CLASSIC ALBUMS
TO HELL WITH THE DEVIL
BY STRYPER
TO HELL WITH THE DEVIL
BY STRYPER
“Speak of the devil”, announce Stryper on the title track of their
1986 opus To Hell With The Devil, “He’s no friend of mine!”
Not only this, but “To turn from him is what we have in mind.”
No offence to Stryper, I mean, shit, man, it’s a kinda easy target
and all that, but I’m not that sure that Lucifer will be all too
bothered. I think that if they really wanted to put the shits up
the old bastard, then maybe those sentiments should have been
altered along the lines of, say, “Hey, The Devil, how about we
hang out at your place this weekend and maybe play some tunes to
all your friends?”
I reckon that right there would be all a fella would need to make
Satan think twice the next time he feels like, I dunno, swallowing
a soul or two, or inventing Joel Schumacher.
Then again, man, To Hell With The Devil went platinum, for fucks
sakes, so obviously somebody was buying it. Whoever it was,
though, I sure as hell ain’t ever met them. Anytime I bring the
topic up, folks just look at me like I had a dick up my nose or
someshit.
To Hell With The Devil, y’see, ain’t ever going to be the coolest
record to have in a fella’s record collection. Even though they
had the whole yellow and black ensemble going on, even though they
had mullets and mascara and everything, even that don’t raise the
credibility a solitary motherfucking notch.
However, I would go so far as to say that the whole melding of the
hymns and the “ROCK” as evidenced in the work of these sons a
bitches, I’d say it’s worth an accolade or two.
Who in this day and age would have the balls required to slap a
thrash riff around the kinds a stuff you wouldn’t even hear in a
Presbyterian church on account of it sounds a bit “Christian”?
Who, motherfucker? Hardly anyone, is what I would guess.
Also, if the listener is prepared to utilise the old imagination
and all, there’s some mighty swell narrative developments going on
here;
Sometimes, for example, To Hell With The Devil plays like one of
those Nick Hornby novels about a fella fancies this lass but
doesn't know were he stands and then there’s all sorts of
hilarious and poignant episodes. Calling On You, for instance, is
the kinda song you write after you go with this really cool person
at a club or something, but you’re not that sure if they’re
interested, and you keep ringing this number they gave but, as
time goes on, you get the notion that the number was nothing but a
bare-faced motherfucking lie.
“I’m calling on you”, he hollers, again and again and again.
“Calling on you”. Then some more stuff about “I’m calling on you!”.
I mean, I don’t mean to be a fuck or nothing, but if you’re
calling so often and at that damn volume, I think there’s
something up if they don’t hear you, man. Like, one time I went
with this girl, and I stood outside out her window the next night
and sung one of those songs off of Green Day’s first record about
how much I love you, for Gods sakes. She tried the old "I can't
hear you" routine, but I know she heard, man, since not only did
the curtains pull back at least three times, but also the police
arrived shortly thereafter. I’m guessing that these Stryper cats
are gonna be getting a visit from the PD sometime soon.
By the fifth track, Honestly, the tactics have shifted somewhat.
Now, he says, well, shucks, man, I’ll leave a message and you can
call me if you want, or don’t call me if you want, it’s cool.
“Call me and I’ll be there for you”, he sighs.
In Rockin’ The World, he says about “We don’t want to push you”,
and The Duke felt a bit sorry for him, is the fact of the matter.
Of course, that shit only works if you indeed adopt the whole
Romantic Comedy approach. If you take it as intended, ie, it’s all
about Jesus, then obviously it’s nowhere near as tear-jerking.
It’s easy to make fun of these people, let’s not beat around the
motherfucking hedge. In all honesty, though, The Duke feels that,
maybe, these fellas deserve a little bit more than a giggle and a
pointed finger. In an industry geared constantly towards the hip,
the fashionable, the marketable, it takes some serious balls for a
commercial rock-band to have a song yack on about “Anyone who asks
will receive Jesus in your heart.”
OK, it’s grammatically lacking, but still, man. Balls, is what
that kinda stuff takes.
The ironic thing is, guessing from the pitches of those voices,
I'd say no-one in Stryper has been in possession of a testicle
since they were 11 years old.
And you wanna know something truly fucking jaw-slapping? Lined up
against, say, Girls Girls Girls by Motley Crue, this thing shines
like a military cadet’s freshly buffed footwear.
Admittedly, though, the whole “Christian message in Secular
package” gets a bit confused now and again. Whoever they were
thinking about when they wrote the lyrics - “Then you came to me /
shining as the morning sun / you gave your love to me / and I knew
you were the one” – I don’t think they had a beard, to be honest.
It’s like in that South Park episode where Cartman forms a
Christian rock band and just changes the lyrics to love songs so
as they’re about Jesus.
Other times, the focus is reigned in tight as the trousers, is
what. “We are here to rock you”, they announce, “And to say To
Hell With The Devil!”
Yeah, it’s as cheesy as the moon used be by all accounts, but give
the motherfuckers some credit, would you ever? This is no more
embarrassing than most other cock-rock pish you might find
scurrying from the gutters of the 1980’s.
