It was 1984. Los Angeles was a pressure cooker of hairspray, spandex, and sheer volume. If you walked down the Sunset Strip, you weren’t just hearing music; you were feeling a tectonic shift in culture. Right at the center of that earthquake was an album with a rat on the cover and a girl—model Tawny Kitaen—peering out from a storm cellar. Out of the Cellar by Ratt didn't just sell millions of copies. It basically defined the DNA of eighties glam metal before the genre became a parody of itself.
Honestly, it’s easy to look back now and see the big hair and think it was all fluff. But listen to those tracks again. There is a grit there. A mean streak. Stephen Pearcy wasn’t trying to be a choir boy; he sounded like he just woke up in a gutter with a cigarette in his mouth and a smirk on his face. He had that raspy, snotty delivery that felt dangerous.
The Guitar Alchemy of Crosby and DeMartini
You can’t talk about this record without talking about the guitars. Most bands at the time were lucky to have one decent shredder. Ratt had two. Warren DeMartini—only 18 or 19 at the time—was a literal prodigy. He had this fluid, "snakey" vibrato that made other guitarists lose sleep. Then you had Robbin "King" Crosby, who brought the crunch and the visual presence.
They weren't just playing scales. They were weaving textures.
Take "Round and Round." It’s the song everyone knows, but have you actually sat down and tracked the rhythm work? It’s tight. It’s surgical. Producer Beau Hill, who was relatively new at the time, stripped away the mud and gave the band a polished, radio-ready sheen without killing the impact of the drums. Bobby Blotzer’s kit sounds like a building falling down, but in a very rhythmic, pleasing way. Juan Croucier’s bass wasn't just buried in the mix either; it provided this propulsive, almost pop-oriented foundation that made the heavy riffs "danceable."
Out of the Cellar and the 1984 Metal Explosion
1984 was a weirdly perfect year for music. You had Van Halen dropping 1984, Mötley Crüe was riding high on Shout at the Devil, and then Ratt comes out with this polished monster. While the Crüe was all about the occult and being "bad boys," Ratt felt more like the guys you’d actually find at a party in the Hollywood Hills. They were sleazy, sure, but there was a sophistication to the songwriting.
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The album peaked at number seven on the Billboard 200. That’s huge for a debut full-length.
"Wanted Man" is another standout that people often overlook in favor of the hits. It’s got that Western-outlaw-meets-hair-metal vibe that Bon Jovi would eventually ride to the bank a few years later. But Ratt did it with more bite. There’s a certain swagger in the bridge of that song that feels earned. They weren't faking it. They were living in a small apartment in Culver City, literally starving, right before this thing blew up.
Why the Production Still Holds Up
A lot of 80s records sound like they were recorded inside a tin can filled with reverb. Out of the Cellar avoided that trap. Beau Hill’s production style focused on "the big mono" center with wide-panned guitars. It created a wall of sound that felt massive on car stereos. If you put on "Back for More," the way the acoustic intro transitions into that heavy, chugging riff is a masterclass in dynamic tension.
The songwriting credits are also interesting. They weren't a one-man show. Everyone contributed. This gave the album a variety of flavors. "Lack of Communication" is almost speed metal in its intensity, showing that they could play fast and heavy when they wanted to. On the flip side, "The Morning After" has a melodic hook that wouldn't feel out of place on a Top 40 station.
The Tawny Kitaen Factor and Visual Branding
We have to talk about the cover. Tawny Kitaen. Before she was doing cartwheels on Whitesnake’s Jaguars, she was the Ratt girl. She was actually dating Robbin Crosby at the time. Putting her on the cover of Out of the Cellar was a stroke of marketing genius, even if it happened somewhat organically. It gave the band an immediate visual identity.
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It wasn't just about the music; it was the lifestyle. The music videos, particularly the one for "Round and Round" featuring Milton Berle (who was actually Marshall Berle's uncle, the band's manager), helped bridge the gap between old-school show business and the new MTV generation. Seeing a comedy legend like Berle annoyed by a bunch of loud rockers in his basement was the exact kind of "us vs. them" narrative that teenagers in the 80s lived for.
Critical Reception and Long-Term Impact
Critics at the time were surprisingly split. Some saw them as just another "hair band," but the fans knew better. You don't sell three million copies by accident. Rolling Stone and other major outlets eventually had to give them their due because the musicianship was simply too high to ignore. DeMartini, in particular, became a "guitarist's guitarist," influencing a whole generation of players who wanted to replicate that specific L.A. sound.
The album also avoided the "all-killer, no-filler" problem. Even the deep tracks like "In Your Direction" or "She Wants Money" have hooks. There isn't a skip-worthy moment on the entire thirty-six-minute run. It’s a lean, mean record. No bloated power ballads—which would ironically become the downfall of the genre later—just straight-ahead hard rock with big choruses.
The Tragedy Behind the Triumph
It’s impossible to look at the success of this album without a bit of sadness. Robbin Crosby’s story is one of the more tragic tales in rock history. The "King" stood 6'6" and was the heart of the band's stage presence. His later struggles with addiction and his eventual passing due to AIDS-related complications in 2002 cast a long shadow over the band's legacy. When you listen to the upbeat, celebratory tracks on Out of the Cellar, there's a poignant realization that this was the peak of a very specific, fleeting moment in time.
How to Listen to Out of the Cellar Today
If you're coming to this album for the first time, or maybe you haven't spun it since you had it on a worn-out cassette tape, there are a few things to look for.
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First, ignore the "hair metal" label for a second. Listen to it as a hard rock record. The influence of Aerosmith and Judas Priest is all over this thing, but it's filtered through a California sun-drenched lens. The remaster released for the 40th anniversary actually does a decent job of cleaning up some of the low-end frequencies without making it sound "modern" (which usually just means loud and distorted).
Second, pay attention to the backing vocals. Ratt was incredible at layering harmonies. It’s what gave "Round and Round" that massive, anthemic feel. It’s not just Stephen singing; it’s a wall of voices that makes the choruses feel like an event.
Actionable Ways to Appreciate Ratt's Legacy
If you want to go deeper into the world of 1984 L.A. rock, here are a few things you can do:
- Compare the "Round and Round" demo to the studio version. You can find early versions of these songs on various bootlegs and official "Ratt n' Roll" collections. It shows how much the production helped tighten the arrangements.
- Watch the 1984 live footage from the Tokyo Music Festival. It’s Ratt at their absolute peak. DeMartini’s soloing is effortless, and the band’s energy is infectious. It proves they weren't just a "studio creation."
- Check out Warren DeMartini’s instructional videos. Even if you don't play guitar, seeing how he constructs those "snakey" riffs gives you a whole new appreciation for the complexity of the songs on this album.
- Read "The Dirt" or Stephen Pearcy’s autobiography. While Pearcy’s book Sex, Drugs, Ratt & Roll: My Life in Rock can be a bit wild, it provides the necessary context for what the scene was like when they were recording at Village Recorder in Los Angeles.
The influence of this record is everywhere. You hear it in modern bands like Steel Panther (who play it for laughs, but the musicianship is real) and even in the "sleaze rock" revival happening in Europe. Out of the Cellar remains the gold standard. It’s the sound of five guys who finally got their shot and swung for the fences. They didn't just hit a home run; they cleared the stadium.
Next time you’re driving with the windows down, put on "I'm Insane." Turn it up way past what’s reasonable. You'll get it. The album isn't just a relic of the 80s; it’s a masterclass in how to capture lightning in a bottle. Keep an eye out for the 40th-anniversary vinyl pressings—they often include rare photos and liner notes that give even more insight into the chaotic sessions that birthed this classic.