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Simon
June 23, 2025
Before Spotify playlists and “curated vibes,” there was Girls, Girls, Girls–an album that didn’t give a damn about your feelings.
If you were around in ‘87, you remember exactly where you were when it hit. Probably behind the wheel of something loud, windows down, cigarette burning, feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof.
Motley Crue didn’t set out to make art. They made a soundtrack for bar fights, bad tattoos, strip club afternoons, and waking up in cities you couldn’t spell. Every riff on this record smells like whiskey, sweat, and regret—and that’s exactly why it still rocks like a freight train.
“Wild Side” hits like a punch to the teeth. Tommy Lee’s drums don’t keep the beat — they threaten it. And by the time the title track rolls in? Forget it. You’re already two beers deep, yelling the chorus like your life depends on it. Vince Neil wasn’t just singing—he was grinning through every dirty story you wish you had the guts (or the lack of sense) to live.
Do you remember when MTV wouldn’t play this song until after midnight?
Radio didn’t know what to do with it. Church groups clutched their pearls. And we? We couldn’t get enough. It was the background noise to every party, every parking lot hookup, every bad decision we’d proudly make again.
And here’s the kicker—this album moved culture. MTV played “Girls, Girls, Girls” on a loop, turning neon-lit strip clubs into rock ‘n’ roll landmarks. The Crue was banned, blamed, and worshipped all at once. They made it cool to be dangerous again, and every kid with a can of hairspray and a dream took notes.
You want the track list? Here’s the carnage:
Side One
Side Two
Girls, Girls, Girls didn’t just fuel your Saturday nights. It cracked the whole damn rock world wide open. Quadruple platinum. Over 4 million copies sold. Number 2 on the Billboard 200. Not bad for a band most radio stations didn’t even want to touch.
And those tours? Absolute chaos. Loud, sweaty, no seat belts. Just the way it should be.
Thirty-eight years later, Girls, Girls, Girls is a time machine to our youth. Loud, fast, half-naked, and gloriously out of control.
So yeah, maybe we’re older now. Softer around the edges. But every time that opening riff kicks in, something wakes up. Something wild. Something loud. I’m blasting it right now as I write this.
And just for a moment—we’re back on the wild side. 😜
Rock on,
Sam 🤘
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