A dumb band did a smart thing: It mixed its old hits to sound new.
If you slobbered over Whitesnake's '80s popmetal hairband sound, in all its blurry pomp, the remix will not come as good news. But suck it -- you already had eight Best Of compilations and five boxed sets to choose from. Now the rest of us get to discover what a really skilled blues-rock ensemble sounded like without the 10 layers of chiffon imparted by the oh-so-novel digital reverb of the Spandex Era. And the songs feature minor augmentations, to show that somebody cares.
Whitesnake just issued "The Blues Album," the third in the Rhino remix series that began last year with "The Rock Album" and "Love Songs." Being real men, we at MetalJazz reclined on our divan one afternoon to audit all 45 songs in the same manner we preferred in the glory years when Whitesnake and Reagan ruled: with a bag of chips, a cooler of Corona, a bottle of cheap tequila, and medicinal augmentation. Loud.
Some notes.
* * *
* David Coverdale's balls. Idiotic lyrics declaring he's gonna take it any-old-how and demanding all her love tonight and insisting that she can't stop now and she better lay down her love . . . well, they now sound like overcompensation for the visual and sonic emasculation the singer was suffering in the late '80s. Listen to today's cleaner reproduction of his bellowing lungs and drooling whispers, and Coverdale's still the same horny farm boy from mid-'70s Deep Purple.
* The drums. No more straining to discern the hefty snap of Aynsley Dunbar or Tommy Aldridge; they're right in your face like, uh . . .
* Led Zeppelin. From "Still of the Night" to "Judgment Day" to "Crying in the Rain" and many more examples, it was always obvious why Robert Plant bestowed the nickname "David Coverversion." But hey, Zep were on virtually permanent hiatus, so why shouldn't Whitesnake steal from the best? It was like an audition, and the fact that Jimmy Page partnered with Coverdale for a 1993 album should have been imprimatur enough. Nobody complains when Glenn Hughes steals from Zeppelin, and he does it all the time.
* Glenn Hughes. Coverdale imitates his old bandmate's vocal mannerisms so frequently that they almost seem like the same guy, whereas when they were both in Deep Purple, the whole point was the contrast.
* The music. Despite the overweening appropriateness of titles such as "Always the Same" and "Here I Go Again," Whitesnake's blunt-force formula sometimes gets bent with supple heavy dynamics ("Good To Be Bad"), a sharply synchronized rhythm intro ("Whipping Boy Blues"), slippery synth & slide ("Slow and Easy"), creditable funk ("Love Will Set You Free") or '50s waltz ("With All of My Heart"). Some of the best songs, which also serve as models for the remixes, include more recent stuff such as "Forevermore" and "Can You Hear the Wind Blow."
The guitarists. John Sykes, Doug Aldrich, Reb Beach, Steve Vai . . . Y'know, gods.
* Brain cells. Is it the new mix, or has enough gray matter swirled down the sewer that Whitesnake can now claim respect? Well, Scott Foundas, former film editor at L.A. Weekly, is on record as a Whitesnake admirer, and there is no greater nerd than the perceptive Mr. F. Other nonmix possibilities for Whitesnake redemption: alien tapeworms taking over our bodies; personality changes brought on by Covid vaccine; dependence on anti-spasmodic medication.
Pain. Yes, halfway through the four hours, the heavily compressed mastering did instigate skull fever. But that's what we get for listening to the mp3s instead of the LPs, which are reputed to possess more headroom.
Questions remain. Why, as Dave VH wonders, is MetalJazz so obsessed with rock stars' dental work and plastic surgeries? Why do we fail to filter out the godawful lyrics? Will Coverdale ever reunite with Ritchie Blackmore? What is a whitesnake? (Trying to suppress.)
* And again: the remixing. If only Van Halen would do the same.