Before there was Joan Jett, there was Suzi Quatro, the ballsy Detroit kid who moved to England, hooked up with impresario Mickie Most and the legendary songwriting team of Mike Chapman and Nicky Chinn, and crashed the all-boys Glam Party in full leather regalia, winning the hearts and minds of kids, primarily of the English and Australian persuasion, while she was at it. Quatro was a glitter queen and proto-punk all in one, to say nothing about being a precursor to The Runaways, and she scored a series of big hits in her adopted country, even if she never quite caught on here.
She was always her own woman; as she explained later, she spurned Elektra Records, who wanted to make her the new Janis Joplin, while hitching her star to Mickie Most, who “offered to take me to England and make me the first Suzi Quatro—I didn’t want to be the new anybody.” She added that if Most had “tried to make me into a Lulu, I wouldn’t have it. I’d say, ‘Go to hell’ and walk out.” That said, she wasn’t completely her own woman, being as she was part of the Chapman-Chinn songwriting monolith, although not to the extent of, say, Sweet; on her self-titled 1973 debut on RAK Records, only 3 of the 12 songs are Chapman-Chinn contributions. The rest are oldies or compositions by Quatro and her guitarist, Len Tuckey.
Chapman and Chinn more or less dominated the pre-pubescent wing of the Glam Movement, and it’s obvious why when you hear Quatro’s opening tune, “48 Crash.” Cool percussion, a great climbing riff—this one is simple as ABC but as catchy as a Venus flytrap, and the perfect song (as were most of their compositions) to sing along with. Meanwhile Quatro sings like a punk while bashing away at the bass, the backing vocalists repeat the title, and Tuckey plays some more than respectable guitar. And there’s no beating the great scream Quatro lets out in the middle of the song. Meanwhile, Quatro and Tuckey’s “Glycerine Queen” demonstrates that they were quick learners, not that the Chapman-Chinn formula was exactly rock science. Still, this one is stripped to the basics, rocks hard, and boasts a riff that brings to mind T. Rex. Once again the guys in the band repeat the title in the chorus, and if the teen in you doesn’t respond to this one, you’re not as glamtastic as you think you are.
“Shine My Machine” boasts an infectious beat and lots of cool guitar by Tuckey, to say nothing of some great keyboard work by Alastair McKenzie. Indeed, the two duel it out, and come to a tie, while Quatro, singing about her original home of Detroit, sings, “You can’t knock a rocker for rockin’/It’s what keeps this city alive.” Why, this is one of the coolest examples of rock’n’roll civic pride ever recorded, with Quatro singing, “Down in Motor City where I come from/People like their music loud.” Amen. Meanwhile, “Official Suburban Superman” features yet another great hook, lots of funky organ by McKenzie, and some inscrutable lyrics by Quatro, who partly talks the lyrics cuz she feels like it, and if you don’t like it fuck you. This one bears no resemblance to a Chapman-Chinn composition, and proves that as songwriters Quatro and Tuckey weren’t simply aping their handlers.
Quatro’s take on The Beatles’ “I Wanna Be Your Man” rocks out in a tough, stop-start motion, and it works thanks to Tuckey’s balls-to-the-wall guitar solo, a nice bass riff by Quatro, and her tough vocals. I love the way she neglects to change the tune’s gender just as much as I love the song’s wild ending, and I for one am of the opinion that on this one, Quatro beats the Fab Four at their own game. As for Chapman-Chinn’s “Primitive Love,” it features lots of pounding native drum bash by Dave Neal, one big-ass guitar riff, and some cool whispered vocals by Quatro. It’s pneumatic and guaranteed to give you a case of jungle fever, that is until McKenzie begins to noodle in a jazzy manner on the organ, an instrument that doesn’t really come to mind when I think of art brut.
As for Quatro’s take on “All Shook Up” I find it tepid and half-baked, to say nothing of far too polite for words. McKenzie plays lots of great organ, but Tuckey’s guitar is mostly missing in action, and what you’re left with are a couple of great screams by Quatro and not much else. Bet the kids liked this one, bet Elton John liked it too, but I’m underwhelmed. The same can’t be said for Quatro’s take on Johnny Kidd’s classic “Shakin’ All Over,” on which Tuckey’s guitar is very much present and Quatro goes to town on vocals. Sure, her voice is thin, but she’s got gumption, and Tuckey’s freaked-out guitar solo and accompanying big riffs keep the excitement level up, so that nobody can accuse this one of being too watered down for words.
The Quatro-Tuckey composition “Sticks & Stones” opens with some cool drum shuffle and definitely adheres to the simple and formulaic Chapman-Chinn recipe. But it will draw you in, thanks to one catchy melody and an insidiously infectious chorus that goes, “Sticks and stones will break my bones/But you can’t take my rock’n’roll.” “You’re movin’ way too slow,” sings Quatro to a prospective lover, because she wants what she wants and she wants it now. “Skin Tight Skin” is the odd song out on the LP; a funky percussion-based number, it features Quatro at her most seductive, to say nothing of a song structure that is far more complex than anything else on the album. “People are talking/Don’t you believe it/Don’t you believe it,” sings Quatro, while McKenzie noodles, appropriately in this case, on the electric piano. No, this one is sui generis, an outlier, and a great one to boot. Anyone tempted to write off Quatro as a kiddie-glam artist should check this one out, because it’s as sophisticated as Noel Coward, or at least Bryan Ferry.
Quatro wrote “Get Back Mama” all by her lonesome, and it’s the LP’s weakest track, mainly because it lacks a melody that draws you in while going on for well over a minute longer than any other song on the LP. Plus it boasts a Quatro bass solo that will remind you why the world should not have bass solos. McKenzie and Neal engage in some desultory back and forth, while Quatro keeps repeating, “Get back mama/You’ve been holding me back too long.” Hell, even the big ending is a disappointment. Oh well. Can’t win ‘em all. As for the closer, Chapman and Chinn’s “Can the Can,” it’s pure sugary pre-teen goodness, of the sort that the duo generally sent Sweet’s way. The drum pummel is cool, the guitar riff is basic but effective, and Quatro’s vocals are inspired, and this one is definitely the best of the bunch. McKenzie plays one funky organ, Tuckey plays one brilliantly simple riff, and Quatro sounds so sultry you won’t mind that she wants to put you in a can.
Suzi Quatro was a pioneer, and a confident woman in an industry that was sexist as hell, and you have to admire her for that. But as her debut LP illustrates, she was also a damn good rocker, a leather-clad force of nature who wasn’t at all afraid to mix it up with the boys. Derivative? In part, yes. But that voice, and that up-against-the-wall attitude, were all hers. She was every bit as rock’n’roll as Mick Jagger, and as sexy as Mick Jagger too. She’s still around, of course, so I don’t know why I’m speaking of her in the past tense. All I know is that she helped bring rock out of the stone ages, and that unlike the cartoons, where the cave man was always hitting the cave woman with a club, she was the one holding the club.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
