplicate anything.

Except this time they’ve done something interesting. They’ve called the album Airbourne.

Their seventh album is self-titled.

After six records.

You know what you’re getting. And you do. You absolutely do.

Airbourne isn’t a reinvention.

There’s the riff. The stomp. The groove. The Malcolm Young foot tapping. The Angus Young leg shakes. The shout-along chorus. The guitar solo.

Let’s not pretend this isn’t built from the same DNA as AC/DC.

AC/DC invented the language.

Airbourne speak it. And they’re really fucking good at it.

There’s something else interesting about this record. Twelve songs. Forty-seven minutes. Almost every track between three and four minutes.

Whether intentional or not, it’s almost perfectly designed for the streaming era.

No seven-minute monsters. No songs that take three minutes to get going. No conceptual interludes. No ballads. No soft rockers.

You press play.

Riff. Verse. Chorus. Solo. Riff. Done.

Next.

We’ve spent years being told rock needs to adapt to streaming. Songs need to grab you immediately. Attention spans are collapsing. The first thirty seconds matter.

Airbourne’s response seems to be, “we’ve already been making songs like that for twenty years.”

If we’re going to keep having the conversation about Airbourne sounding like AC/DC, maybe we’re asking the wrong question.

What if AC/DC isn’t simply a band?

What if it’s a musical form?

Strip away the names and the ingredients are obvious.

A huge guitar riff. Straight-ahead rhythm. Four-to-the-floor momentum. Blues-based guitar vocabulary. Minimal harmonic movement. Groove. A singer who sounds like he’s been gargling broken glass.

Lyrics about drinking, fighting, sex, cars, rock’n’roll, trouble and having a fucking good time.

And above everything else: attitude.

You could almost build a taxonomy.

AC/DC music.

The Angels music.

Rose Tattoo music.

Airbourne music.

Maybe that’s the point.

Airbourne have spent enough time inside this particular musical language that they’re no longer simply copying the vocabulary. They’ve built their own accent.

Does it matter that it’s not original?

No.

At least, not in the way people usually mean it.

If originality means inventing a sound nobody has ever heard before, then Airbourne aren’t winning any prizes.

But originality and invention aren’t the same thing.

Nobody listens to a blues guitarist playing a twelve-bar blues and complains about a lack of innovation.

Nobody hears punk and thinks, Three chords? Come on, give me some harmonic complexity.

The creative challenge inside a restricted musical language is execution.

Is the riff good?

Does the drummer hit hard enough?

Does the chorus land?

Does the singer sell it?

Does the solo make you want to play air guitar?

Does it make you turn the volume up?

That’s the test. Airbourne have been taking it for their entire career.

Which brings us back to the title.

It’s simply: Airbourne.

The band. The sound. The promise.

You know what you’re getting. And sometimes that’s exactly what a rock band should be.

AC/DC didn’t need to become something else to remain AC/DC.

Motörhead didn’t need a string section.

Ramones didn’t need a concept album about climate change.

Sometimes the artistic decision is deciding what you’re not going to do.

Airbourne have made that decision a long time ago.

And underneath all the riffs and beer-soaked stupidity, there are moments where the songs accidentally stumble into something more interesting.

“Gutsy” is basically an Airbourne mission statement.

“It’s not just a word / It’s a way of life.”

That’s the whole philosophy. Identity isn’t something you claim. It’s something you demonstrate. And:

“Gutsy’s all I got / So take your best shot.”

Strip everything else away and you’re left with resilience. No grand strategy. No guarantee. Just the willingness to absorb another hit.

That’s a pretty good definition of rock’n’roll.

“Alive After Death (Last Plane Out)” takes the same idea somewhere else.

“When you drop the needle I’m back in the band.”

That’s the beautiful thing about records. The record doesn’t remember the musician.

We do.

Put the needle down and suddenly the dead aren’t dead. The past isn’t past. The distance between audience and artist disappears.

The song becomes a time machine.

And when Airbourne sing:

“They never die / When we rock together in denim and leather they live forever.”

They’re talking about something bigger than nostalgia.

Music survives because people participate in it.

The audience becomes the archive.

That’s why the closer, Send Me To Rock ‘N’ Roll Heaven, works.

It’s ridiculous. It’s sentimental. It’s loud as fuck.

And it’s a roll call of heroes: Lemmy, Doc Neeson, Bon Scott, John Bonham, Little Richard, Eddie Van Halen, Malcolm Young and Ozzy Osbourne.

Then comes:

“Stack the amps twelve miles high / Crank it louder than the sky.”

Of course they aren’t going to mourn quietly. Rock remembers its heroes by turning the fucking volume back up.

That’s the point.

Elsewhere, Airbourne remain Airbourne.

“Here She Comes” turns desire into weather:

“Now here she comes / Raisin’ a hurricane.”

She’s not really a character. She’s a force of nature.

“Kid In A Candy Store” understands addiction better than it probably intended to:

“But I always come / Back for more.”

He knows what it costs. He knows he’ll do it again.

Appetite. Consequence. Repeat.

“Sky High” is more familiar territory, but one line cuts through the cliché:

“Shadow of the glass and smash the past.”

You can keep staring at the person you’ve become because of everything that happened to you, or you can smash the fucking mirror.

Your past can explain you. It doesn’t get to own you.

“Who Put The Rhythm In You?” is pure rock’n’roll swagger. There’s barely a character here, just presence. Someone walks into the room and changes the temperature.

“Christmas Bonus” takes the same philosophy and applies it to Christmas: beer, sex, mates, noise and another excuse to turn the amps up. Sometimes the entire philosophy is:

We survived another year. Fuck it. Let’s celebrate.

“Last Man Standing” goes darker.

“You can do the right thing and still break the law.”

That’s an interesting contradiction because it refuses to equate legality with morality.

And then:

“Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

The character doesn’t want revenge. He simply refuses to become what happened to him.

“Rock ‘N’ Roll Ya” is considerably less philosophical. Thankfully.

“But if you’re looking for love, then you’re shit outta luck.”

It’s actually the most honest line in the song.

No promises. No pretending the hit-and-run is something it isn’t.

And “I live my life like a rolling stone” captures the contradiction perfectly, freedom pushed right up against irresponsibility.

“Bogota” turns a breakup into an escape plan.

“You swung a wrecking ball through every memory.”

There’s no romanticising the breakup. It’s been demolished.

