Pro wrestling would not be the same without music. Many wrestlers or sports entertainers, whatever you want to call them, would not be who they are without their theme songs. There’s nothing like hearing “Real American” and watching the immortal Hulk Hogan run in to save the day, or the glass shatter and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin comes in ready to open a can of whoop ass. It adds to the excitement and brings the characters portrayed in the ring a little bit more to life. I think we all wish we could have a theme song play whenever we enter a room. The President gets “Hail to the Chief.” Closers in baseball, notably the Yankees’ Mariano Rivera with “Enter Sandman,” get pumped with their music and the crowd’s roar to shut the opponent’s door at a baseball game. So the eight-year-old me assumed (and you know what happens when you assume) that the 1993 WWF music release, Wrestlemania: The Album would be an incredible musical experience. It sure was an experience.
To sum it up quickly and as less-painfully as I can, Wrestlemania: The Album is not a collection of wrestler theme songs. Whether I thought it was before getting it from my parents, I’m not so sure. That part of the story is a bit foggy. But it is a collection of songs inspired by and actually “performed” by WWF superstars. Performed, in parentheses, because a lot of the songs are just instrumentals with the wrestlers talking over them or sound bites from broadcasts spliced in.
"Hacksaw" Jim Duggan, The Nasty Boys, Bret "The Hitman" Hart, The Undertaker (!!), "Macho Man" Randy Savage (!!!), Tatanka, Mr. Perfect and The Big Boss Man all lend their angelic voices to the cause. I can’t believe that someone, in the building formerly known as Titan Tower in Stanford, Connecticut, thought this would be a good idea. I guess they were thinking, at the very least, to make some money and strike while the iron was relatively hot. They got me hooked for a while. I would listen to the album on the Walkman which I would take with me everywhere. I remember our family was out west in the summer of 1994, taking a trip from Seattle to Nevada. I remember my uncle letting me play the tape in the car he rented as we partook in this journey. We’re cool now, he and I, but I wonder to this day whether he ever resented me for this? I also remember being at my godmother’s house for a family party. I was playing this tape and one of the other kids, an older one by a few years, was making fun of me for listening to Wrestlemania: The Album. He kind of burst my bubble, brought a touch of cynicism to my ears, and I started to realize the album was indeed crap.
So, 18 years later, here I am telling you about this crap, song by song.
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