Steve Perry “For the Love of Strange Medicine”
Even today, his vocal cords appear generally spared. But Steve Perry has been bruised seemingly everywhere else. The sources and severity of these bruises are unclear and the subject of mystery. Perry’s degenerative hip condition and ensuing surgeries and rehabs hampered his ability to perform live for decades. That left some scars. He lost his mother towards the end of his run with Journey. That bruise took a long time to heal, no doubt. Once — and very briefly — he has alluded to childhood trauma he suffered (not related to his parents or family). Whatever that was, he is wholly unwilling to elaborate. Sometime in the 2000s, he saw a video of a breast cancer survivor and was so smitten with her that he arranged a meeting, fell in love, lived with her in remission, nursed her through the return of the cancer and sat by her side when she died. That bruised deeply.
The most widely obsessed over bruise, however, was a result of the decision Neal Schon and the rest of Journey made in the 1990s to continue on as a touring and studio band without Perry, who needed time away to recover from...stuff. Steve Perry doesn’t like to talk about that. In fact, he doesn’t like to talk about Journey at all. Although Neal Schon has very publicly hoped that Perry would re-join the band and that their friendship could continue, Perry simply won’t bite. Maybe Neal Schon is intolerable. Maybe Steve Perry is too sensitive. Whatever the truth is, he won’t say. In 2017, when it was announced that Journey would be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Perry’s response landed somewhere between guarded and reluctant: “I am truly grateful that Journey is being inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.” Ahead of the actual ceremony, there was uncertainty as to whether he‘d appear alongside his former bandmates. Surprisingly, he did. Unsurprisingly, he did not perform. His speech was brief, and polite, but miles from celebratory. There was an awkward hug. But under his black blazer, you could see the blue.
For nearly three decades, interrupted only by a brief and surprising reunion with Journey, he has been basically silent and invisible. For fans of his music and anyone who objectively marveled at the unicorn power of his voice, this was sad, mysterious and disconcerting. Insinuations abounded. Was he a Howard Hughes-esque recluse? Had he lost his money? His mind? Was it the bruises? His heart? His ego? Or was he just tired of it all and hoping for a simpler life?
However, in 1994, at the age of forty five, and nearly a decade removed from recorded music, Perry released “For The Love of Strange Medicine.” For anyone wondering if he was OK or what Perry had been ruminating on during his hiatus, the clues would be scant. I’m paraphrasing, but in a rare TV interview done for Japanese television, he explained the “Strange Medicine” from the album’s title as: “Love, a desire for fame, a lack of money; anything, really.”
Glittering generality was always a hallmark of his lyrics. They sound anthemic and go down easily, especially so given his remarkable voice. But, in light of his long absence and all of the bruises we imagined, his steadfast refusal to reveal himself only compounds the mystery. What, exactly, are all those bruises and why won’t they go away?
Not only does Perry not write about the personal on “Strange Medicine,” he sounds mired in a sort of musical arrested development. In fact, a harsher critic might suggest that he regressed during his time away. His famous four (plus) octave alto tenor is still largely undamaged. He might have lost an inch or so of his great vocal height, but, mercifully, the tone is all there. The magic that he conjured with Schon, which was still in his system on “Oh Cherie,” from his solo debut, seemed to have entirely disappeared by 1994. The man who may have invented the modern power ballad sounds here like an overqualified soundtrack artist, playing tepid 80s rock in a morass of theatrical smoke and lukewarm passion.
You know that he can sing. You know that the well must run deep. You assume that he has something to say. However, nearly every track on “Strange Medicine” sounds like an adolescent paean for Love and Pain. “You Better Wait,” the album’s opener, nominal single and, likely the best track on the record, opens up with:
She was "17", beauty queen
I met her in a magazine
Heart of fire, Love's desire
Reachin' out, higher higher
The lyrics, though, are not the primary problem on “Strange Medicine.” The greater concern are the songs, which plainly do not know whether they are ballads or rockers. Worse still, the verses are flat and the choruses never take flight. It’s unclear whether the songs are undercooked, Perry is holding back vocally or that he simply can’t reach those great heights any more. But the result is an above average band making below average music that sounds not unlike the “Top Gun” soundtrack if Kenny Loggins and Berlin had opted out a week before the film opened. Honestly, I’d venture that a sophisticated 1980s computer, if given every song Journey recorded, could have written and recorded an album equal to “Strange Medicine.” Even the song titles sound like recycling or cheap imitation -- “Listen to Your Heart,” “Young Hearts Forever” and “Missing You.”
Though produced in 1994, the record sounds mired in an early 80s smokescreen. Often, the guitars, bass and synths all blend together until some white hot, masturbatory guitar solo kicks in. Sadly, even the true ballads -- “I Am” and “Missing You” -- sound like background music played over the third best glass of red wine at the Cheesecake Factory on a Wednesday date night. To hear it, you might briefly pause and wonder, “Is that...is that Steve Perry?” And then you’d move on from your distraction to talk about the kids some more.
To Perry’s credit, none of the songs are abysmal embarrassments. In his arrested development, he keeps things safe and samey. Aside from “You Better Wait,” which sounds like solid, made to order soundtrack Rock, the standout is “Somewhere There’s Hope,” wherein Perry updates “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” for the 90s. It’s a bluesy rocker with some Gospel in the air -- nothing fancy. But the production is cleaner, allowing the voice to separate and move around a bit. Elsewhere on the album, Perry’s greatest instrument stays grounded, hesitant.
“Strange Medicine” was critically ravaged upon its release and sold poorly. In reading through scores of two star reviews, I wondered if those assessments were unkind. I wondered if they hurt. To note, it would be another twenty four years before Perry released a follow-up to “Strange Medicine.” Is two stars out of five the same as forty percent? That sounds like an “F.” Or is two stars simply below average? That sounds kinder, if not fairer. Below average sounds like the kind of bruise that won’t leave a lasting mark.