And once you’re standing in the rubble, you can either stare at it or walk away.

Then comes:

“I am an animal, and I’m outta the cage.”

Whether that’s genuine liberation or simply a great excuse to run from responsibility is almost beside the point.

The plane leaves. The champagne starts. Tomorrow can deal with itself.

And then there’s “Hells Got No Vacancy”, which sounds like it wandered out of “Big Gun‘s” back door after drinking somebody else’s beer.

“When you’re raised with nothing, you got nothing to lose.”

That’s the character’s operating system. And eventually he delivers the best line in the song:

“Because I’m the fucking problem, that’s why.”

At least he’s honest. No victim narrative. No excuses. I’m part of the mess. I’m the problem. And I’m not particularly interested in fixing myself.

That’s a surprisingly strong piece of self-awareness buried inside a song about a criminal who apparently wants to fight Satan.

There is a danger here. The line between heritage and repetition is incredibly thin.

Airbourne have built an entire career on it. Eventually the songs have to justify the familiarity.

That’s where Airbourne succeeds.

Not because it’s new. Because it’s good.

Airbourne know the recipe. They know the temperature. They know how long to leave it in the oven.

There’s a strange expectation placed on rock music.

It needs to evolve. It needs to be relevant. It needs to cross genres. It needs to say something profound. It needs to appeal to younger listeners. It needs to survive streaming. It needs to compete with pop. It needs to reinvent itself.

Maybe.

Or maybe sometimes a rock band just needs to plug in.

Turn it up.

Count to four.

And hit the fucking riff.

That’s what Airbourne does.

It’s a new album built from an old sound.

A record made in the streaming era that understands the three-minute song better than most bands ever did.

And, more importantly, it understands what the songs are for.

They’re not asking you to analyse them. They’re asking you to participate.

You don’t study the chorus. You fucking yell it.

You don’t need to reinvent rock’n’roll. You need to make somebody want to turn it up.

What kind of music do you play?

AC/DC music.

Airbourne music.

And maybe that’s finally a genre of its own.

GUTSY.

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Angry Anderson: We Can’t Be Beaten – Rose Tattoo, Rock ’n’ Roll & an Australian Icon

We used to sing “We Can’t Be Beaten” after every football game we played.

Every game.

It could have been our first win of the season and we sang it. It could have been another week of an unbeaten run and we sang it.

Win, lose, draw, the song belonged to the ritual. And maybe that is how I will always remember Angry Anderson.

He can’t be beaten. Not really.

He played a bikie in “Housos” who was basically impossible to beat in a fight. He sang “Suddenly,” one of the biggest power ballads to come out of Australian television, and somehow even a song from a completely different universe still sounded like Angry Anderson.

That is the trick with Angry.

You could put him anywhere and he remained Angry Anderson.

Hard rock band. Bikie comedy. Soap-opera power ballad. Mad Max. Rose Tattoo.

It didn’t matter. The voice came with him.

Gary “Angry” Anderson died on 21 September 2026, aged 79, after suffering a cardiac arrest.

And I keep coming back to the music. Because that is where I first knew him.

Before Rose Tattoo, there was Buster Brown.

Buster Brown formed in 1973 and released “Something to Say” the following year.

The drummer was Phil Rudd.

Yes. The same Phil Rudd who would leave and join an early version of AC/DC.

Anderson kept going however Buster Brown ended in 1975, and Anderson would soon become the voice of a band that would define Australian hard rock in a completely different way.

Rose Tattoo.

Peter Wells formed the band in Sydney in 1976 because he wanted something tough. Something built around slide guitar.

The first great statement arrived with “Bad Boy for Love.”

It was written by Ian Rilen, who left to form punk group X before the single was released. Geordie Leach, Anderson’s former Buster Brown bandmate, eventually joined the lineup that recorded most of the debut.

And then there was the production team.

Harry Vanda and George Young.

So when Rose Tattoo arrived in 1978, there was a lineage.

The blues had crossed the Atlantic. British bands absorbed American blues. British rock came to Australia. Australian musicians absorbed all of it.

And then they made it sound like home.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Outlaw

“Rock N Roll Outlaw” sounds like a mission statement.

The blues-rock vocabulary of Britain and America is all over Rose Tattoo, but the important thing is what they do with it.

We talk about the Rolling Stones, Cream, Free, Led Zeppelin. We talk about AC/DC.

But underneath all of that is the original source material: Black American blues musicians like Chuck Berry, Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Albert King whose music was absorbed, reinterpreted and fed back into the world through British and Australian rock.

Rose Tattoo didn’t invent the language. They spoke it with an Australian accent.

“Nice Boys” is probably the easiest entry point. If you don’t know the Rose Tattoo version, you may know the Guns N’ Roses version.

“The Butcher and Fast Eddy” is Angry in storyteller mode.

Someone got stabbed. Here is what happened. Next song.

“One of the Boys” has that Status Quo pulse. “Remedy” is AC/DC with the volume turned up. “Bad Boy for Love” is the obvious classic. “T.V.” is twelve-bar blues.

No dissertation required.

“Stuck on You” is the curveball, almost a love song, with a melodic acoustic guitar figure underneath the chorus.

Then “Tramp,” with “Let There Be Rock” energy, and “Astra Wally,” which feels like the offspring of “Tramp” and “T.V.”

Ten songs. No wasted motion. Just get on with it.

The band toured America and Europe, recorded an unreleased album in Los Angeles, and came home. Then, in 1981, “Rock N Roll Outlaw” started charting in Europe.

So they went back. That’s the music business.

Assault & Battery

Three years after the debut came “Assault & Battery”.

This is where my relationship with Rose Tattoo gets interesting.

I don’t think it has the same collection of songs that immediately grab you by the throat. But I think the band is getting better.

Better musicianship. Better lyrics. More ambition.

Start with “Magnum Maid.”

“We’re never gonna catch the criminals / As long as they’re runnin’ the show.”

That is the eternal rock and roll conspiracy theory. The criminals aren’t hiding. They’re running the place.

Then Angry turns the gun into a character. The “Magnum Maid” isn’t just a weapon. She’s salvation. Revenge. The last thing a desperate man has left when every institutional answer has failed.

By the end of the song it feels like you’re lying in the gutter with two bullets left.

No cavalry. No government. No committee. Just the gun and one last decision.

That’s Angry’s world.

When the system doesn’t work, you don’t write a submission.

You reach for the Magnum.

