Motley Crue "Girls, Girls, Girls" [1987]

It's entirely possible that no group of people in any profession, at any time in history, has perpetuated more cliches about their industry than Motley Crue on "Girls, Girls, Girls." In fact, it's like that with all their albums -- they were major-label sell-outs from Day One, and any metal fan who has ever listened to them is no metal fan at all. We choose "Girls, Girls, Girls" for slammation because this 1987 release was when we'd no longer be rid of these prettified shitheads, and which would eventually and extremely unfortunately make Tommy Lee's wiener a social topic. Each and every song by the Crue is a cardboard cut-out of an actual rock tune, and as a result they make fellow-LA nimrod David Lee Roth seem downright philosophical by comparison. This is paint-by-numbers rock, complete with phony vocal screeches, plastic guitar distortion, dime-store Michael Schenker solos and vignettes about humping random bimbos. There's a perfectly good reason 80s hair-metal is the only popular music of the past 40 years to completely flop in its attempts to cash-in on the nostalgia market: the genre was already a cash-in from 70s hard rock, and all the Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers in the world won't help you enjoy a minute of it a second time around.