You do have to wonder what the fella himself thinks of it all,
though. I’m sure he’s flattered as all hell, but at the same time,
you get the feeling he’d kill for a Hot In Herre.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line Via Electronical Email
1986 opus To Hell With The Devil, “He’s no friend of mine!”
Not only this, but “To turn from him is what we have in mind.”
No offence to Stryper, I mean, shit, man, it’s a kinda easy target
and all that, but I’m not that sure that Lucifer will be all too
bothered. I think that if they really wanted to put the shits up
the old bastard, then maybe those sentiments should have been
altered along the lines of, say, “Hey, The Devil, how about we
hang out at your place this weekend and maybe play some tunes to
all your friends?”
I reckon that right there would be all a fella would need to make
Satan think twice the next time he feels like, I dunno, swallowing
a soul or two, or inventing Joel Schumacher.
Then again, man, To Hell With The Devil went platinum, for fucks
sakes, so obviously somebody was buying it. Whoever it was,
though, I sure as hell ain’t ever met them. Anytime I bring the
topic up, folks just look at me like I had a dick up my nose or
someshit.
To Hell With The Devil, y’see, ain’t ever going to be the coolest
record to have in a fella’s record collection. Even though they
had the whole yellow and black ensemble going on, even though they
had mullets and mascara and everything, even that don’t raise the
credibility a solitary motherfucking notch.
However, I would go so far as to say that the whole melding of the
hymns and the “ROCK” as evidenced in the work of these sons a
bitches, I’d say it’s worth an accolade or two.
Who in this day and age would have the balls required to slap a
thrash riff around the kinds a stuff you wouldn’t even hear in a
Presbyterian church on account of it sounds a bit “Christian”?
Who, motherfucker? Hardly anyone, is what I would guess.
Also, if the listener is prepared to utilise the old imagination
and all, there’s some mighty swell narrative developments going on
here;
Sometimes, for example, To Hell With The Devil plays like one of
those Nick Hornby novels about a fella fancies this lass but
doesn't know were he stands and then there’s all sorts of
hilarious and poignant episodes. Calling On You, for instance, is
the kinda song you write after you go with this really cool person
at a club or something, but you’re not that sure if they’re
interested, and you keep ringing this number they gave but, as
time goes on, you get the notion that the number was nothing but a
bare-faced motherfucking lie.
“I’m calling on you”, he hollers, again and again and again.
“Calling on you”. Then some more stuff about “I’m calling on you!”.
I mean, I don’t mean to be a fuck or nothing, but if you’re
calling so often and at that damn volume, I think there’s
something up if they don’t hear you, man. Like, one time I went
with this girl, and I stood outside out her window the next night
and sung one of those songs off of Green Day’s first record about
how much I love you, for Gods sakes. She tried the old "I can't
hear you" routine, but I know she heard, man, since not only did
the curtains pull back at least three times, but also the police
arrived shortly thereafter. I’m guessing that these Stryper cats
are gonna be getting a visit from the PD sometime soon.
By the fifth track, Honestly, the tactics have shifted somewhat.
Now, he says, well, shucks, man, I’ll leave a message and you can
call me if you want, or don’t call me if you want, it’s cool.
“Call me and I’ll be there for you”, he sighs.
In Rockin’ The World, he says about “We don’t want to push you”,
and The Duke felt a bit sorry for him, is the fact of the matter.
Of course, that shit only works if you indeed adopt the whole
Romantic Comedy approach. If you take it as intended, ie, it’s all
about Jesus, then obviously it’s nowhere near as tear-jerking.
It’s easy to make fun of these people, let’s not beat around the
motherfucking hedge. In all honesty, though, The Duke feels that,
maybe, these fellas deserve a little bit more than a giggle and a
pointed finger. In an industry geared constantly towards the hip,
the fashionable, the marketable, it takes some serious balls for a
commercial rock-band to have a song yack on about “Anyone who asks
will receive Jesus in your heart.”
OK, it’s grammatically lacking, but still, man. Balls, is what
that kinda stuff takes.
The ironic thing is, guessing from the pitches of those voices,
I'd say no-one in Stryper has been in possession of a testicle
since they were 11 years old.
And you wanna know something truly fucking jaw-slapping? Lined up
against, say, Girls Girls Girls by Motley Crue, this thing shines
like a military cadet’s freshly buffed footwear.
Admittedly, though, the whole “Christian message in Secular
package” gets a bit confused now and again. Whoever they were
thinking about when they wrote the lyrics - “Then you came to me /
shining as the morning sun / you gave your love to me / and I knew
you were the one” – I don’t think they had a beard, to be honest.
It’s like in that South Park episode where Cartman forms a
Christian rock band and just changes the lyrics to love songs so
as they’re about Jesus.
Other times, the focus is reigned in tight as the trousers, is
what. “We are here to rock you”, they announce, “And to say To
Hell With The Devil!”
Yeah, it’s as cheesy as the moon used be by all accounts, but give
the motherfuckers some credit, would you ever? This is no more
embarrassing than most other cock-rock pish you might find
scurrying from the gutters of the 1980’s.
You do have to wonder what the fella himself thinks of it all,
though. I’m sure he’s flattered as all hell, but at the same time,
you get the feeling he’d kill for a Hot In Herre.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line Via Electronical Email