“Sidewalk Sally” takes the opposite approach.

“She knows what she is selling.”

“French or Greek don’t cost much.”

No university degree required. You know exactly what is happening.

Scarred For Life

The third album arrived within a year in 1982

No three-year gap this time.

The opening is a knockout.

“I grew up fast on a working class streets.”

“First thing I learned was life don’t come cheap.”

That’s Angry Anderson in two lines.

Not a victim. Not a hero. A battler.

Somebody who has been punched around by life and decided to punch back.

Then comes “We Can’t Be Beaten.”

And there it is.

The song we used to sing after football. The song that makes the whole thing personal for me.

“If you want to be in my gang…”

That is the invitation. To belonging. Stand with me. We’ll start something. We’ll fight for something. We’ll make some noise.

The song is simple. That’s why it works. And it isn’t really about winning. It’s about refusing to accept defeat as an identity.

“Juice On The Loose” is basically “Bad Boy For Love” with another coat of paint. And again, I like it.

“Branded” is where Rob Riley becomes impossible to ignore. He co-wrote “We Can’t Be Beaten,” “Scarred For Life,” “Branded” and “It’s Gonna Work Itself Out.”

“I’ve had enough and now I’m gonna fight back.”

Again, Angry doesn’t write a self-help book. He writes a chorus.

Then there’s “Revenge.”

The song contains lines about immigrants, religion, unions and government that reflect a particular strain of working-class Australian grievance. Some of the language is explicitly hostile and exclusionary.

You don’t have to pretend otherwise.

But you also don’t need to pretend the song doesn’t exist.

The underlying emotion is easier to recognise than the politics, someone has taken something that belonged to me.

My city. My work. My country. My life. My dignity.

That is the engine underneath the song.

Angry is giving voice to a worldview that is angry about a world changing underneath him.

The problem is that the song doesn’t stop at describing that anger.

It assigns blame. Sometimes the artist is documenting the ugliness. Sometimes the artist is participating in it. Sometimes it’s both.

Southern Stars

Then came another lineup change.

By 1983, Rob Riley, Dallas Royall and Peter Wells had all left.

Anderson and Geordie Leach rebuilt the band again, and “Southern Stars” arrived in 1984.

And this is where I disagree with the people who want every great band to make the same record forever.

I love this change. The blues rock is still there. The boogie is still there. But the choruses are getting bigger. The songwriting is evolving.

It’s not Rose Tattoo abandoning Rose Tattoo.

It’s Rose Tattoo trying to work out what Rose Tattoo sounds like four records into a career.

If you make the first record four times, you haven’t preserved your identity. You’ve preserved your business model.

“Southern Stars” is more AOR without becoming AOR. The guitars still have dirt under their fingernails. But there is more melody. More space. More ambition.

And lyrically, Angry is at his most openly political and philosophical.

“The ghosts of Eureka are calling to me now.”

“I wanna live my life under Southern Stars.”

Anderson described the album as being about the spirit of Eureka and said its patriotism was intended to extend beyond Australia to humanity as a whole.

That’s important because “Southern Stars” is really an album about freedom.

“Let Us Live” strips it back. Let us be what we want to be. Let us go where we want to go. Let us say what we want to say. Let us live our own lives.

Not necessarily left. Not necessarily right. Just leave me alone and let me live.

“Freedom’s Flame” and “Death Or Glory” turn that idea into mythology: tribes rise, soldiers arrive, fires burn, people refuse to surrender.

Again, Angry isn’t writing a policy paper. He’s writing mythology.

And then there’s “You’ve Been Told.”

The riff takes me straight back to that Richie Blackmore school of blues-based hard rock.

But lyrically?

This is Angry enjoying himself.

Women. Bourbon. Drugs. Cigars. Rock and roll.

Just a bloke telling you exactly what he likes.

And finally:

“The Radio Said Rock ‘n’ Roll Is Dead.”

Of course it did. Somebody always says it’s over. And then some idiot plugs in a guitar.

That is the joke.

Rock and roll doesn’t survive because the radio says it should.

It survives because somebody somewhere still needs it.

Suddenly

Anderson went on to play Ironbar Bassey in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, and Rose Tattoo eventually gave way to his solo career.

Then came “Suddenly.”

A song that could have destroyed the whole image. Instead it became another Angry Anderson song.

It found a much larger audience when it was used for Scott and Charlene’s wedding on Neighbours, reaching No. 2 in Australia.

The same voice that had spent the previous decade singing about street fights, criminals, revolution and rock and roll was suddenly singing a giant romantic ballad on television.

And it worked. That is Angry.

His 1990 solo album “Blood from Stone” produced “Bound for Glory,” a No. 11 hit.

“Life’s tough / So what? / I’m alive.”

“I’ve been down / Seen hard times / But I survived.”

He could have made an entire career out of that sentence.

Rose Tattoo eventually reunited, and I saw them on the Guns N’ Roses “Use Your Illusion” tour.

They rocked. And I was more than happy to cross Rose Tattoo off my list. The Gunners are a different story. I’ve already written about that.

And that is where my musical journey with Angry ends.

I haven’t listened to the “Pain” and “Blood Brothers” albums from the 2000s.

I will.

And maybe that is the best way to remember Angry Anderson.

As the voice that refused to soften. The little bloke with the enormous presence.

The voice that could sing about a street fight, a revolution, a woman, a working-class battler, a Magnum revolver, Australian freedom or a wedding on Neighbours and somehow still make it sound like Angry Anderson.

He wasn’t supposed to fit neatly. Neither did Rose Tattoo. And that’s probably why they lasted.

We used to sing “We Can’t Be Beaten” after every football game.

I think I understand it differently now. It wasn’t really a song about being unbeatable.

Nobody is.

It’s a song about standing up with your people and deciding that losing isn’t going to define you.

Angry Anderson spent fifty years doing exactly that.

The band changed. The members changed. The sound changed. The country changed. He changed. But he kept getting back on stage.

One more tour. One more record. One more song. One more fight. Until there wasn’t another one.

And now we sing it without him.

We can’t be beaten.

Maybe that’s the point.

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Copyright, Music, Stupidity

The Labels Want Songwriters’ Rights, Just Not Songwriters Themselves

The article.

Chaos for Who?

The music industry loves to talk about artists.

It loves to celebrate artists.

It loves to hand out awards, sponsor songwriter camps, run social media campaigns about creativity, and tell the world that music starts with the creator.

