By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
As we all know from Pamela and Tommy Lee's infamous home video (come on -- you've seen it), the former Motley Crue drummer's massive whanger can drive a boat, or at least steer it. Of course, said member can't drive and/or steer a boat too well, as the aforementioned vessel almost ran aground during Lee's first mate's turn at the wheel. Similarly, with Methods of Mayhem's self-titled debut (and we can only hope and pray, its finale), Lee's wedding tackle proves that it can also, being in possession of many talents, compose an album's worth of lyrics, though I hasten to add, none too skillfully. For your consideration, here is a brief sample from the completely surprisingly titled "Get Naked," the first and probably last single released from the disc, which features guest shots by George Clinton, Limp Bizkit's Fred Durst, Lil' Kim, and Mixmaster Mike, all of whom can now add "whore" to their respective résumés:
with Crazy Town
Seventy-seven million made from watchin me cum under the sun / Shootin' my jizzy jizm / The woody has rizzy risen / I ain't getting paid to entertain your bridal showers / Rockin' my porno tape for hours and hours / Clitoris are fearin' me / It's bigger than Ron Jeremy
While Lee's unit writes with the direct style found in all the finest wordsmiths, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the fact that it's a, well, self-centered moron, the kind of jack-ass always picking fights because it's bigger than everyone else. The above is just a taste of Methods of Mayhem, though it's more than enough to do away with all reasonable doubt with respect to Lee's not-so-little Richard's talent, or lack thereof, as an MC. For further documentation, I direct you to "Proposition Fuck You," a charming little ditty, save for Lee's lower half trying its best to be, you know, down. "Tired of the boys in blue runnin' up on your crew, you know what to do, tell 'em, 'Fuck you,'" Lee's frank and beans suggest on the song, and obviously, someone that white, almost opaque even, and quite wealthy besides, knows all about the boys in blue runnin' up on his respective crew. He's from the streets (or rather, the streetz), and you can feel it.
Lee's johnson shoots itself in the, ah, foot early on, insisting on the disc's label that, "This CD is nothing but worthless plastic unless played loud as fuck." To which I reply: Fine, it's nothing but worthless plastic. Eventually, it will learn not to taunt the audience, let them make up their own mind on matters such as appropriate volume, an album's intrinsic value, and whether you can/should make sparks shoot off the disc's smooth, almost metallic surface by putting it in a microwave for a few seconds. For now, however, it's clear that Lee's thing -- keeping in mind its various and miserable attempts at piloting small water-based crafts, writing lyrics, drawing the crude illustrations sprinkled throughout the MoM CD booklet, hosting its own lifestyle show on the Adam and Eve network, and running for state senator in California, among others -- is a dilettante, a jack of all trades, yet a master of none. Lee's package desperately needs to find its true calling and stick with it. And taking all available evidence under advisement, we believe Tommy Lee Jr. has already come across his true purpose: making sure Pamela Lee doesn't press charges.
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