The 69 Eyes, Angels

“Helsinki Vampires are ready to take over the world with a sleazy blend of post- apocalyptic rock’n’roll … and they’re out for YOUR blood, baby.” Such is the claim found on the website for Helsinki’s gothic glam-metal supergroup The 69 Eyes.

On first listen, I hated this record. I’m not talking overzealous, “not my cup of tea”-type hatred. I’m talking the sonic equivalent of spitting out the piece of dog shit you accidentally mistook for a candy bar kind of hatred. Still, to give you, the good readers of Space City Rock, a fair shake, I gave it another listen. Make that 300 more listens. I loaded the whole album on my iPod and listened to it, exclusively, for over a month. If I was intentionally listening to music, it was Angels.

After subjecting myself to The 69 Eyes’ influence for that long, I’m not entirely ready to dismiss the band’s claims of vampirism. Much like the way the hypnotic hematophages of the silver screen incapacitate their victims, the damn thing drew me in; despite the fact that my rational brain knew if for the evil it is, I was powerless to resist. Maybe it’s the seductive crooning of Jyrki 69’s Alan Vega rip-off vocals; maybe there are sub-vocalized Wiccan enchantments running throughout; or maybe it’s that the record is, aside from its many faults, really damned catchy — sometimes.

The overwhelming impression I get from this disc, the one I just can’t shake, is how well these songs would fit on the soundtrack to some cheesy 1980s horror film. It seemed very appropriate to find that movies like 1987’s The Lost Boys are some of the band’s major influences. It’s not just that the songs have an ’80s goth feel to them; I actually see credits rolling in my mind’s eye while listening to Angels. If you listen to the record in the same way you might watch a movie like The Lost Boys: there is definitely some fun to be had; it’s just dumb fun, that’s all.

The titular opener kicks things off with a driving beat and Iron Maiden-style organ. Jyrki 69’s affected crooning plays amusingly against lyrics like “Angels, flying over the land of blood / Angels, warriors that heaven forgot.” The production here is Hollywood-slick, as it is throughout the rest of these dozen songs. It comes as no surprise that the last few 69 Eyes records have been produced by Johnny Lee Michaels, a Finnish filmmaker and composer of soundtracks.

“Rocker,” the idiotic power-punch of the set, finds the band at the height of their riffing prowess, centered on two premises. The first is a marginally interesting guitar hook. The second is a riff on the classic “deal with the devil” motif, declaring “I made a deal with the devil that I can’t change.” The chorus shoves your nose in the stupidity of it all: “I’m a rocker, yeah / Baby, I’m a rocker, that’s right / I’m a rocker, yeah / A god-damn rocker, that’s right.”

“Ghost” is a strange mix of influences. The keyboards would feel at home on David Bowie’s Labyrinth soundtrack, but the guitars are begging to be mixed into a crappy rap-metal album. There’s even a moment of almost orchestral metal, a frantic interplay of strings and guitar. The whole thing reminds me of Darling Violetta’s theme song for the late TV series, Angel, especially the melancholy strings that close the track.

“Perfect Skin,” the first single from Angels, has widely touted as a clever, scathing indictment of modern society’s disturbing preoccupation with physical perfection. I’m not sure I’d go that far. For the most part, it comes off more like a Guns ‘N Roses-style power ballad, filled with grit and lust. The only social indictment comes in the chorus, with its background-vocal admonition of “first sin,” and a litany of female sex-object icons rattled off at the end. Even then, the impression left is one of frustrated desire, not disapproval.

While I haven’t come completely full circle about this record (the acrid taste of dog shit hasn’t returned, thankfully), I have managed to break free of its hold, mostly. I don’t think Angels is going to make it into my regular rotation, but if a song or two turn up when I dance the iPod shuffle, I don’t necessarily know that I’d skip them — at least not every time. The mix of Bowie-esque glam, Bauhaus goth, and Guns ‘N Roses rock bombast is not without its place.