Until the creator asks for something back. Then suddenly the language changes.

Now it’s not about art. It’s not about fairness. It’s not about creators. It’s about “chaos.”

The major labels and BMG have petitioned the United States Supreme Court to overturn a ruling that would allow songwriter Cyril Vetter to reclaim worldwide rights to a song he wrote more than sixty years ago.

And their argument is fascinating. Not because it’s convincing. Because it exposes exactly how the industry thinks.

The labels claim that if songwriters can reclaim worldwide copyrights under U.S. termination law, it will create uncertainty, confusion and disruption throughout the music business.

Chaos.

That’s the word.

Chaos.

Funny how the same industry that spent decades telling creators to sign away global rights in perpetuity is suddenly worried about fairness and stability.

The same companies that built billion-dollar catalog empires from contracts signed generations ago now want us to believe they are protecting the music ecosystem.

Protecting whom?

Certainly not the songwriter. The songwriter is the one who created the asset. The songwriter is the one who took the risk. The songwriter is the one whose work still generates value decades later.

Yet when a court finally interprets the law in a way that potentially benefits creators, the industry’s first instinct isn’t celebration.

It’s litigation.

The hypocrisy becomes even more obvious when you look at history.

Labels routinely tell artists that contracts are sacred. Deals are deals. You signed it. Live with it.

Except when the labels don’t like the outcome.

Then contracts, precedents and long-standing interpretations suddenly become flexible.

Then the legal teams arrive. Then the lobbying starts. Then the scare campaign begins.

We’re told the sky will fall. We’re told investment will disappear. We’re told the business will collapse.

We’ve seen this movie before.

Every technological shift was supposedly going to destroy music.

Home taping. CD burning. MP3s. Streaming. TikTok. Now songwriter rights.

The industry’s prediction record on catastrophe is so bad that “chaos” should probably be treated as a marketing term rather than a legal argument.

Because let’s be honest.

If a songwriter reclaiming rights after half a century creates disruption, maybe the disruption isn’t the problem.

Maybe the underlying business model is.

The labels argue that billions of dollars and countless agreements were built around the assumption that foreign rights remain permanently with publishers.

That may be true.

But an industry building its future around assumptions doesn’t magically transform those assumptions into justice.

There was a time when artists couldn’t own masters.

There was a time when musicians signed contracts they barely understood.

There was a time when labels controlled manufacturing, distribution, promotion and access to audiences.

That world is disappearing.

And perhaps what we’re seeing in Vetter v. Resnik isn’t chaos. Perhaps we’re seeing correction.

The most revealing part of this case isn’t the legal argument. It’s the language.

The labels describe the songwriter’s position as a fringe theory. Yet a federal appeals court agreed with it.

Creator groups support it. And the logic is straightforward.

If termination rights exist to give creators a second chance at ownership, why should that second chance stop at a national border?

Why should a songwriter get half the apple?

The answer seems obvious.

Because half the apple is still enough for the labels to keep the other half.

That’s what this fight is really about.

Control.

Not creativity. Not fairness. Not artists.

Control.

The irony is that the music business constantly tells young creators that ownership matters.

Keep your rights. Build your catalog. Think long term. Become an entrepreneur.

Until those same principles start applying to creators whose songs were written decades ago.

Then ownership suddenly becomes dangerous. Then ownership becomes disruptive. Then ownership becomes chaos.

The labels want everyone to believe they’re defending stability.

What they’re actually defending is a system that has benefited them enormously for generations.

A system where rights flow one way. A system where creators are encouraged to surrender ownership but discouraged from reclaiming it. A system where fairness is celebrated in speeches but challenged in court.

If the Supreme Court ultimately hears the case, the decision will affect far more than one song.

It will answer a much bigger question. Who does copyright actually exist to serve?

The corporations that acquired it.

Or the people who created it.

Because if reclaiming your own work after sixty years is considered chaos, perhaps the real chaos was the arrangement that existed before.

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Copyright, Music, Stupidity, Treating Fans Like Shit

Fender Wants Your Guitar Back

Fender has lost its mind.

It thinks it can copyright a shape, and call that “heritage.”

That’s corporate greed, pretending it’s preserving culture.

The Stratocaster body shape is not sacred scripture. It’s a guitar shape that entered the bloodstream of modern music decades ago. Pretending to own the shape now is like claiming ownership of the power chord, the double cutaway, or rock and roll itself.

And somehow this whole mess started with Fender suing an AliExpress seller in Germany.

The seller never showed up.

Fender won by default.

Then, suddenly, that default judgment became the foundation for a wider campaign. Cease-and-desist letters started flying. Builders, retailers and manufacturers of their own guitars using the Stratocaster body shape, found themselves being told that Fender now had legal proof that it owned the Stratocaster body shape.

Not a patent. Not a trademark. A copyright.

And that’s where things start getting ridiculous.

Because this wasn’t simply about stopping counterfeit guitars with fake Fender logos on the headstock. Most musicians understand that. Most builders understand that.

The company reportedly demanded that builders and retailers destroy their existing inventory.

Destroy it. Millions of dollars in manufacturing and research/development.

And then things got even uglier.

Fender allegedly wanted stores and manufacturers to hand over the names and addresses of customers who had already bought guitars with Strat body shapes.

The request?

Have those customers return their guitars so they too could be destroyed.

Read that again.

A billion-dollar corporation wasn’t just trying to stop future sales. It wanted guitars already sitting in people’s homes.

That’s the moment this stopped looking like brand protection and started looking like corporate intimidation.

And nobody likes a bully. Make no mistake, that’s exactly how this looks.

Then comes the inevitable question.

Why now?

The Stratocaster body shape debuted in 1954.

Seventy-plus years later we’re suddenly being told the shape is protected in a way that thousands of builders and guitar tinkerers somehow missed?

Think of EVH tinkering with a Stratocaster body, to come up with his sound and the Frankenstein look. George Lynch playing Charvel and then ESP’s that use the Stratocaster body shape. Hell, Lynch even makes Custom guitars right now utilizing the Strat body shape. Add to that list Kirk Hammett and his ESP guitars and every other guitarist that played a guitar with a Strat body that wasn’t Fender. All of the guitars are illegal according to Fender.

And let’s be honest about who’s making these decisions.

Fender’s CEO, Edward “Bud” Cole, is a Fender lifer. He knows the history. He knows the market. He knows exactly what the Stratocaster means to players.

