Remembering White Lion (Part Three)
Remembering White Lion (Part Three)
The Short Career of a Multi-Faceted Band
In late 1990 and early 1991, White Lion recorded their fourth album (their third for Atlantic Records). Vito Bratta and Mike Tramp wrote all the songs, and the lineup was unchanged for the moment.
Almost everything else was changing already. Richie Zito, a producer not associated with one genre exclusively, helmed the sessions. (Zito was Billboard’s Producer of the Year for 1990, and his clients have included Joe Cocker, Toni Basil, and Cher.) Mike Tramp’s brother, Kim Bullard, played keyboards. The band re-recorded a previously released (if fairly obscure) song. An instrumental track was a further departure from any formula that might have existed. They took their time with this album.
Atlantic Records released Mane Attraction on April 2, 1991.
As far as I know, Mane Attraction has not been featured in any book like Stairway to Hell or 1001 Albums to Listen to Before You Die. (In the introduction to his punk-and-grunge-centric hundred best metal albums of the Nineties list in Stairway to Hell’s second edition, Eddy dismisses it without mentioning it by name.)
One reason Mane Attraction is White Lion’s best album is that it is not classifiable in any one genre. It has elements of metal and hard rock as well as Sixties pop, blues, and nineteenth century folk music. There isn’t much classical and jazz (despite the members’ inclinations and abilities), but several tracks are complex musically. Lyrically, Tramp tends to be direct and simple (with a few exceptions). From its extended Queen-inspired utopic pomp opener to its contemplative, wistful end, Mane Attraction is White Lion at their most emotive and most ambitious. It is the sound of a band at peace with itself. It has no counterpart in White Lion’s catalog or analogue in anyone else’s. None of it sounds like Pride II or Big Game II or Fight to Survive II (even though it shares a song with Fight to Survive). There are no frenetic, tumultuous storms like “Lady of the Valley”—the more rousing songs here are more channeled and focused. There are no bitter, glowering philippics like “If My Mind is Evil”—the sadness here is hopeful and celebratory. Even “Leave Me Alone” is leavened with a humorous MC Hammer quote.
From the first moment of “Lights and Thunder”, White Lion’s longest track, the production is noticeably different. The first sound is the timbre of an echoing keyboard (probably Bullard’s). Soon, a low, rumbling Bratta guitar figure, difficult to describe, is heard, with an unmistakably different guitar tone. The full band kicks in eventually, and Tramp croons passages about an idyllic place that alternate with pugilistic passages from the band. In Tramp’s utopia, “you can live in harmony with those who were your enemy”. This is not “When the Children Cry”—“one united world under God” has given way to: “There won’t be a hell below/and there won’t be no god to follow/no religion, no believing/no confession, no deceiving” … This is a warm, rumbling thunder, not the cataclysm of a lightning strike. The only downside—samples of John Kennedy and George Herbert Walker Bush, hardly consonant with any kind of utopia. (The voice of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. is incomparably more welcome.) “Lights and Thunder” is as rousing and memorable an album opener as Queen’s “Brighton Rock”, which may well have inspired it. (Reportedly, Led Zeppelin’s galvanizing but cold “Achilles’ Last Stand” was something of a blueprint, but this is antipodal in mood and effect.)
The new and improved “Broken Heart” follows. The band resurrected a period piece in which they tried too hard and reinvent it with the classic, timeless, genre-transcending techniques of Zito, redeeming what was a work in progress. The lower key is just one of many improvements. Like past songs of theirs (or future, depending on how one looks at it), the specifics would be considered “heterocisnormative” today, but the abstractions are universal—anyone can “identify” with the words. And finally, the sonic qualities of the production are completely universal—Michael Wagener is no slouch but the earlier albums sound dated by comparison. This sounds like it could be from multiple decades before culture’s Nineties free fall.
(The original version is also on YouTube, but playback on other websites has been disabled.)
