Def Leppard “X”
Def Leppard are as American as apple pie. That’s ironic, I guess. But it’s no joke. And it’s no coincidence. Despite the fact that they were once working class boys from Sheffield and despite the fact that their inspiration was T. Rex and Mott the Hoople and Queen, their sights were always set on the colonies. Just three minutes into their debut album, they kick off “Hello America” — an unsubtle nod to “Hello There,” Cheap Trick’s hype starter from “Budokan.” Def Leppard might have loved Marc Bolan and, once upon a time, they might have been considered part of the New Wave of English Heavy Metal, but musically they had much more in common with Cheap Trick, Boston and KISS.
Sheffield is known for steel. Metal has quite literally been in the blood of its population for many generations. And yet, aside from Def Leppard, it has produced mostly Alternative Rock and New Wave bands. Pulp, Arctic Monkeys, Human League and Cabaret Voltaire are the other most famous bands from Sheffield. From the start, Def Leppard sounded almost nothing like the music of Sheffield — or the music of England for that matter. They sounded like the music of the heartland of America. Most of us associate “Heartland Rock” with Tom Petty, John Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen. Others talk about the music of the American “flyover states” -- Mötley Crüe, Bon Jovi and Guns N’ Roses. Both suggestions are valid. But, in fact, there was no band more popular in the Heartland and throughout the flyover states than Def Leppard. Def Leppard and, to a slightly lesser extent (half-Canadian half-Brit) Bryan Adams, were the soundtrack to every high school in the middle of America from 1983 through 1988.
Critics accused them of making bland, formulaic Pop Metal filler. But, in fact, Def Leppard were the grist for American Rock radio for the better part of a decade. Many hours of many days of many months and years were filled with boomboxes tuned to the radio, playing “Photograph,” “Rock of Ages,” “Foolin,” “Animal,” “Hysteria,” “Love Bites” and, of course, “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” The last of those hits was so relentless and so ubiquitous that I simply assumed it was the most popular song in the history of the world. But it wasn’t. It reached number two on the Billboard Hot 100 but, astonishingly, never number one. In In retrospect, my slight overestimation was understandable. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” was absolutely a massive hit. But it was also the sum of all of those other Def Leppard songs -- all of those Joe Elliott super-harmonies and the spiraling, doubled, tripled, quadrupled “Abbey Road goes Metal” guitars and those big bass drums -- that made it feel so inescapable.
Although in 1980 they were divergent by Sheffield’s standards, Def Leppard sounded deeply familiar to Americans when they landed stateside in 1983. They had the volume and precision of AC/DC but without sharp angles or minimalism. They had the rasp of Bryan Adams, but louder and with more bass and drums. Their melodies were more Arena Rock than Heavy Metal — their harmonies more Beatles than Crüe. I probably could not have described the power of their music back then, when I was a teenager. But now, I understand it. Every single instrument, labored over, then doubled up, then dialed up and then pushed forward. It was the sound of Robert John “Mutt” Lange -- the producer, writer and multi-instrumentalist who was to music production what David Fincher is to film direction. Tireless and obsessive, convinced that maximalism and perfectionism are one and the same.
Not only were Def Leppard sonically American, though, they were also stylistically American. And nowhere more so than on top of their heads. The band wore their hair in a style that was endemic to teenage girls whose parents had enough money for hairspray but not enough for Laura Ashley dresses. It was a hairstyle that involved teased, long wavy hair in the back and bangs, curled into “The Claw.”
There were actually two versions of “The Claw.” One version of the style involved the hair being curled down and inward toward the forehead — that was the Metal version. The other, which required the bangs be curled up and towards the top of the head, approximating a well bred shih tzu — indicated something much classier. Def Leppard had the first variety. Actually, only three fifths of Def Leppard -- Joe, Rick Savage and Steve Clark -- sported “The Claw.” Rick Allen had something of an “aspiring claw” and Steve Collen had straighter bangs. But much more so than Mötley Crüe, who looked like drag performers, or Motörhead, who looked like scary monsters, Def Leppard looked like the girls I went to middle school with. “The Claw” checked most of the boxes for American boys in the 1980s. It signified Heavy Metal, suburban malls, flexible morals, possibly cigarettes and definitely dry humping.
