I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, but yes, my countdown starts with a tie (because i’m a dirty cheater and needed 11 records in my top 10. Look, i root for the Wisconsin Badgers and they play in the Big Ten, which has 11 teams, so what did you expect?), a tie that includes a pair of records released in the early 80s that also neatly bookend my musical development from age 16 until today.

The first of our two releases is the classic Motley Crue disc, Shout at the Devil. Quit snickering, i’m serious. Look, i know today in the age of the internets even the most backwoods teenager can get ahold of the most avant-garde crap available and develop extensive mp3 collections and a keen sense of music history, but back in 1990, when i was 16 and discovering hair metal, this wasn’t the case. And i’m glad, because if i were a 16-year-old today, i sometimes wonder if i’d enjoy Motley Crue for anything other than the ironic context, and let’s be clear–i enjoy the Crue with no sense of irony whatsoever. (Well, ok, maybe a little bit when it comes to Tommy Lee and his extracurriculars, because damned if he’s not the Michael Kelso of hair metal.)

While i’ll grudgingly agree with anyone who points out that the Crue put out a lot of crap in their day, i challenge anyone to find any of it on Shout at the Devil. Yes, ok, their cover of “Helter Skelter” is on here, but to a 16-year-old hesher in a small Wisconsin town of 1000, that song’s a jam no matter who’s playing it. In any event, this album contains the best of the Crue’s catalogue: “Looks That Kill” is a straight-up rocker, but the best tracks are probably two that were never released as singles–”Bastard” and “Red Hot.” Take it from someone who’s not Chuck Klosterman and thus, not bending over backwards to rationalize a love for something mainstream America now sees as “cheesy” and “lame”–yes, the Crue did a lot of unfortunate things in their time (let’s just not talk about that cover of “Anarchy in the UK,” OK?), but this album was not one of them.

Now, fast forward about, oh, 13-14 years to the 29- or 30-year-old me. Thanks to that intense hair metal period of my teens, i missed out on a ton of real quality seminal punk and alternative music in the 80s while obsessing over bands like Slaughter and the Bulletboys. (Look, just because i still champion the Crue doesn’t mean i don’t know that about 90% of hair metal was complete shit. Hey! Just like indie rock today!) So it took me a long-ass time to finally discover a band that now ranks as one of my favorites from the early post-punk period: The Wipers. They’re still largely ignored by a lot of people (probably because they were largely ignored in their heyday thanks to their then un-happening location of Portland, Oregon), and it’s a shame, because any band responsible for the sound copped by Hot Snakes and many others deserve the love.

Of the three major Wipers albums considered “the good ones” (the others being the first full-length, Is This Real? and 1983’s Over the Edge), Youth of America is my favorite thanks to the epic 10-minute title track, a song that will go down in history in my mind as the most amazing 10-minute punk song ever executed. The song basically cycles through a verse and chorus in standard punk tradition, only to slip into an extended middle section where the rhythm section vamp on one two-note phrase while Greg Sage lays down a combination of guitar solos, and screams and spoken bits that during its entire 5-or-so-minute duration never gets boring. Add in the instantly memorable lead guitar lines at the beginning of the track, along with the palpable tension that builds during the solo and releases brilliantly with an explosion into one of the catchiest post-punk choruses i’ve ever heard, and my mind is instantly blown. I often fantasize about covering this song with my band, but since their contemporaries Mission of Burma already kick the shit out of it live, i think the effort would be futile.

I find it amusing that my musical progression can be bookended by a pair of west coast bands operating in the same time period, but who couldn’t be more different–Motley Crue from the sleaze-filled Sunset Strip, and the no-bullshit Wipers from up nort’ in Oregon. But there it is. And i love them both equally. (Well, maybe i love the Crue a little more.)

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