Sometimes everything that could possibly go wrong for a band goes wrong: the wrong look, the wrong music, the wrong time. Certainly, this was the situation for Bang-Bang, a marketing and promotion team’s worst nightmare. Emerging from the glam and sleaze scene of West Hollywood in the mid-eighties, it seems that everything Bang-Bang did was wrong. Just look at the cover of their only album, Life Part II, and you can see part of the problem. Their look, a glammed out fusion of tailored designer suits and more hair than one had ever seen losing a battle with Aquanet, was more in tune with Duran Duran or a glammed out Japan than the exploding hair metal scene in LA. Unfortunately, those who bought the album expecting bouncing, happy, eighties dance cuts were in for a rude surprise. Their music, a fascinating hybrid of sleaze rock, glam & eighties new-wave wrapped up in songs about reincarnation, religious alienation and the loneliness of love, was far too dark to be Duran Duran or Spandau Ballet. Unfortunately, their off-brand of pop music wasn’t nearly dark enough for the goth crowd over at London’s Bat Cave either. To make matters worse, their driving, synth-laden, funk bass heavy sound was completely out of touch with Motley Crue, Ratt or Poison any of the hundreds of hair metal bands that exploded through the Sunset Strip.
Even though they were signed to a major label (Epic) it’s clear that the promotion people had no idea how to get the band past those massive hurdles. In the end, they’d just be relegated to the bargain bins of history if it wasn’t for one thing; they were so damn much fun. Filling a nearly indefinable chasm between new wave and hair metal, Bang-Bang was defined by Julian Raymond, the band’s architect, song-writer and lead hairdo; mixing their own brand of poppy dance rhythms, funk bass and heavy guitars, with Raymond’s dark lyrics and bleeding throat vocals. Like it or hate it, there’s no other voice like Raymond’s, an amazingly unique and expressive instrument, stretching his voice to the breaking point, singing on the very last fiber of his vocal chords.
