Louis XIV not bushed yet

By Nate Adams
Collegian Editor
February 20, 2008

Ever since Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil back in the ’30s, rock and roll music has been primarily about sex. If there is a more phallic symbol than the guitar in pop culture, it has to be something so overt that it boarders on vulgarity. Rock bands, everyone from Led Zeppelin to Guns N’ Roses, have used music as a medium to convey hot, dirty physical sex.

Of course, this masochistic sense of hyper-masculinity went flying out the window with the fall of hard rock and the rise of alternative in the early ’90s. Bands like Nirvana, Weezer and Pearl Jam knocked the wind from the sails of alpha-male rockers across the country, paving the way for timid nerd everywhere to do some shredin’.

There are still folks out there, however, who miss the over-sexed days of rock music. People long for big guitar riffs and lyrics about sexy ladies doing sexy things. And while Louis XIV don’t exactly deliver a classic-rock callback on Slick Dogs and Ponies, those looking for a dose of good ol’ fashioned dude rock will be pleased.

Listening to Slick Dogs and Ponies, what stands out the most, is the sleaze. There are ways to make music that is both sexy and subtle, but that is a skill lost on Louis XIV. Each song gets more overt and creepy as the album plays out, eliminating any fun present and bordering on stalker-creepy. Normally, lyrics like “all you wanted was my love in your mouth” would be found on joke tracks, but Louis XIV use this kind of lyrical diarrhea for its A-sides.

It would be funny if the band wasn’t so serious about its machismo. It would be funny if it didn’t sound so desperate and sad.

Still, it’s a little unfair to totally write off Slick Dogs and Ponies. The lyrics are consistently bad, but the music itself is often catchy and even sweet at times. The band is obviously accomplished; the music is tight and together, cranking out chugging classic rock tunes. While it’s not the most original thing on the block, it does sound good. And it’s fun picking out who the group will ape next.

There’s a Neil Young moment, a Queen moment and a whole bunch of Rolling Stones moments. But, for a mediocre band making mediocre music, these sources are as good as any other.

OK, OK, to be fair, there is one legitimately good song on the record. “Air Traffic Control,” is an introspective slow rocker, an anthem for the tuckered and tired out. The lyrical lameness persists here, but the song is saved by how authentic it sounds; it is the only real song on the record.

Slick Dogs and Ponies is by no means the worst album I’ve ever heard. It is the sound of a band who has driven its over-sexed motif into the ground, and is unsure of where to go next; a soundtrack for anyone struggling to find substance after a lifetime of the shallow.

adamsn1@lasalle.edu