Which means this isn’t confusion.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth.

Fender is no longer automatically the best guitar in the room. There was a time when the logo alone was enough.

Not anymore.

Today there are boutique builders producing instruments with better fretwork, better neck profiles, tighter quality control and greater consistency than many production-line Fenders.

We feel it immediately as soon as we pick up a guitar and within ten seconds we know.

No legal brief changes that. No cease-and-desist letter changes that.

The PR damage may be even worse.

Because Fender looks like the guy who arrives at the party after midnight, grabs the microphone and starts yelling at everyone.

Nobody likes that guy. Nobody respects that guy. And nobody forgets that guy.

The guitar industry has already lived through this movie. Gibson went after PRS over the single-cut body shape.

The courts ultimately rejected the idea that one company could permanently monopolize a broadly recognized guitar design.

That should have been the lesson.

Instead Fender looked at history and apparently concluded:

Let’s try it ourselves. Only louder.

And the saddest part?

Fender should know better. Its reputation wasn’t built by lawsuits or cease-and-desist letters or by demanding customer lists or threatening independent builders.

It was built by making great guitars.

This entire campaign feels disconnected from players and completely connected to spreadsheets.

That’s how great brands start to decay. Not because competitors catch them. Because they convince themselves that people love the logo more than the product. They don’t.

That’s why this whole thing lands so badly.

It’s petty.

It’s defensive.

It’s short-sighted.

And most importantly, it’s unnecessary.

If Fender wants respect, make better guitars. If Fender wants loyalty, earn it. If Fender wants to remain the standard, stop acting like the standard needs a lawyer.

Because the truth is already out there.

The shape is not the product. The player is.

And if Fender has forgotten that, the damage it’s doing to its own brand may last a lot longer than any body-shape ruling ever will.

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Alternate Reality, Music, My Stories

Motley Crue

Back before the internet, rock mythology lived in the gaps. The gaps between announcements and releases. The gaps between rumors and facts. The gaps between what bands said publicly and what was actually happening behind studio doors.

And sometimes those gaps leave behind artifacts.

Like this old UK metal magazine clipping from Kerrang, claiming Mötley Crüe’s next album after “Girls, Girls, Girls” was going to be called “Too Hot To Handle”.

Not a rumor whispered by a fan on Reddit thirty years later. An actual printed story. With a release date. A European tour plan. And a track listing full of songs nobody has ever officially heard.

Now, if you’re under forty, you probably think this means one of two things: Either it was fake or somebody got it wrong.

But that’s because modern audiences don’t understand how information moved in the ‘80s.

Music journalism back then wasn’t journalism in the modern sense. It was half-access, half-chaos, half-propaganda and half-drunk-guy-at-the-bar storytelling. Labels leaked incomplete information. Managers exaggerated. Journalists filled in blanks. Bands changed direction midstream because somebody overdosed, disappeared, got arrested, the label rejected it or the band decided the entire record sucked halfway through recording it.

Especially Mötley Crüe.

Which means this article was likely discussing the project that eventually became “Dr. Feelgood”.

And suddenly the timeline becomes incredibly interesting, because the article mentions a January release schedule.

But “Dr. Feelgood” didn’t come out until August 1989.

So what happened to push the date out?

Nikki Sixx overdose on December 23, 1997. The overdose fundamentally interrupted the momentum of the band. Tours were cancelled. Europe got burned. The machine stalled out.

Maybe “Too Hot To Handle” was the original album title. Maybe those track names were demo titles. Maybe the record was originally intended to be a faster, dirtier continuation of “Girls, Girls, Girls”.
Maybe songs were abandoned after rehab, rewrites and Bob Rock entered the picture.

Because here’s the thing people forget about “Dr. Feelgood”:

That album sounds NOTHING like a band spiraling out of control.

It sounds focused. Massive. Disciplined. Intentional.

Bob Rock basically forced Mötley Crüe to stop behaving like a gang and start behaving like a professional recording act. Vince had to get vocal lessons before he started to record the vocals. The grooves tightened. The hooks became sharper. The production became cinematic. The chaos got filtered into something enormous.

That version of the band did not exist when this article was printed.

And honestly, the album titles themselves tell the story better than anything else.

“Too Hot To Handle” sounds like old Crue. Cartoon sleaze. Sunset Strip excess. Cheap danger.

“Dr. Feelgood” sounds darker. More narcotic. More sinister. Like the party stopped being fun.

One title sounds like a band chasing pleasure. The other sounds like a band trying to survive it.

Does the article prove some lost Mötley Crüe album exists in a vault somewhere.

Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t.

What matters is that this article captures a moment before rehab rewrote the band. Before Bob Rock transformed them.

And maybe that’s what made the pre-internet era better.

Mystery.

You didn’t know everything. You weren’t supposed to. The uncertainty was part of the experience.

Now every demo gets uploaded instantly. Which I love by the way. Every studio update becomes social media content. Every rumor gets “fact checked” within ten minutes by people who confuse searchable information with understanding.

But rock mythology was built on incomplete information.

On possibility.

On strange magazine clippings that make you wonder whether somewhere, buried in a storage locker or sitting on an old cassette tape in Nikki Sixx’s archive, there’s an alternate version of Mötley Crüe history labeled:

“Too Hot To Handle”.

P.S.

The full track listing is as follows:
Side One; “You And Me”, “Dollar In My Pocket”, “Too Hot To Handle”, “Poisonous Dreams”, “Highway To Hell”.

Side Two; “Wake Up”, “Dead Man”, “War Of All Wars”, “LA”, “California Girls” (a jazzed up version of the Beach Boys classic).

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Music, My Stories, Treating Fans Like Shit

When the Party Turns into a Legacy: Bon Jovi, “We Got It Going On,” and the Forever Dilemma

Bon Jovi are back in the headlines again.

The “Forever” Tour.

The big announcement.

And, as always, the internet did what it does best, split down the middle.

Half the fans were ecstatic: “They’re back! Jon’s finally bringing the band around again.”

The other half were grimacing at the live clips, whispering the kind of thing you never want to say about your heroes: maybe the forever part should’ve ended a while ago.

That’s the heartbreak of watching icons age in public. We want the fire without the fallibility, the 1986 Bon Jovi frozen in amber, talkbox wailing, hair on fire, fists in the air, not the version that’s grown reflective, too polished, and painfully human.

But for me, this whole “Forever”discussion takes me back to 2007.

