Waxing Nostalgic: METAL MAYHEM! with Dangerous Toys, “Sport’n a Woody”

By Jeffery X Martin

Eighties metal was nothing if not hyper-sexualized, as men who looked like women objectified females as simply holes to be filled. Were they glorifying bisexuality or simply echoing the glam rock stylings of Bryan Ferry and David Bowie? Were any of them smart enough to make that kind of conscious decision? It’s hard to say.

The sight of longhaired bottle-blonde men wearing mascara and codpieces was strange enough. Hearing them spout metaphorical lyrics about their sexual conquests was difficult to take seriously. Who can forget Warrant’s immortal paean to sensual cooking, “Cherry Pie?” Def Leppard wanted ladies to pour some sugar on them, which I never found to be attractive at all. That just sounds messy.

Leave it to a band from Texas to be straightforward about the whole business. There was no make-up to be found on these guys and certainly no beating around the bush (snicker). Dangerous Toys, in the span of one song, both undermined and cemented the comically retarded machismo of the hair metal era.

They weren’t one of the more famous bands of the time, which is a shame, considering the high sneer of vocalist Jason McMaster ranks among the better voices of that time period. When you’re singing a song called “Sport’n a Woody,” you had better have the voice to back it up with.

The lyrics of this song bear some examination. They don’t need any kind of demystification, mind you, just some recognition for their audacity. Eighties metal lyrics were, for the most part, coy and filled with Porky’s-style leering. But in the microcosm of Dangerous Toys, you get this:

“Well, there’s women in the city that make me feel shitty/And some that make me pack a wad.”

Friends, we have left the realm of imagination and gone directly in this band’s front pockets.

“I ain’t got no money, ain’t got no home/I gotta find me a bim to live with tonight.”

Ah, a clever strategy, young lad! In order to obtain female company, one must be homeless and unemployed. One should also refer to ladies as “bims,” which is short for “bimbo.”

It gets worse from there, or better, depending on your point of view, with direct references to genitalia and rough points of seduction. It’s about as classy as flashing a nun. It almost makes W.A.S.P. seem reserved in comparison.

Yet there it is, flensed, so we can see the real backbone of rock and roll, which is, and always has been, sex. No other Eighties metal act points it out with such clarity. No sugar being poured, no desserts, no careful code to trick your parents into singing along. Dangerous Toys doesn’t care if your mother likes them (unless your mom puts out).

If you’re the sensitive type, you may not want to listen to this tune. Those of you who go for it, prepare to be amazed as all rock and roll pretension is discarded and the whole genre gets pantsed.