This song is The Cats In The Cradle for kids from broken homes. It’s the latch key kid version of that ‘Damn, we missed it’ sentiment and no matter how hard the rocker is, you get them talking about the men that made them or the absence of one and there is a song there.
Faster Pussycat were the sleaziest of the LA Sleaze to Glam barometer. They were residents at The Cathouse on Sunset Strip in the second half of the 1980’s and all of their songs were about drinking, doing drugs and screwing strippers… Except this one.
‘It’s a little past supper time, I’m still out on the front porch sittin’ on my behind, waiting for you’
This is the classic story of the kid waiting for the father who never came back. It became a cliché decades before Pussycat tried to go a little country and wrote their biggest hit. ‘Going a Little Country’ is a classic move for heavy bands to get a power ballad out there in the charts without being accused of being total sell outs. It’s worked for Poison on Every Rose and Bon Jovi on Wanted.
Going a Little Country has been a viable option for every rock band by track 5 ever since Lynryd Synyrd did Tuesday’s Gone. It didn’t go so great for Metallica on Mama Said but that was a bridge too far and a decade too late.
‘Wondering if everything is alright Momma said, “Come in boy, don’t waste your time.” I said, “I’ve got time Will he be here soon?”‘
So to Pussycat. Second album on a major, Wake Me When It’s Over had a bigger production budget than their debut. But it didn’t have first pick of all of the songs they’d played year after year on the club circuit so there were some thin spots. What made House Of Pain a highlight was it’s childlike purity. All the other songs are about getting screwed over by Bad Girls or getting wasted and paranoid. Not everyone can relate to Where There’s a Whip There’s a Way.
House Of Pain. We can all miss our parents. And that chorus. That’s a tear jerker right there.
‘I’m not trying to fake it and I ain’t the one to blame, there’s no one home In my house of pain I didn’t write these pages and my script’s been rearranged. No, there’s no one home In my house of pain’