To “Lost Highway”.

I was a diehard then. Still am, I guess. The kind of fan who buys the record before hearing a note, because “Slippery When Wet”, “New Jersey”, and “Keep the Faith” were practically scripture. So when the band leaned into country-rock, I wanted to believe in it. But you could feel the calculation. You could feel the intention.

“Who Says You Can’t Go Home” worked because it wasn’t supposed to. It was an accident, a crossover that caught fire because it felt genuine. Then Jon, the businessman, doubled down. And when you chase authenticity, you lose it.

But buried under the Nashville polish was one song that didn’t care about charts or categories.

“We Got It Going On.”

“Is there anybody out there looking for a party? Yeah!!
Shake your money maker, baby, smoke it if you got it.”

That opening riff hits like swamp water and motor oil, sleazy, sexual, bluesy. Sambora’s talkbox returns like a ghost, resurrected not for nostalgia but for sheer noise. You can almost see the lights dim, the crowd swell, the camera pan across faces that just want to feel something again.

This song wasn’t written for critics. It was written for the night, for bodies pressed together, beer in the air, the scream that shakes the workweek loose.

“We Got It Goin’ On
We’ll be banging and singing just like the Rolling Stones.”

That line nails it. The nod to the Stones, the eternal road dogs, still out there rattling bones decades later.

And the truth is, I’ve left concerts sore, half-deaf, heart syncing with the subwoofers. That’s what great live music does: it inhabits you. You don’t walk out the same.

It’s all there, the “Ah ha ha” chant, the “ticket to kick it” call to arms, the invitation to ditch your suburban restraint.

“Everybody’s getting down, we’re getting down to business
Insane, freak train, you don’t wanna miss this.”

That’s Primal Scream energy. Nikki Sixx said it best:

“Primal scream and shout, let that mother out.”

That’s what “We Got It Going On” captures, not country, not crossover, but catharsis.

And it kills me that it never became a setlist regular. It tore through “Live at Madison Square Garden” and proved it belonged beside their classics.

But now, watching the new “Forever” performances, I can’t help but think about that title.

Because say what you want about the voice, the image, the years, when that talkbox hits and the crowd still roars, for a few minutes at least, they really do got it going on.

Bon Jovi’s strength was that mix of optimism and blue-collar defiance that said, we’re gonna shake up your soul, we’re gonna rattle your bones.

The challenge now isn’t pitch or range, it’s rediscovering the part of themselves that still wants to party like it’s dangerous again.

With presales kicking off October 27–28 and general sales slated for October 31, fans were ready.

Hungry. Hopeful.

But within hours, that excitement curdled into outrage.

Across X (Twitter) and fan forums, the stories were brutal: hours-long virtual queues, endless errors, “these tickets are no longer available” messages that mocked you after two hours of waiting.

One fan said they spent their entire last day of vacation fighting Ticketmaster’s glitch-riddled system.

Another logged in early for presale, only to find seats instantly gone, calling it “a joke” where real fans lose to bots every time.

Queues hit 160,000 people for UK shows like Wembley.

Some fans swore the platform was holding tickets back to manufacture demand. Others pointed to instant resales, the same seats appearing online minutes later, inflated beyond belief.

And they weren’t exaggerating. Prices hit $900 for single seats.
VIP “Legendary” packages, front row, tote bag, lanyard, mocked for charging hundreds extra for souvenirs no one asked for.

One fan summed it up perfectly:

“It’s not the Forever Tour because of Bon Jovi’s career — it’s because we’ll be paying it off forever.”

That’s the reality of fandom in 2025. We want connection, not corporate friction.

We crave the “Livin’ on a Prayer” moment, but we get login errors and resale markups instead.

Some fans did score tickets, celebrating in disbelief, hoping maybe, just maybe, Richie Sambora will reappear and make it all feel whole again.

But the dominant emotion across social media isn’t excitement. It’s exhaustion.

This is the paradox of legacy. When the dream outlives the danger, the machine takes over.

Bon Jovi were always about inclusion. Blue jeans, big choruses, stadium-wide singalongs. They weren’t supposed to be exclusive.

But the modern ticketing system turned “forever” into a commodity, a limited edition for those who can afford it.

And maybe that’s the real tragedy of this era: we can still sing along, but we can’t always get in the door.

Bon Jovi built a career on songs that made ordinary people feel invincible.

Now, the fight is to make those people feel included again.

Because the legacy doesn’t live in the hits, or the sales, or the streaming stats.

It lives in the noise, the sweat, the singalong, the place where “We Got It Going On” still means something.

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A to Z of Making It, Influenced, Music

Joel Hoekstra on The Jay Jay French Connection Podcast (Sept 19, 2023)

Steve Lukather has nothing but the highest praise for Hoekstra, and it’s easy to see why.

Born in Iowa City, Joel moved to Chicago as a kid, then later spent time in L.A., working at Cherokee Studios in 1991 and 1992. By that time, legendary producers Tom Werman and Geoff Workman had already moved on, but their legacy lingered.

Hoekstra studied at the Musicians Institute (GIT) in L.A., though he had a head start, his local teacher had already introduced him to the curriculum before he even arrived. On day one, he found himself among 500 other guitarists in the main hall, an intimidating experience.

Growing up with classically trained parents, he learned to read music early on, though he admits it’s only occasionally useful in his current work. It did, however, come in handy when he landed “Rock of Ages” and other theater gigs.

Unlike many of his peers, the ’80s shred scene didn’t have a huge impact on him, he was too young for it to be a major influence.

He did, however, run in circles with some serious musicians, including drummer Scott Coogan, guitarist Pete Thorn (well-known for gear demos), and Joy Basou (who found success in pop music, working with artists like Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey).

When asked about his guitar heroes, Hoekstra named Steve Morse (High Tension Wires), Steve Vai (Passion and Warfare), and Joe Satriani (Flying in a Blue Dream, Surfing With the Alien).

While Eric Clapton wasn’t a big influence, he admired Jimmy Page for his rhythmic licks, Jeff Beck for, well, everything, and Jimi Hendrix for his showmanship. He also loved everything “Rush” did, as well as Trevor Rabin’s “Yes” era, he still follows Rabin’s work, including his latest album “Rio”.

Jay Jay French mentioned for his generation, Johnny Winter and Alvin Lee were the Yngwie Malmsteens of their time.

