By Jeremy Essig
By Jason Robinson
By Hans Morgenstern
By Joseph Hess
By Peter Gilstrap
By Julia Burch
By Jeremy Essig
By Nathan Smith
But when it doesn't work, the supergroup is an abomination that makes fans look the other way out of respect for the past and shame at the present. Who can remember the Last Hard Men, wherein the junkie members of the Breeders and Smashing Pumpkins joined forces with Sebastian Bach of Skid Row and Jimmy Flemion of the Frogs? (So strange it could only be true!) Has anyone ever successfully sold One Hot Minute back to a record store? The union of Red Hot Chili Peppers and Dave Navarro was unwanted even by the guilty parties, who wisely opted for a do-over with previous guitarist John Frusciante. And even now, supergroup-that-should-not-be-named Guns N' Roses is attempting to tour, with a veritable constellation of has-beens and never-wases, including Buckethead, one of the Replacements, a former Nine Inch Nail and old bald Axl himself. This is the kind of dreck only a moron such as Jimmy Fallon could get excited about, which he actually did at this year's Video Music Awards (proving that shit finds its own level).
And so the stage is now set for Audioslave. On paper, this is a supergroup to get excited about: Rage Against the Machine jettisons its most annoying feature, nasal rapper Zack de la Rocha, and replaces him with the talented Chris Cornell, late of Soundgarden. Unfortunately, Audioslave didn't get as excited as their built-in army of fans did. Their eponymous album starts off with the bang of "Cochise" but then quickly peters out with a host of midtempo alternative-rock songs. If you make it nine tracks, to "Exploder," you'll hear Chris Cornell do a bitchin' Steven Tyler impersonation with his "dat-un-dah-dah" fade out, which is the last interesting thing to happen before the CD ends and the next one in your changer wakes you back up -- which is a shame, because Audioslave seemed like a sure thing. Tom Morello's mutant guitar, a solid rhythm section and a singer who can sing should have been better than this.
It gets a man thinking: What should be that next CD in your changer that wakes you up? What sort of supergroup could revive you after Audioslave lulls you into a coma? It would take a group so powerful, or at least bizarre, that you open one eye and mumble, "What the frick?" if not stand up in bed and shout, "I am reborn in the glory of rock!" Here are some supergroup suggestions that should be taken seriously by the bands in question if they want to keep the money train rollin'.
Tatsuya Yoshida Joins Mötley Crüe: The Crüe hasn't been the same since man-mountain drummer Tommy Lee went overboard, and things won't get any better for them unless they can recruit the one-man percussive whirlwind Tatsuya Yoshida, of Tokyo-based legends the Ruins. Yoshida is lightning fast and dead heavy and has the additional skill of singing in his secret made-up-language (wait for it) falsetto. This would render weakest link Vince Neil positively useless, and the Crüe could become a raging power trio with a shrieking drummer/vocalist. And let's be honest: "Blimmguass sommvless" repeated over and over doesn't make any less sense than "There's a problem with the girls here on Earth, they stopped actin' dizzy." Mötley Crüe, look to the East.
John Cale Joins Metallica: Metallica have lost another bassist, through no fault of their own. Last time they went for an unknown to replace the irreplaceable Cliff Burton, but they briefly entertained the idea of adding weirdo Les Claypool to the mix. This time they should cast further afield than Lester and try to score avant-chameleon John Cale. His bass playing is granite (listen to the Velvet Underground's "I Heard Her Call My Name" ), and should the Bay Area Thrashers ever return to their Paganini-on-steroids roots, Cale is more than capable of mixing it up all classical-like. Besides, Cale once hacked a live chicken to death with a machete before a horrified crowd, and Metallica could use a little terrifyin' these days. Another Cale trick was shooting at his unsuspecting backup singers with blanks, and should Metallica opt to do another album with a philharmonic, maybe someone would be kind enough to slip Mr. Cale a clip of hollow-points.