The trouble with interviewing rock stars who have lived the success-excess myth in extremis is that you tend to want to accompany them all the way down the same drain, time and time again. Take Rick Allen, Def Leppard's legendary one-armed drummer and undoubtedly the "spottiest" (in terms of scandals) Leppard of all. Journalists don't want to investigate the subtleties of his drumming technique, nor his ability --- with one hand --- to smash those skins faster than a road runner on amphetamines. Nah, we'd much rather scratch at stuff which any self-respecting rock reptile already knows by heart: his predilection for all forms of speed, his ability to throttle his missus using only one hand and the rest of the scandalous zits afflicting the fabulously famous and envied.
But in a world saturated with hyper-real legends of the instant packet soup variety, he is endearingly authentic. Along with vocalist Joe Elliott he represents the soul of the band which began in Sheffield eighteen years ago (Allen was only fifteen when he began drumming) and which became the only band to have two albums --- Pyromania and Adrenalize --- top the 9-million sales mark.
Not only has he retained his title as a VIP member of the royal family of soft rock well into the 1990s, he actually seems to be living some of the lighter lyrics --- take "I am the lesson to be learnt" off Gift of Flesh from Def Leppard's most recent album Slang as an example. The sense you get from Allen is in yer ear (we're conducting a long-distance telephone conversation) "realness", even though the interview never really penetrates the skin.
"There are so many people who have much greater physical disabilities than me, yet who mentally are so much stronger," he says, referring to the 1984 car accident that cost him an arm. "Some would have thought it would have been easier for me to give up there and then, but in fact, giving up drumming would have been much tougher than losing my arm." He adds a Monty Pythonesque touch: "Anything to avoid a regular job."
After the accident Allen began playing with a computerised electronic drum kit, including foot pedals that trigger their own sound. Last year, during the recording of Def Leppard's latest album, he chucked the techno-crutch ---along with more personal demons and played on an acoustic kit. The band thought he played better than ever.
"For us, the Eighties was an era of high-tech visual splendour and big electronic effects," he recalls. "Our concerts were slick and spectacular. But the Nineties are far less materialistic and egotistical, much more in touch with simplicity. Likewise, these days, the band's priorities are more from within. There's more focus on the music than the musicians."
That's another thing that has been and will continue to be said about Def Leppard. Okay, accuse them of any excess, just don't call them rock fossils. Nevertheless they might simultaneously be wildlife enthusiasts and endangered species. Their story partially echoes the classic movie This is Spinal Tap --- about a heavy metal band in the throes of late-career crisis --- yet they do not wear platforms in the wrong decade.
Unlike other once-illustrious bands who have become yesterday's heroes, like the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac, their brains aren't fried and their nasal membranes are still intact, even if their livers resemble pickled cucumbers. And they do cut their hair. It would be understandable if they stuck to the same driving formula that secured their success during the Eighties. During that time they were probably the biggest rock group on the planet with sales of more than 40 million albums. Yet they have refused to remain on the tried and tested track, as is evident from Slang.
Recorded in a house in Marbella, Spain, and freed from conventional studio constraints, Slang is a much looser, free-flowing, almost grungyfied album than its predecessors. It combines the band's catchy rock-based guitar-driven pop melodies of the previous decade with an edgier, more experiemental fusion of funk-soul and even dance music. Slang is the proverbial rock potkjiekos; but to date it hasn't sold much more than 4 million copies, not commercial kamikaze but proof that not all Def-Lep diehards can stomach new cuisine.
"Even if it means committing commercial suicide, our music has to grow," Allen says, an unmistakeable Atlantic twang attached to his Sheffield accent. "We have our clashes but we really appreciate each other's input. In fact, the best of Def Leppard is still to come."
We steer clear of the band's bad luck streak (the unkindest cut of all was guitarist Steve Clark's death from an overdose in 1992). But Allen is not reticent about revealing what can only be described as his personal Saul to Paul conversion. He confesses to removing graffiti for 30 days (with only one hand, remember) as part of his sentence for spousal abuse, attending AA meetings and speaking out against domestic violence on MTV.
"I'm playing a lot better now," he says. And the sound of that one hand drumming is thunderous.