“Pyromania,” which ushered in the Leppard craze in The States, was certified “Diamond,” meaning that it sold in excess of ten million copies. And while they were never as cool as Prince or as popular as Michael, Def Leppard was the most bankable, commercial Rock band of the 1980s. After the gargantuan success of “Pyromania,” though, it seemed inconceivable that they could sustain their ascent, much less fly any higher. But, if we learned anything from Rocky Balboa and Mike Eruzione, it was that the only thing America liked more than “The Claw” was an underdog.
Up until December 31, 1984, however, Def Leppard were not exactly underdogs. The story of five, well mannered, working class boys from slightly northern England was not so much different from that of The Beatles. But, on the afternoon of the last day of 1984, Rick Allen -- the youngest member of the band, just twenty-one at the time -- lost control of his Corvette and nearly ended his life. Allen barely survived, but his left arm did not. Miraculously, after the initial trauma and ensuing fear, he began drumming again. With a custom Simmons kit, massive modifications to his technique and the support of his bandmates, Allen was serviceable again within two years of the crash. In fact, he was much more than serviceable. And so, in 1986, with Mutt Lange back at the helm, Def Leppard returned to the studio to complete the album that would become “Hysteria.”
More than three years removed from “Pyromania,” “Hair Metal,” the genre that Def Leppard were at least superficially a part of, had exploded in America. And while the band’s reputation had grown in Europe during their time away, their mulletted, clawed American fanbase had cooled off slightly. “Women,” the album’s hard rocking first single, barely scratched the Pop radio charts. “Animal” fared much better. But nobody was prepared for single number four. Almost instantly, “Pour Some Sugar On Me” became Hair Metal’s “We Will Rock You.” It was everywhere. And you could not not stomp your feet or clap your hands or sing along with it. On the shoulders of that song, and the crossover appeal of their greatest power ballad, “Love Bites,” “Hysteria” stayed on the charts for over three years. When the dust settled, the album had spawned seven singles, sold tens of millions of copies and ushered in a new decade.
The 1990s were, of course, absolutely not the 1980s. As Reagan’s economy buckled and the Boomers became card carrying Yuppies, pop culture braced itself for a sharp left turn. Before their reign atop the charts ended, however, Def Leppard suffered more, and more devastating, tragedy. In 1991, after a long and frequently hard to watch struggle, guitarist Steve Clark died from an overdose of alcohol and prescription drugs. Clark was, at the time, on a mandated “leave of absence” from the band, having unsuccessfully battled addiction for many years. In many ways, his death was not unexpected. But it was a terribly sad conclusion to what had been a climactic chapter in the story of Def Leppard.
Without Clark in the fold, Def Leppard’s recorded their fifth album as a quartet and without Mutt Lange. And while it sold millions of copies and stayed on the charts for over a year, when it fell off, it fell hard. “Adrenalized” was released during the dawn of Grunge and Alt Rock, genres largely antithetical to Hair Metal and theoretically disinterested in the scale of Def Leppard. By 1994, when Nirvana, Pearl Jam, U2 and REM were the biggest Rock bands in the world, Hair Metal faced extinction. If they survived at all, it was primarily as nostalgia acts, and many years later. Warrant, Cinderella, White Lion and Extreme had owned the charts in the late 80s and very early 90s, but by 1992, they were dodo birds. Def Leppard did not suffer the same fate, but their near annihilation seemed somehow more tragic because (a) they were more famous than the rest, (b) their sudden exclusion from radio and MTV playlists was more obvious and (c) their regression, unlike some of their more indulgent, less talented peers was not self inflicted. By 1995, the zeitgeist suggested that Def Leppard, whose members had not yet reached the age of forty, were a bunch of has-beens.