“Love Don’t Come Easy” has a warm, confident Tramp, contemplative and matter of fact in his assurances to his lover they will get through their troubles, easy or not.
“It’s Over” is the darker flip side of “Love Don’t Come Easy”, but it, too, is not without hope.
“Warsong” is the one lapse into politics or social issues on an album otherwise focused on intimate human relationships—and is one of the disc’s weaker moments. It has a jejune theme, much like “All You Need is Love” or “Imagine”, not distinguishing between defensive war and aggressive war. It’s still a decent song.
In “She’s Got Everything”, they finally nailed what Eddy called a “Van Hagar cockstrut”. It’s better than any similar “Van Hagar” song (cf. “Black and Blue”, “Sucker in a 3 Piece”, etc.)
“Til Death Do Us Part” has reverberating piano from Jai Winding and bombast that links it to the musical romanticism elsewhere on the album. Tramp’s lyrics and winsome melody won’t endear cynics and nihilists to him, but romantics of all stripes (including aesthetic) should find it satisfying and even, dare I write, “heart warming”.
“Out with the Boys”, a perhaps autobiographical song, is one of the most underrated songs of its time. Bratta’s verse riffs are among his most complicated. The chorus is a fond reminiscence, but the song has a tragic undertone—Johnny, the “boy” to whom the song is addressed, evidently isn’t doing well, or didn’t make it at all. This unofficial video shows the boys out in Liverpool on tour in 1991 shortly before this lineup suddenly disintegrated. They visit what looks like a Beatles museum. Tramp’s plangent “If I had one wish, I’d take you back in time/And we could be the way we were” is yet another White Lion motive that keeps “re-relevanting” itself.
“Blue Monday”, the lone White Lion instrumental, is a tribute to Stevie Ray Vaughan, who died around the time the recording sessions commenced. Bratta, LoMenzo, D’Angelo, and Bullard play a wistful tune, as unique in their catalog as “When the Children Cry”. Bullard’s Hammond B-3 organ contributes to the classic, genre-transcending sound here as it does elsewhere on Mane Attraction.
“Farewell to You”, their last song, reminds a listener more of Bob Dylan when he is sentimental than it does of metal or hard rock. Compare it to the Traveling Wilburys’ Dylan-centric “Congratulations” and Dylan’s “Not Dark Yet” (which wouldn’t be released for many years). There isn’t even a guitar solo. It is the apotheosis of friendship, between friends who are sad to part but know they will see each other again. It is an ironic end considering what soon transpired.
Mane Attraction, unlike its predecessors, does not belong to a time, place, or scene. Most listeners, if listening while unaware of the artist, could not date it if they heard it. It is the sound of a band (and producer) hurdling towards a new decade confidently, saving the best of its excessive past and jettisoning the rest, unconcerned with trends, peers, or genre, considering each piece separately, as an end in itself—yet it is still an integrated whole that has an unmistakeable if subtle arc, like Pet Sounds. (There are other parallels. Both albums open with rousing bombast, the penultimate tracks are both instrumentals, and both end with contemplative musings on the days gone by of current relationships.) While Pet Sounds would eventually be certified Gold by the RIAA thirty years after its release, White Lion’s best album has yet to attain that milestone, thirty-one years later. It certainly doesn’t sound like a band about to die.
White Lion toured Europe after the album’s release. When they returned, James Lomenzo and Greg D’Angelo suddenly left the band.
The band didn’t end—not quite yet. Bass guitarist Tommy “T-Bone” Caradonna and drummer Jimmy De’Grasso joined the band. Rehearsals and interviews with Bratta, Caradonna, DeGrasso, and Tramp were shot for the forthcoming Escape from Brooklyn home video, and footage continued to be shot as the “new White Lion with quicker cleaning action” (as Bratta described it) toured North America for three months. The longform video includes footage at the Bayshore Theatre in Sea Bright, NJ on September 1, 1991 and The Channel in Boston the following night. The clip from the latter is accompanied by the title “Final Show”. Tramp says, “This guy here—I’ve been together with since 1983, and he’s the best friend any guy could ask for, and Vito—I love you.” Bratta and Tramp embrace. Nowhere in this clip or elsewhere in the video does anyone say anything like, “This is the last tour,” “We’re going to miss this,” “It’s a shame you new guys can’t stay with us longer,” “You’re only here to fulfill performance commitments,” etc. The extensive interviews with Caradonna and De’Grasso suggest they are permanent members. Nothing suggests the band had any plans to quit after the tour.