Over the years, Hoekstra transitioned from playing Floyd Rose-equipped Jacksons and Kramers to a Fender Telecaster, then a Gibson SG, before settling on a Gibson Les Paul in 2004. He admitted that while playing a Les Paul means sacrificing about 10% of your technique, each note is worth it. Initially, he avoided Les Pauls because he’d heard they had tuning issues.

As a solo artist, Hoekstra has released three instrumental albums covering various styles. However, when he shifted into hard rock and heavy metal, fans wanted more of that sound.

Instead of branding it as a solo project, he launched “Joel Hoekstra’s 13”, where he writes all the music and lyrics while bringing in powerhouse rock musicians to jam with him. At the time of the interview he was onto his third release with “JH13”, along with “Eagle Flight” from Revolution Saints.

Speaking of collaborations, Hoekstra has another project called “Iconic”, featuring Michael Sweet (guitar), Marco Mendoza (bass), Tommy Aldridge (drums), and Nathan James (vocals). At the time of the interview, new releases from Iconic and Revolution Saints are on the way.

Since then, Revolution Saints dropped “Against The Winds” in 2024 however Iconic hasn’t been released yet.

As for Whitesnake, the future remains uncertain. Everything depends on David Coverdale, with the band currently in a holding pattern. Their European tour had a few canceled dates, and the U.S. tour was ultimately called off due to Coverdale’s sinus infection.

If you like to hear a good story, check out Joel Hoekstra.

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A to Z of Making It, Copyright, Influenced, Music, Unsung Heroes

Derek Schulman

On October 15, 2020, Derek Schulman appeared on the Bob Lefsetz Podcast.

I first heard of Schulman as the guy responsible for signing Bon Jovi and Cinderella. But before becoming a label executive, he was a member of Gentle Giant (GG), a band that has a bigger fan base today than when they originally broke up.

When Lefsetz asked why GG had grown in popularity, Schulman explained: “We wrote music for ourselves, didn’t follow trends, and the music held up.” Interestingly, GG never considered themselves a progressive rock band. Rock, yes, but not prog. They simply pushed themselves musically.

I believe GG’s resurgence is largely due to the internet. Their music isn’t locked away in a vault, it’s widely accessible. If we were still in the pre-Napster era, their catalog might have remained buried, since labels wouldn’t see the financial incentive to print CDs. Labels have always believed they know what fans want, but they’ve often been wrong. Had they continued releasing hard rock in the ’90s, the genre could have still produced acts selling close to 500,000 units. Instead, they abandoned it.

It always comes back to the music. People return for the music, not for record sales, labels, executives, or streaming numbers.

From Musician to Executive

Before Gentle Giant, Schulman played in a band with a few hit singles, but by 1969, he was burned out from the pressure to keep churning out commercial hits. He wanted to form a band that was the opposite of pop, so GG was born.

But by 1980, after 14 years in bands, Schulman was done. GG had become a job, and he had lost enthusiasm for recording and touring. With nothing lined up, he spent a year feeling lost. Fortunately, he had savings, thanks to his role as GG’s quasi-manager in the mid-’70s.

A friend at PolyGram called with a job offer. Schulman moved from California to New York and joined the label as a Promotions/A&R rep, though his role was mostly promotions. He was hired because two of PolyGram’s heads of radio promotion were huge Gentle Giant fans.

At the time, PolyGram was a mess. The label had major acts like KISS and Def Leppard, but they drained a lot of resources. Schulman’s break came when artists and managers started bringing him albums. Uriah Heep was shopping a new record, and Schulman helped organize a deal to release it.

Then came Bon Jovi.

Bon Jovi’s Breakthrough

Schulman met Jon Bon Jovi and was impressed by his focus and drive. Jon wanted to be bigger than Elvis. He even introduced Schulman to his parents, who told him: “Take care of our son.”

At the time, no other labels were bidding on Bon Jovi. Schulman also had a strict policy, he refused to get into bidding wars.

The key move was bringing in Doc McGhee. Doc originally came to Schulman’s office pushing Pat Travers, but Schulman told him to check out Bon Jovi instead. Schulman saw in Doc the same relentless drive that Jon had.

Jon met Doc, they struck a deal, and just like with Schulman, Jon’s parents needed to approve.

McGhee put Bon Jovi on tour with Ratt and Scorpions. Their debut album was a success, but their second record, “7800° Fahrenheit”, was considered a sophomore slump. Schulman hated the album title, the recording process was a mess, and the overall vibe felt off. But the album did its job, it kept the band on the road while McGhee worked overtime to book shows.

Schulman, meanwhile, had started working with producers Bob Rock and Bruce Fairbairn, who had just finished albums with Loverboy and Honeymoon Suite. Jon and Doc knew they needed great producers to reach the next level.

Schulman suggested co-writing with others. Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons had already introduced Jon to Desmond Child. The rest is history.

The label knew they had something big as soon as “Slippery When Wet” was mastered. The original album cover was scrapped, and Jon designed the new one himself. “You Give Love a Bad Name” and “Livin’ on a Prayer” were immediate hits, and the album shot to No. 1. Schulman had a percentage point on the album, but when he left the label, his royalties ended.

Cinderella

Schulman was introduced to Cinderella by an agent, a lawyer, and Jon Bon Jovi, who knew Tom Keifer.

He went to see them play a club in Philadelphia. The band wasn’t great, Tom Keifer stood out, Jeff LaBar was solid on guitar, but the other two members weren’t up to par. Then Schulman listened to a 90-song demo of Keifer’s original material. He was blown away by Keifer’s songwriting.

Schulman told the lawyer: “Get Tom to replace the other two with better musicians, and I’ll give you a deal.”

Andy Johns was brought in to produce “Night Songs”. The album dropped shortly after “Slippery When Wet” exploded, and “Night Songs” shot into the Top 10. Suddenly, Schulman was on fire, he had two bands in the Top 10.

When Lefsetz asked why Cinderella never released another big album, Schulman pointed out that they did, “Long Cold Winter”, but he had briefly forgotten the title.

Tom Keifer eventually lost his voice, which Schulman confirmed was true. Schulman also helped shape Cinderella’s albums with his artist experience, though he didn’t contribute to Bon Jovi’s records in the same way. He even co-wrote songs with Tom but never took credit.

Dream Theater

Derek Oliver, an A&R representative at Atco Records and a passionate fan of progressive rock, was the key figure in discovering Dream Theater.

