In a world that feels like it’s vibrating at the wrong frequency, Michael Monroe gives us an escape hatch with Outerstellar, where the headlines fade away and for a while the only thing that matters is pure rock n’ roll.
There are artists who earn the title “rock n’ roll survivor” and those like Michael Monroe who embody it. How many other people could say they were roommates with Johnny Thunders and Stiv Bators (at the same time!) and lived to talk about it? As one of the last standing vestiges of cult legends Hanoi Rocks, along with current bandmate Sami Yaffa, Monroe never succumbed to the tragedy and heartbreak that consumed his original band. He just kept keeping on, writing and playing with the fire of an eternal teenager who never once had to try to be a rock star… he just always was one.
Even after doing it for 40+ years, Michael Monroe still manages to make records that introduce themselves by kicking the doors off the hinges and bursting in with a strut and smile that says “the night’s still young, so get off your asses.” And that’s just the blast off point for his new album, Outerstellar.
Trying to pin a specific sound on Monroe has always felt like trying to pin lightning to a leopard. Glam? Punk? Hard rock? Sure, those all work. Separately. Combined. Mutated. The former Hanoi frontman has long lived in some sweet no man’s land where he can exist as both the star who inspired Axl Rose’s original look and stage persona, and the guy who stood alongside Little Steven to protest against playing Sun City. He exists in a realm where swagger always comes with singalongs, where bluesy harmonica holds its own with distorted riffs, and where saxophone solos sometimes replace the guitar ones. On Outerstellar, per usual, he sounds like he’s not interested in all the labels heaped upon him over the years, he just wants what he always has, to be liberated from them.
From the opening blast of guitars, Monroe’s unmistakable voice cuts through with his world-weary rasp and soars, equal parts alleyway and arena. The harmonies flow like his silk scarves, playing off guitars that aren’t playing around. Then, just as you’re expecting another anthem, he hits you with a quieter moment, intimate with guard down. What makes Outerstellar is what makes every Michael Monroe album…. its attitude. The man embodies a kind of rock n’ roll confidence that feels like one must be born with it. It’s carefree but clear he always cares about the songs themselves, cocksure but never cocky in the wrong way. There’s joy here, the kind that comes from a band who still believe that plugging in and turning up is a near religious act. This is rock n' roll in its truest sense: communal, cathartic, and still dangerous.