But that’s what they did.
After the brief “Final Show” clip (during which no one says it’s the final show), a montage of footage follows with a “Farewell to You” soundtrack. After the montage, the White Lion logo appears above the title “1983-1991”. Credits roll, and Bratto and Tramp thank Loud & Proud Management before their rhythm sections: “James Lomenzo [sic] & Greg D’Angelo For the 6 great years we spent together. Happy Trails Guys” “Jimmy De’Grasso Tommy ’T-Bone’ Caradonna & Burt Diaz [keyboard player] For the best 3 months we ever had.”
A-Vision Entertainment released Escape from Brooklyn in 1992. That same year, Atlantic released The Best of White Lion, which includes a few live tracks (inexplicably, the Apple Music release has the studio version of “All You Need is Rock ’N’ Roll” instead).
(Escape from Brooklyn includes the “Cry for Freedom” video as well as full dorsal nudity from Mike Tramp, which is less unpleasant and disturbing, but viewer beware.)
Journeyman James LoMenzo later played with artists as diverse as Ace Frehley and John Fogerty. He also performed with Greg D’Angelo in the Zakk Wylde-fronted Pride and Glory. Wylde considers Vito Bratta one of his favorite guitarists.
Greg D’Angelo opened a recording studio in Los Angeles, working as a second engineer there for many artists. His clients included Madonna. After selling the studio, he earned a degree in history from UCLA. After being accepted to law school, he sapiently declined to attend and returned to live drumming before being sidelined again due to the unprecedented, indefensible shutdowns of 2020.
Journeyman Jimmy De’Grasso has played with Alice Cooper and Megadeth, among others. Caradonna returned to his native Ohio and continues to play as well.
Tramp formed Freak of Nature, a darker band with more of a Seventies sound. In recent interviews, he described pitching the band to labels circa 1993 as “AC/DC meets Pearl Jam—by the way, I was in White Lion”, upon which every US label would hang up on him, distancing themselves from the Eighties as much as possible. After two albums (not released in the United States, where the band was based), Freak of Nature disbanded. “New York’s favorite Danish” launched a solo career, accompanying himself on rhythm guitar in a style closer to American heartland rock than Eighties metal or anything Danish (or New York). He’s still pursuing this career. I talked to him at a club in Randolph, New Jersey roughly twenty years ago, and he was still the really nice guy Billy Beck later remembered (I highly recommend Billy’s Substack). In the late 1990s and zero decade, he revived the White Lion name after unsuccessful reunion attempts and a lawsuit from his former writing partner. (At this point, Bratta and Tramp were mostly communicating through public statements.) I saw this “White Lion” perform in Clifton, New Jersey. The set, which opened with “Lonely Nights” , was enjoyable, but I and many others do not consider it White Lion. Eventually, Tramp retired the name and stated there would be no more White Lion.
Michael Wagener’s favorite guitar player—the real-life “Italian Stallion”—instantly retired and went home to Staten Island, caring for his infirm parents in the house where they raised their only child[ed. Vito Bratta reportedly has at least one sibling.], driving an expensive sports car and living comfortably off royalties and investments. Eventually, an injury ensured that playing an electric guitar was painful. He found classical guitar playing to be more comfortable. His prognosis has improved, he is playing electric guitar again, and he has not ruled out jumpstarting a music career—but he has stated his mother needs him to care for her (his father is no longer living), and he will not neglect his obligations to her. This is consistent with the character evident in his art and his interviews.