To their significant credit, they resisted and endured. It was awkward — like a mid-life puberty — but it was not wholly unsuccessful. In 1992, ahead of their “Adrenalized” tour, the band added Vivian Campbell as a second guitarist, cementing the quintet that survives to this day. By 1996, when Rock radio was dominated by Green Day, The Red Hot Chili Peppers and Smashing Pumpkins, Def Leppard (slightly) cut their hair and decided to give Grunge a try. Sort of. The quintet recorded primarily together, in a single room, including Rick Allen, who reverted to a mostly acoustic kit. The results were not charmless, landing closer to Stone Temple Pilots or, really, Bush than to the pristine sounds of Mutt Lange. The album managed to debut in the top five in The States, and produced one, top ten hit. But, soon after, it faded, making room for Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and Alice in Chains.
“Euphoria,” from 1999, was slightly more successful. By the end of the millennium, Grunge had been subsumed by the very slightly Alternative Rock of Matchbox 20 and Heavy Metal had been eclipsed by the Nu Metal of Korn. Def Leppard, meanwhile, opted to return to their “classic sound.” Lange returned to the studio in a pared down role, co-writing three songs and offering advice from a distance. And the results, while not as popular as “Pyromania” and “Hysteria,” marked a step forward from “Adrenalize” and “Slang.” No amount of Smashmouth or Limp Bizkit or Gen X angst could keep “Promises,” the first single from their seventh album, from reaching the top of the charts.
“Euphoria” also coincided with the inordinately popular episode of VH-1’s “Behind the Music” which recounted the story of Def Leppard. And then, two years later, VH-1 doubled down on their success, producing a pulpy, made for TV docu-drama about the band, entitled “Hysteria -- The Def Leppard Story.” In the face of cultural headwinds, those programs, alongside the success of “Promises,” served as a reminder that while they were no longer “cool” or “Diamond-selling,” Def Leppard were still profoundly important to many Americans (and Canadians) of a certain age, who were once -- not so long ago -- partial to a certain teased and sprayed hairdo.
All of which makes “X,” from 2002, more puzzling. To start, Def Leppard’s eighth studio album was called “Ten” (represented as “X”) because it accounted for two “best of” compilations (ten albums in total). More quizzical, however, was the bands’ decision to enlist outside songwriters. Not Mutt Lange. And not just any songwriters. As Joe Elliott, Rick Savage and Phill Collen approached fifty, they recorded material from Marti Frederiksen, who would go on to write uber-ballads for the likes of Carrie Underwood, and Swedish Pop wunderkind, Max Martin, who was best known for hits with Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears. More than a quarter century after their first release and eight (or ten) albums into their storied career, Def Leppard stopped just short of “popular.” They went “Pop.”
It’s not as bad as it sounds. But it’s also nowhere near as great as it could have been. “X” is an album that wonders what early 90s Aerosmith would have sounded like if they were more interested in One Direction. It’s an odd thought experiment, but it’s also one that might have unintentionally birthed -- or at least predicted -- everything from Nickelback to Blake Shelton.
To state the obvious, “X” does not sound like music for teenagers or for the Billboard Hot 100 -- it’s not “Pop” in those senses of the word. There are plenty of guitars, no discernible autotune, no rapping and an appropriate amount of synthesizers involved. However, in that it pushes the vocals out front while pulling the guitars and, especially, the bass and drums back, the contrasts with Mutt Lange’s version of Def Leppard are unmistakable. From the very first notes of “Now,” the Frederiksen-penned opener (and first single), you can hear the differences. There are big, open power chords rather than spiraling minor chords. The drums have less bass. Even the bass has less bass. But most noticeable are Elliott’s vocals. They are more naked, and in a register lower than the testicles-in-a-vice range of his youth. In fact, if you didn’t know it was Def Leppard, you might think it was some other band, imitating Bryan Adams covering a song that was good enough to almost win “American Idol.”
