Steve Perry's Second Banana
Posted: Thu Jun 14, 2007 3:28 amWell, he’s done it once again.
In the early 90’s, his ego damn near pushed Jon Waite to flip his powdered wig, forgo his affected stiff British upper lip and challenge Neal to a 20-pace duel.
Shortly thereafter, he petulantly stomped away from the Gioeli brothers with middle finger extended, and worse yet, their sister clutched kicking and screaming under his ogreish guitar arm.
More recently, as fans shelled out benjamins for the very sort of bad street pantomime you wouldn’t drop a spent prophylactic into an open guitar case to watch, Neal simply looked the other way.
And now, what began as, and was shaping up nicely to be, the most promising era of Journey since Escape, has come to an anticlimactic grinding standstill - so much so in fact, I’m still reeling from the after-effects of whiplash.
To be fair, warning signs loomed.
Ask any long-suffering Journey fan; the drought of recent activity should’ve been a red flag that all was not kosher in the eyes of King Neal.
Where went the sounding of the trumpets?
What happened to the unprecedented rah-rah fanfare that preceded this lineup as it embarked on its maiden tour?
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the amphitheater – no small feat considering Neal’s swollen-head never provided much room to begin with.
The only lead singer this egomaniacal grifter hasn’t managed to piss off yet is Sammy Hagar – and that’s only because he’s too CaboWabo shitfaced to give a damn.
This lineup even had Queen’s Brian May singing its praises – the rock equivalency of ambrosia raining down upon the heavens – adulation like that certainly don’t come easily, much less twice.
In the early 90’s, his ego damn near pushed Jon Waite to flip his powdered wig, forgo his affected stiff British upper lip and challenge Neal to a 20-pace duel.
Shortly thereafter, he petulantly stomped away from the Gioeli brothers with middle finger extended, and worse yet, their sister clutched kicking and screaming under his ogreish guitar arm.
More recently, as fans shelled out benjamins for the very sort of bad street pantomime you wouldn’t drop a spent prophylactic into an open guitar case to watch, Neal simply looked the other way.
And now, what began as, and was shaping up nicely to be, the most promising era of Journey since Escape, has come to an anticlimactic grinding standstill - so much so in fact, I’m still reeling from the after-effects of whiplash.
To be fair, warning signs loomed.
Ask any long-suffering Journey fan; the drought of recent activity should’ve been a red flag that all was not kosher in the eyes of King Neal.
Where went the sounding of the trumpets?
What happened to the unprecedented rah-rah fanfare that preceded this lineup as it embarked on its maiden tour?
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the amphitheater – no small feat considering Neal’s swollen-head never provided much room to begin with.
The only lead singer this egomaniacal grifter hasn’t managed to piss off yet is Sammy Hagar – and that’s only because he’s too CaboWabo shitfaced to give a damn.
This lineup even had Queen’s Brian May singing its praises – the rock equivalency of ambrosia raining down upon the heavens – adulation like that certainly don’t come easily, much less twice.
good words.