Scorpions: Savage Amusement (Or Let's Fuck)
Admittedly, I'm not the biggest Scorpions fan there is, especially when compared to the denizens of various Eastern European countries, I've got a small space in my black heart where they live and breathe. In my youth, I remember hearing "Rock You Like a Hurricane" on the rock radio my dad always used to listen to, and of course "Wind of Change" juxtaposed over images of the Berlin Wall coming down. Still, they didn't really appeal to me; their cheesy sexual innuendos, delivered in slightly less than perfect English by a Black Forest dwarf seemed ridiculous, in that creepy German way that gave us the Church of Fudge and other classics of the scheiße genre. I associated sexy girls with Guns N' Roses' "November Rain," and fun with Megadeth and Metallica. Then, when some of my favourite guitarists cited Michael Schenker and Uli Jon Roth as major influences, I thought that I should give the Scorpions a try. I was pleasantly surprised to find a discography filled with bitchin' riffs.
The real kicker came in April my sophomore year, when I lost my virginity to my Swedish girlfriend. I had incidentally purchased their best hits compilation Deadly Sting: the Mercury Years around that time, which became the soundtrack to my adventures in poontang. Afterall, I couldn't blast Prodigy or Slayer to keep the delicate sounds of muffslamming reaching the tender ears of my younger siblings, for they were too hard for the Swedish girl. And besides, girls shouldn't like Prodigy or Slayer, anyway. Not girfriend material ones, at least, and I stand by my convictions to this day.
Anyway, the Scorpions are, in my humble opinion, the consistently best band to fuck to. Why? Well, in a nutshell, you've got those lyrics that are subtle about sex, like an elephant trying to sneak through a small, cramped china shop. The rhthym section is always tight, and never too fast to pace your thrusting, and never too heavy to scare your girlfriend. They also throw in the obligatory power ballad, which is effective, and shows your lady that you're in touch with your phantom vagina (very important when you ask for a blowjob or sandwich later on).
This album is the best of the best for copulation. It also came out in the latter half of the 80's, when every hard rock/heavy metal band was softening up their sound and adding in space age technology. Savage Amusement clearly lacks the perfect balance of bite and commercialism of its predecessor, Love at First Sting, and is sorely devoid of the originality of their 70's output, foresaking it in favour of blatant radio rock whoredom. But just as with Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and ZZ Top, you can forgive this, as the album still comes across now as an anomaly, not a harbringer of doom. A quirky experiment that didn't quite work.
Ah, but it does work! For my purposes at least. (If you don't think so, shift your paradigm or fuck off.) It's also just over 37 minutes long, which should be about the bare minimum if you're serious about coitus. The ups and downs in tempo work perfectly as well, guiding you in what you should be doing and when you should be doing it.
Anyway, this album kicks off with the driving "Don't Stop at the Top," with the Scorpions' insidious guitar licks digging into your brain. This is about as heavy as it gets. I remember one of those bright spring days, hammering away in doggie style, transfixed by the silhouette projected on my bedroom wall, and how it moved like an adult version of hand puppets. This song was playing, and though I was tired, at Klaus Meine's urgings, I didn't stop at the top. I kept fucking going. That is until my parents came home. Those sneaky parental units scared the Swedish and me so bad that we stopped, waited anxiously by the door of my bedroom. Then my mom shouted from the front door, "you guys can continue now." The effect was so jarring that we gave up. I went downstairs and prepared a pot of instant pasta, my animal urges shifted towards nourisment rather than reproduction.
Sorry, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, "Rhtyhm of Love" comes up next, a lower key, pseudo-ballad with a sexy, bluesy melody, and down and dirty power chords to remind you what the song is all about. I'm sure you couldn't figure it out from it's name, though. This makes you want to go deeper and slower than before. "Passion Rules the Game" follows it, kicking up the BPM just enough, into midpaced territory. Like the first two songs, it's got excellent lead work, courtesy of Matthias Jabs.
"Media Overkill" is a dirty song if I've ever heard it. Sure, the lyrics are not really what you'd want, but with that talkbox guitar speaking to you like some primal version of dubstep alien transmissions from the 80's, and a grimy main riff, it will inspire you in your quest. Hammer away.
"Walking of the Edge" is the first obligatory ballad, and a good place to rest. Perhaps a little 69 would come in handy, as it did for me all those years ago, or some straight up muff diving. Either way, you desvere a break, but you want to keep that kitty purring. I would also suggest slow shagging during the chorus. If you've got the LP, saunter down to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee or can of Red Bull, and leave that fucker by the bed...you'll need it in a few minutes.
The next two songs are pretty forgettable in the canon of Scorpions hymns, "We Let it Rock...You Let it Roll" and "Every Minute, Every Day" are in vein of the first tracks of side one, just without the character and hooks. They help you get back in the midpaced rocking and establish a firm groove as your member fills her groove. At the conclusion of "Every Minute, Every Day," down your procured beverage, if it in fact be at hand, because we're going to hit ludicrious speed, Scorpions style.
"Love on the Run" would, on any Scorpions album, be absolute filler. Germans can do speed metal, but only if they're about 15 years younger than the Scorps. However, by following my prescribed mode d'emploi, the function of "Love on the Run" is revealed. This is the final sprint to the finish line, to give your lady that viscious pounding for which she longs. Although the riffs may be weak, keeping up with that drum beat will give you a real workout.
You should blow your load at the conclusion of "Love on the Run," or upon the opening of "Believe In Love," the second, and arguably stronger of the ballads. Whether you choose to slow fuck it out or just enjoy a post coital joint, "Believe in Love" is the inevitable and glorious conclusion to a perfect session of sex and music.
Those who view Savage Amusement as simply an album are fools of the highest degree, like Brazilian scrap metal merchants using highly radioactive dust from a radiotherepy machine as face paint, or hippies using an Aztec doomsday calander as a coffee table. They cannot possibly appreciate it for its true purpose, which is without question as a traditional German tool for procreation. When we consider that the core members of the Scorpions were born shortly after the war, it's entirely possible that they were conceived as part of some wartime experiement to propogate the German people. Luckily, they are now a tool for the entire world to enjoy. I swear, if Vladimir Putin would declare love for the Scorpions in general, and Savage Amusement in particular, Siberian bumpkins would buy this album en masse and Russia's dwindling population problems would vanish overnight.