A lot of “X” has that bombastic quality -- sort of Rock, sort of Pop, sort of ballad, but completely epic in sweep. Both “Torn to Shreds” and “Let Me be the One” fit neatly in between Aersosmith’s “Get a Grip” and Kelly Clarkson’s “A Moment Like This.” They are all scale and little substance. They’re the sort of songs that sound better if you imagine glitter and confetti falling in the background.
On the other hand, “Cry” and “Scar” are the most brazen rockers on the album, owing as much to Grunge or Alternative Rock (or, minimally, to “Slang”) as they do to classic Def Leppard. Of the two, “Scar” is the one that puts all of the pieces together. It has a credible, angsty vibe in the verses before returning to a crystalline wall of guitar that, throughout their career, they swiped from “I Want You (She’s So Heavy).” It’s not the catchiest song on the record. It’s not their vintage sound. But it’s a complete idea, effectively rendered.
Although it’s often been described as their “Pop” album, “X” only occasionally delivers on that promise. “You’re So Beautiful” sounds like early Beatles trying to make a song for “Beverly Hills 90210” — and I mean that as a compliment. Meanwhile, “Let Me be the One” takes a different tack — aiming for mega-church power balladry. The electric acoustic guitar is straight out of the late 80s (White Lion, Skid Row, etc.) and the vocals take aim at Bryan Adams' circa “Everything I Do.” While it aims high, however, it falls short of both targets.
Neither of those Pop passes, though, struggle as mightily as "Long, Long Way to Go,” which is full of Latin beats, light autotune and a listless melody that sounds less like “Def Leppard X” and more like “X Factor U.K.” In fact, that might actually be the case. Wayne Hector, famous for his work with Nicky Minaj, Kylie Minoguie and One Direction, co-wrote the song with Steve Robson, who was famous for his work with Leona Lewis and Rascal Flatts. If their goal was to ready Def Leppard for Simon Cowell’s assessment, they succeeded.
Although uniformly well made and more interesting than not, “X” was ultimately a failure, receiving scant radio airplay and disappearing from sales charts not long after its arrival. It would be another four years before the next Def Leppard album, and that release (“Yeah”) was a covers album. Since 2002, the band has twice appeared on the Rock Radio charts in America. They’ve not once returned to the Billboard Hot 100 and have completely disappeared from U.K. playlists. Today, Ronald Regan and Margaret Thatcher are dead. MTV barely plays music. And I have no idea what VH-1 is or does anymore, but I suspect it has nothing to do with Def Leppard. The 2020s are not the 1990s which, of course, were not the 80s.
And yet, Def Leppard survives. The same five guys (since 1992) have released four albums since “X.” They’ve continued to tour the world, though increasingly playing their greatest hits alongside fellow heartland heroes like KISS and Journey. They are no longer the grist of Classic Rock radio — AC/DC, Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith perform that function nowadays. But while they are years and miles from the charts, I can still hear their influence in modern Pop music. Perhaps more so now than ever. Any time I hear doubled up, autotuned vocals pushed up an octave, I think of how Joe Elliott achieved a similar effect, but without the technological enhancement. And when I hear the more is more, digitally pristine, semi-rocking vibe that has dominated contemporary Country music in recent years, I think of Shania Twain, which makes me think of Mutt Lange which makes me think of Def Leppard. I’d go as far as to say that Jason Aldean owes as much (probably more) to Def Leppard as he does Merle or Waylon or Willie.
In May of 2022, Def Leppard released “Diamond Star Halos,” their twelfth studio album, which, according to the band, is their most direct homage to Glam Rock — Bowie, T Rex and Mott. But, to my ears, it sounds very little like any of those bands. It doesn’t sound like “X” or “Slang,” either. It sounds a good deal like classic Def Leppard. It sounds as American as apple pie.