In the late 1980s, Dream Theater had self-released their debut album, “When Dream and Day Unite”, through Mechanic/MCA Records, but the album failed to gain much traction due to poor promotion and distribution.

Meanwhile, Oliver, who had interviewed and reviewed the band during the period as part of Kerrang was impressed by their technical proficiency and songwriting.

Recognizing their potential, he brought Dream Theater to the attention of Derek Schulman, the head of Atco Records at the time.

After meeting the band and seeing their dedication, Schulman agreed to sign them to Atco. Under his guidance, Dream Theater recorded their breakthrough album, Images and Words (1992), which featured the hit single “Pull Me Under.” The album’s success helped establish them as a leading force in progressive metal, proving that Schulman and Oliver’s instincts were right.

Running Labels

Schulman also played a key role in launching Bob Rock’s production career, giving him his first gig with Kingdom Come, another band that went on to dominate the charts.

In 1989, Schulman left PolyGram to run Atco Records. PolyGram wanted to keep him, offering him control of Vertigo and Mercury, but he wanted a change, even if it meant losing his Bon Jovi and Cinderella royalties.

Doug Morris was hesitant about Schulman at first and saw him as a potential replacement. But Schulman built an impressive roster, signing Pantera and The Rembrandts. He had actually planned to sign Pantera to PolyGram but knew he was leaving, so he told their attorney to wait until he moved to Atco.

At first, Atco thrived. Schulman put together a strong team, and the first three years were fantastic. But eventually, he started losing perspective. One day, he heard a No. 1 song on the radio and liked it. When he asked a work colleague who had signed the artist, they said: “You did.” That moment shook him.

Doug wanted him out, but Schulman quit. He even attempted a coup while on a trip to Russia.

Roadrunner Records and the Rise of Metal

Schulman took a break before getting a call from an old friend, Case Wessels, at Roadrunner Records. Initially consulting for a year, he eventually became president.

Roadrunner was independent, which Schulman loved—no board to answer to. He scrapped some of Wessels’ ideas and focused on breaking bands like Coal Chamber and Fear Factory, both signed by Monte Conner.

Then he saw Slipknot live and knew they would be massive.

He also signed Nickelback. Their first album (with Roadrunner) featuring “Leader of Men”, got some airplay, but when “Silver Side Up” dropped, Schulman immediately recognized its potential. The moment he heard “How You Remind Me”, he knew it would be huge.

Roadrunner was suddenly rolling in cash. Wessels wanted another “Silver Side Up”, but Schulman knew those albums don’t appear every six months, more like every 5 to 10 years.

Lefsetz asked why Nickelback gets so much hate. Schulman believes they’re a guilty pleasure, many people who claim to hate them secretly enjoy their music.

Finally, Schulman pointed out that while the industry panicked over piracy during Napster, hip-hop thrived by giving music away for free.

When streaming took over, hip-hop was already dominant—and it still is.

If you like your hard rock and metal history, then Derek Schulman is an unsung hero and this podcast is one to listen to.

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Copyright, Derivative Works, Music, My Stories, Piracy, Stupidity

Four For Friday

When I started these weekly posts it was a means to keep me blogging during a hectic schedule.

And there was no definitive structure as to what I would cover. But I can see that Cooyright issues keep appearing.

And here is another week devoted to that beautiful term. Copyright. Which was designed to give the creator a limited monopoly on their works so they could create more works.

LETS GET IT OVER WITH

Ed Sheeran can’t get a break. Last week, the case against him from the daughter of Ed Townsend was dropped.

But this week, an organization called “Structured Asset Sales”, (SAS) have started their own litigation.

They control a different one-third stake in Townsend’s copyrights. They “own” the basic notation (musical score) filed at the Copyrights Office decades ago.

When the original case was happening, (SAS) was also a part of it, seeking a “monopoly over a basic musical building block.”

Their case was also thrown out.

But they are appealing their part. Because hey, they created nothing and believe they should be paid for creating nothing. And they want a monopoly on a feel and style.

A big reason why Copyright had expiry terms initially was to stop all this crap. Politicians had a foresight back in the early 1900s to see this coming.

And that changed in the 60s when the labels and book publishers started to amass intellectual property and then started to lobby politicians to change laws and bring in new laws to give these corporations a monopoly on the works.

It’s funny now, how the labels are also getting sued from the very laws they sponsored to benefit them.

124 WEEKS

In April 2021, UFC fighter Jake Paul knocked out Ben Askren in less than two minutes.

Soon after, the popular H3 Podcast on YouTube commented on the fight and showed a clip of the fight.

Event promotor Triller wasn’t happy and issued a copyright infringement lawsuit demanding $50 million in damages.

H3 opted for a fair use defense.

The case is now in its 124th week.

The clip of the fight was 119 seconds long.

Who are the real winners here?

URUGUAY

The Uruguayan Government has a bill in motion which would allow artists to go direct to internet platforms like Spotify and social media sites like Facebook for compensation.

Spotify would still need to pay the existing licensing agreements and if this bill goes ahead could be forced to pay again to the artists direct.

I’m all for artists getting paid but the problem lays with the entities who hold the rights to the songs. They get the majority of the streaming pool and they don’t distribute it back to the artists.

This is a perfect example.

Spotify still needs to honor the licensing agreements with the labels and publishers so these organizations will receive their cut.

And if they are aware of the artist going direct, I am sure that some creative accounting will take place to hold back any payments to the artists.

Anyway. Spotify isn’t happy with the bill and unless it’s changed they will pull out of Uruguay.

As a byproduct, the local music industry which has been growing 20% from streaming revenue will have this source of income come to zero.

ALBERT NAMATJIRA

Albert Namatjira died in 1959. He was an Aboriginal artist, painting the Australian landscapes in watercolors.

The copyright in his art is due to expire in 2029, 70 years after his death.

This means the works will be part of the public domain and anyone can use them in their works moving forward.

But lawyers for the family are arguing that Copyright should last in perpetuity. Forever. Never expire.

And they are pissed.

The issue here is that the family were getting royalties for his art up until 1983. At that point in time, the government trust that administered the rights sold them to a private organization and the royalties ceased.

It took the family 34 years to get the rights back in 2017, with the proviso they need to relinquish them again in 2029.

Furthermore in the last 5 years, Namatjira’s art has exploded in popularity and has become a valuable intellectual property.

But Copyright was never meant to be a reversionary pension fund.

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