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Authors: Mick Foley
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an earlier book, my definition of eclectic is many people’s definition of rotten, and as a result, word spread among my fellow wrestler that the hardcore legend has the worst musical taste in the business.
Fortunately, little Mickey, now five, disagrees. He likes his dad’s music just fine, but he can be just a little on the compulsive side when he finds a tune he truly loves. So over the course of the last few years, Foley family vacations have tended to become dominated by one particular song played continuously for days on end. Hershey, Pennsylvania, 2004 was the “We Will Rock You” vacation. Santa’s Village 2005 was Tom T. Hall’s “Sneaky Snake” and “Everybody Loves to Hear a Bird Sing.” But for everyday usage, for sheer frequency over an extended time, nothing could come close to AC/DC’s “Stiff Upper Lip.” Until, of course, the little guy happened to hear “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” and his dad made the decision to put the Stay Hungry CD into the car stereo, a place it would remain without pause for several months.
I’ll get to Twisted Sister in a few moments, but for now, let’s get back to “Stiff Upper Lip.” Sure, it was a good song, maybe even great. Rugged Angus Young guitar riff, typical over-the-top Brian Johnson braggadocio on the mike. But come on, hundreds of plays over the course of the years? “Play it again, Dad.” Over and over? It just lacked that certain something that turns a great song into a classic. It wasn’t the top-down, feel-good adrenaline rush of “You Shook Me All Night Long” or the spine-tingling slow build of “Hells Bells.” Although I guess I should count my blessings—at least my little guy wasn’t happily crooning along to “Big Balls” or “Given the Dog a Bone.”
Hey, I just ran to my stereo to find that the Back in Black album was actually still on the turntable, a part of a failed experiment in my WrestleMania conditioning program, where I came to realize that no music, no matter how cool or how loud, was going to disguise the fact that the Foley knees just can’t tolerate Hindu squats anymore.
But, hell, it will make for great writing music. So last night it was Tschaikovsky, tonight Angus Young. How’s that for versatility?
Come to think of it, Angus was the main reason I wanted to TiVo AC/ DC’s performance on the 2000 Saturday Night Live hosted by The Rock. Sure, it was the show that helped launch The Rock into the stratosphere, but for me, it seemed like my only chance to capture “Stiff Upper Lip” live, thereby showing little Mick and new “Lip” fan Hughie what true Angus rock-and-roll faces look like. Sure, the image of a fifty-year-old man dressed in a schoolboy outfit might be a little frightening, but not necessarily any more so than the sight of Don Zimmer in a spandex baseball outfit. Or his dad (Hughie’s dad, not Zimmer’s) in tights and brown leather mask, for that matter.
I entered AC/DC into my TiVo wish list about a month ago, a move that was bearing no musical fruit until one fateful day, when the 2000 Saturday Night Live popped up under “Upcoming Programs.” I hit record and waited for May 3, the scheduled air date, to arrive.
I watched the show this morning with my children, and found it did more than live up to my fond remembrance of it. The Rock was spectacular, and very much deserving of the attention Hollywood lavished on him as a result of it. Cheri Oteri was every bit as beautiful as I remembered her, and seeing her made me think back to how nice I was to her nephew, so that Cheri would think I was cool.
As for AC/DC—they rocked. Little Mick seemed transfixed by the classic Angus mannerisms, and Hughie happily belted out the same few words over and over. “Stiff lip, stiff lip, oh stiff lip, oh stiff lip.” Granted, the lyrics in their entirety are not likely to be confused with Bob Dylan’s best from the sixties, but come on, a song with only three words in it would be a little
Fortunately, little Mickey, now five, disagrees. He likes his dad’s music just fine, but he can be just a little on the compulsive side when he finds a tune he truly loves. So over the course of the last few years, Foley family vacations have tended to become dominated by one particular song played continuously for days on end. Hershey, Pennsylvania, 2004 was the “We Will Rock You” vacation. Santa’s Village 2005 was Tom T. Hall’s “Sneaky Snake” and “Everybody Loves to Hear a Bird Sing.” But for everyday usage, for sheer frequency over an extended time, nothing could come close to AC/DC’s “Stiff Upper Lip.” Until, of course, the little guy happened to hear “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” and his dad made the decision to put the Stay Hungry CD into the car stereo, a place it would remain without pause for several months.
I’ll get to Twisted Sister in a few moments, but for now, let’s get back to “Stiff Upper Lip.” Sure, it was a good song, maybe even great. Rugged Angus Young guitar riff, typical over-the-top Brian Johnson braggadocio on the mike. But come on, hundreds of plays over the course of the years? “Play it again, Dad.” Over and over? It just lacked that certain something that turns a great song into a classic. It wasn’t the top-down, feel-good adrenaline rush of “You Shook Me All Night Long” or the spine-tingling slow build of “Hells Bells.” Although I guess I should count my blessings—at least my little guy wasn’t happily crooning along to “Big Balls” or “Given the Dog a Bone.”
Hey, I just ran to my stereo to find that the Back in Black album was actually still on the turntable, a part of a failed experiment in my WrestleMania conditioning program, where I came to realize that no music, no matter how cool or how loud, was going to disguise the fact that the Foley knees just can’t tolerate Hindu squats anymore.
But, hell, it will make for great writing music. So last night it was Tschaikovsky, tonight Angus Young. How’s that for versatility?
Come to think of it, Angus was the main reason I wanted to TiVo AC/ DC’s performance on the 2000 Saturday Night Live hosted by The Rock. Sure, it was the show that helped launch The Rock into the stratosphere, but for me, it seemed like my only chance to capture “Stiff Upper Lip” live, thereby showing little Mick and new “Lip” fan Hughie what true Angus rock-and-roll faces look like. Sure, the image of a fifty-year-old man dressed in a schoolboy outfit might be a little frightening, but not necessarily any more so than the sight of Don Zimmer in a spandex baseball outfit. Or his dad (Hughie’s dad, not Zimmer’s) in tights and brown leather mask, for that matter.
I entered AC/DC into my TiVo wish list about a month ago, a move that was bearing no musical fruit until one fateful day, when the 2000 Saturday Night Live popped up under “Upcoming Programs.” I hit record and waited for May 3, the scheduled air date, to arrive.
I watched the show this morning with my children, and found it did more than live up to my fond remembrance of it. The Rock was spectacular, and very much deserving of the attention Hollywood lavished on him as a result of it. Cheri Oteri was every bit as beautiful as I remembered her, and seeing her made me think back to how nice I was to her nephew, so that Cheri would think I was cool.
As for AC/DC—they rocked. Little Mick seemed transfixed by the classic Angus mannerisms, and Hughie happily belted out the same few words over and over. “Stiff lip, stiff lip, oh stiff lip, oh stiff lip.” Granted, the lyrics in their entirety are not likely to be confused with Bob Dylan’s best from the sixties, but come on, a song with only three words in it would be a little
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