If you wanna hang loose, baby, get a grip." When Steven Tyler delivers this bit of wisdom on the title track of Aerosmith's fifteenth album, it seems plausible enough. Or maybe it's just impossible to argue with this screaming siren and his crew when they fall in behind a hot-shit metallic R&B strut. On "Get a Grip," one of Tyler's trademark silver-tongued spiels tames a bucking Joe Perry guitar riff, the rhythm section never stops galloping, and it sure sounds like America's reigning hard-rock band is back in the saddle again. After the commercial and, yes, aesthetic success of Pump (1989), the stage is clearly set for Aerosmith's triumphant return. Miraculously unscarred and
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much smarter, these ultimate Seventies survivors are perfectly positioned in 1993.
But, hey, our recently departed president got one thing right – it's weird out there now. Popular tastes have gone through so many upheavals that nothing is automatic in rock & roll anymore. Playing it safe just isn't as safe as it used to be. And make no mistake, playing it safe according to strict late-Eighties directives is exactly what Aerosmith – and its songwriting contractors – are up to on Get a Grip. If Pump's "Janie's Got a Gun" opened possibilities for this group and hard rock in general, the formulaic macho slobber of "Flesh" and the humorless clean-living uplift of "Livin' on the Edge" slam them shut.
For a spirited half-hour or so, Aerosmith pretty much gets over on sheer awe-inspiring technique – the relentless momentum of drummer Joey Kramer and bassist Tom Hamilton, measured applications of brute sonic force from Perry and second guitarist Brad Whitford, Tyler's dancing around and draping scarves over the top. Playing together as a band for twenty-odd years definitely has its advantages; each instrumental voice distinctly holds its own in an instantly recognizable blend.
Yet the bulk of Get a Grip sticks to proven designs, the tried and true. The tossed-off "Intro" is the only nod to Tyler and Perry's barrier-smashing 1986 version of "Walk This Way" with Run-D.M.C.; the subtle funk underpinnings of Aerosmith's fleet, fast-talking boogie remain largely unexplored on Grip. That lack of wild-eyed adventure is reflected in this set's pointedly sobersided lyrics. Too few sweet-talking sassafrassies from Tallahassee rear their tousled heads. Motor-mouth verbal inventiveness is replaced by a decidedly calmer, more inspiring tone. Many party-down anthems ("Grip," "Fever," Joe Perry's Keith tribute "Walk On Down") actually allude to the group members' well-documented addiction-and-recovery struggles. Without denying Tyler's hard-won sobriety, the problem with Grip's constant moralizing is best summed up by a line from Tyler himself: "I just can't listen to all that righteous talk," he wails on "Amazing." It's tough, all right, especially on that frightfully operatic Queen-deriv
