As a professional wrestling fan, you’re often confronted with a seemingly endless supply of crude stereotypes, bad jokes and problematic machismo. We put up with this because despite its shortcomings, pro wrestling can often be some of the most enthralling entertainment in the world. Seriously, there’s nothing better than a big WWE pay-per-view at its best. Watching Daniel Bryan hoist the title belt above his head made all the family side-eyes worth it.
But yes, there’s a lot of dumb stuff on Raw every week, but not all of it is depressing! You can chuckle through the nonsensical kayfabe logic and horrible marketing ploys, but the crown jewel of bad wrestling ideas has to be the tradition of letting WWE superstars record albums. Yes, there is a long tradition of old, ‘roid-y white guys releasing music, and this being Extra Mustard, we decided to evaluate some of the more notable ones. Why? Well, we’re just killing time until Bray Wyatt puts out his down-tempo record.
Macho Man Randy Savage – Be a Man
Macho Man’s rap album came out in 2003, which is, by all accounts, way too late for a Macho Man rap album. Savage was pretty much retired at the turn of the millennium, so it’s pretty bizarre to see him dropping crispy Hulk Hogan diss tracks while guys like John Cena were getting their start. Savage’s flow is modulated in a bizarre, uncanny-valley way, presumably because his sense of rhythm was left back in WCW. The highlight is the actually kinda soul-crushing Mr. Perfect tribute “Perfect Friend” -- it’s the sort of kitschy artifact that makes you sad all over again that Macho Man’s essence has moved on.
John Cena – My Time is Now
So you’re probably expecting John Cena’s rap album to be pretty bad. I don’t blame you. We are talking about a fake-southerner whose finisher used to be punching people with his damn chain. These days he’s more GI Joe than anything remotely controversial, but no amount of retconning can change the fact that Cena’s sole musical output is actually pretty good. Sure he raps in a molasses-slow drawl and he’ll never not be goofy, but it’s hard to deny the blue-collar thoroughness of My Time is Now. Honestly it makes me pretty happy that the face of the WWE put out one totally better-than-expected record only to be never heard from again.
Captain Lou Albano – Lou and the Q
Hulk Hogan – Hulk’s Rules
Out of the litany of ill-advised career ventures in pro wrestling, it’s completely unsurprising that Hulk Hogan’s rap album is the least funny. While Macho Man was penning immortal tributes to his bygone friends and Cena was, well, actually writing songs, Hogan basically does the absolute bare minimum to earn his way onto the cover. Seriously, nobody thinks the idea of Hulk Hogan rapping is more hilarious than Hulk Hogan. Hulk’s Rules was released in 1995, right before he turned heel, I guess it could be seen as foreshadowing?
Lita – The Luchagors
At first you think Lita is the legit punk-rock lifer of the WWE, and that she has stories about stage-diving directly onto Ian MacKaye’s head. Then you realize her band is the exact sort of power-chord Mountain Dew music that she should ostensibly think is lame, and kayfabe is broken forever.
Stone Cold Steve Austin – Stone Cold Metal
This is my favorite wrestling album of all time, because it is literally just Stone Cold Steve Austin’s giant bald face on an album cover where all the songs are random mid-level hits from fairgrounds legacy acts. Do you like KISS’ “Detroit Rock City?” Well good, because it’s the 8th track on Stone Cold Metal. In 1998 Austin was so powerful that he could actually sell a decades-old KISS song that I personally guarantee every Stone Cold Steve Austin fan already owned.
Freddy Blassie – I Bite the Songs
Wrestling legend "Classy" Freddy Blassie knew how to throw some shade, and this was quite apparent based on the lyrics of his song "Pencil Neck Geek":
They say, "these geeks come a dime a dozen." I'm lookin' for the guy who's supplin' the dimes. Its gonna be real hard times for all of these grit eatin', scum suckin', boot lickin', drop kickin', gut grindin', nail bitin', glue sniffin', scab pickin', butt scratchin', egg hatchin', sleezy, smelly, pepper bellied, dirty, lousy, rotten, stinkin', freaks. Nothing but a pencil neck geek.
He wasn't much for singing or even coherent lyrics, but as we've learned, neither of these things are necessary prerequisites for a professional wrestler to release a music album. The real shame is that the world never got to hear Blassie's scathing condemnation of modern hipster culture. That album goes double platinum, easily.