“And rock will come and rock will go/The scene will change the time will show/But still I hope that I’ll be there for you/Be there for me”
“Farewell to You”
As there were two revolutions in Russia in 1917, so there were two revolutions in the much more benevolent, individualistic, and classical liberal White Lion circa 1991. And, in both schisms, there was likely more than one cause involved. As Aristotle, the father of causality, once wrote, rarely does any phenomenon have only one cause.
First, White Lion’s longtime rhythm section left the band. (This end might have had more than a little to do with the second.)
Greg D’Angelo’s comments during a January 2021 interview with Jason Green suggest creative differences had a lot to do with the departure. Green points out that the rhythm section were not contributing to songwriting. In the twentieth century, song publishing royalties were the most lucrative source of music industry wealth. When Green inquires if LoMenzo and D’Angelo were paid less than the songwriters or there was disagreement regarding royalties or finances, D’Angelo responds, “I can’t talk about that.”
Green also asks D’Angelo if the grunge scene that rose at the end of the month that commenced with White Lion’s last two shows had much to do with their decision to disband. D’Angelo replied that he didn’t think so.
Although he was no longer present when White Lion ultimately called it a day, I think D’Angelo is right about that. Bratta has commented that, to his horror, various industry insiders, whether at Atlantic Records or Loud & Proud Management or elsewhere, exhorted him to play sloppily and downplay his virtuosity circa late 1991. “You want me to suck?” was his incredulous response. It would not have been entirely unreasonable for Bratta to leave the music industry in disgust regarding the vitiating changes he was observing. (He would not be the only one. Queensrÿche’s Chris DeGarmo left it almost as abruptly about seven years later.)
Contra to what is visible in Escape from Brooklyn, Vito Bratta and Mike Tramp apparently did not have a communicative relationship. Tramp has said more than once that they had no connection except through music. Many sources cite the “strange relationship” between Bratta and Tramp as the reason White Lion abruptly ended and has not returned.
America (what’s left of it) has a music market that is both trend oriented and first-lineup-to-come-to-prominence oriented. Many would welcome a return of White Lion. Multiple members have stated it’s possible—but don’t hold your breath for it. If it were to happen, hopefully it would be for the right reasons, the members each deciding it is the best outlet for their energies now—and hopefully it would include new music alongside the more-relevant-than-ever old. (There is far too much nostalgia, and Bob Dylan was right that nostalgia is death.) Bands break up for reasons. (John Lennon was reportedly asked when—not if—The Beatles would reunite. “When will you go back to high school?” was his reported response.) They should not reunite without good reason. Assuming the reasons are there (and other obligations are taken care of), the return of White Lion would be like a teardrop in the ocean, a diamond in the waste (to quote another now departed band who were briefly their label mates and inspired the title of this publication).
White Lion’s story is not tragic. They released four albums, three of them on a major label, and had multiple hit singles. All members are alive and well, and presumably financially secure. Many renowned and established artists had shorter careers or significantly less commercial success. (Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, whom I will see on Sunday and hopefully find time to review here, do not have an RIAA Gold record award. Neither does Little Steven, who has written many of their songs. The Jimi Hendrix Experience only made three albums.)
Art historian Lee Sandstead once lectured that more capitalism leads to more and better art. Circa 1979, when Michael Trempenau, a Dane from a family with modest means, emigrated to what was already one of the most expensive cities in the United States, the country was closer to its capitalistic roots if already far more statist than its founders intended. The less statist USA had a lower cost of living and higher real wages and real wealth. It was a more favorable cultural milieu—one not yet saturated with nihilism, noise, mindless nostalgia, ineptitude, and vapid pablum. But it was also a more favorable political and economic milieu. Perhaps this must change, too, before a significant artistic or cultural movement returns, at least on a popular level.
Remember White Lion, but, whatever your opinion of their music, also remember what made them possible and what needs to return before anything like them—in any genre or medium—can exist again.