J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown – November ’10 #6: “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue

Somehow Motley Crue went from red and black leather and pentagrams and evil face paint to lavender and pink lycra outfits and lace doilies on their arms, and crazy Norwegians did not murder them. Very different times then. This song is both completely stupid in retrospect, and yet still the best fucking thing ever. I am a huge fan of any songs ever made since guitars became electrified that runaway teenagers may have had bouncing around in their head as they rode a Greyhound through alien states, not headed nowhere so much as getting away from whatever. I am not entirely sure our current world even has the conditions for a song like this to be made anymore, at least not in America. We fly now, or smartphone our way around our days, and there’s really no room for something like this. I guess maybe in Mexico or certain South American countries it could happen again, but not here.
I feel like I need a few weekend excursions in the coming months to shake up my life’s monotony. I’d like to ride a Greyhound to Alabama, down near the Florida border, for no real reason or to no particular place, and just vibe. That’s my biggest complaint with my current world – the vibes are all electronic and warped, although I guess to a kid running away from whatever today, it’s like electrified guitars were fifty years ago. You can’t fight progress, or regress, or the both of them just shaking shit all the fuck up all the goddamned time. And then you get old and none of it makes sense, and you write inside a goddamned robot breeding colony motherboard about a stupid fucking Motley Crue song. Fucking poseur.
Motley Crue, up to this third album of their’s, conjures up cellular memories inside my physical realm of those first strong desires to have sex. My male dog is not fixed, and he often runs away for like three hours at night. Instead of being mad at him all the time about it, I should probably figure out how to strap our extra Ipod shuffle to his big head, and when he runs off into the night, he can just listen to “Home Sweet Home” on constant repeat, maybe throw in “Patience” as well, and let him slip off into the night to do his unfixed thing.
I guess I should probably care that my dog is not fixed and he might be knocking up other dogs out there in this stupid fucking civilized world, but I don’t. I just want him to be within earshot of my whistling for him when I go out on the porch in the cold, goofily and clumsily dashing through the woods and blackberry thickets and tall grasses in the field, thinking in his deep stupid hound dog voice, “I’m on my way, I’m on my way, I’m on my way, home sweet home, home sweet home,” and then he gets there and I’m like “good boy” and he’s all stoked and shit. Man, that would be the best commercial ever for Greyhound.
STEAL “Home Sweet Home”
NEXT UP: Wow, I really loved that Big K.R.I.T. CD, didn’t I!