The hair metal scene of the 1980s was already influenced by Penelope Spheeris’ The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal YearsAnd Nöthin’ But a Good Time: The uncensored history of 80s hair metal doesn’t surpass it.

Paramount+’s three-part docuseries, premiering Sept. 17, is a no-nonsense power ballad for the era of big hairdos, tight spandex clothing, and rampant debauchery and depravity, reminiscing with an affection that, unfortunately, can’t match its poignancy. There’s barely any mention of the decade’s biggest stars, and even less insight, and the series opts for sketchy nostalgia.

Hair Metal was about excess, so Nothing but a good time (based on the book by journalists Tom Beaujour and Richard Bienstock, who also contribute) is invariably at its most entertaining when the presenters tell anecdotes from their over-the-top heyday.

Manager Doc McGhee discusses Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx and drummer Tommy Lee’s habit of being “black angels,” going around biting people – hard enough to leave permanent marks – or giving them sneaky kicks. Great White singer Jack Russell (who just passed away) describes his drug addiction that drove him to repeatedly rob his dealer, leading to one incident where he got so high during a robbery that he got into an argument with the guy’s housekeeper and ended up shooting her through a bathroom door.

There are plenty of similar stories of sex, drugs and chaos, from David Lee Roth blocking the bathroom at LA’s Rainbow Room to get blowjobs to manager Alan Niven meeting Guns N’ Roses guitarist Slash’s huge house snake, these stories show that the lifestyles of these rock gods were as loud and boisterous as their music.

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Apart from these occasional eye-openers, Nothing but a good time is a formulaic and superficial affair.

Director Jeff Tremaine (co-creator of Donkey) briefly contextualizes hair metal as a rejection of the new wave that was all the rage in the late ’70s and a throwback to the longhaired rock that preceded it – only this time with more extreme style and more sensationalism.

Their birthplace was the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, and their de facto parents were Motley Crue, whose unabashed wildness was their greatest asset. Originally living in an apartment down the street from the Whiskey A Go Go, the band members reportedly scavenged through the club’s trash cans for food and cigarettes. Despite these humble circumstances, they caught the attention of up-and-coming A&R executive Tom Zutaut, who signed them to Elektra Records, making them a sensation and setting in motion the entire hair metal phenomenon.

Nothing but a good time looks at Crüe’s now infamous 1983 tour opening for Ozzy Osbourne, which brought the two bands together through their insane mischievousness and drug abuse – so bad that they all went to rehab after the tour – but the docuseries suffers from the fact that neither of them takes part.

This is a constant problem, as Tremaine only gets a few well-known names on camera (such as Poison’s Bret Michaels), and otherwise relies on guitarists, bassists and singers known primarily to hardcore fans. In many cases, what they have to say is amusing, but it makes the proceedings feel somewhat second-rate, and the same goes for the occasional animated interludes that dramatize the crazy material, like a story of Ozzy defecating in the shoes of hotel room guests.

Nothing but a good timeThe main problem is that hair metal wasn’t a deep form of music and its best exponents were just good songwriters who wanted to have fun and have sex. There’s not much more to say about it.

Nonetheless, Tremaine’s docuseries at least says it with moderate enthusiasm, laying out how Crüe’s popularity led an early wave of metal (including WASP and Ratt) that soon gave way to a second generation of glam acts that were more overtly flamboyant and poppy, led by the likes of Poison, who moved from their Pennsylvania hometown to California and worked tirelessly to promote themselves with millions of flyers posted all over the Strip. Their success in selling records and attracting hordes of female and male fans became bait for thousands of up-and-coming bands to flock to the area, resulting in a handful of copycat triumphs and a slew of flops.

Nothing but a good time doesn’t miss the biggest stories of the era, be it the untimely death of guitar master Randy Rhoads or the rise of Guns N’ Roses to become the true titans of the scene (and their last hurrah). However, it skims over everything, which makes the docuseries superficial.

Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor praises hair metal for its straightforward fun and, just as importantly, its undeniable catchiness, singling out Poison’s “Talk Dirty to Me” and disparaging the “pretentious assholes” who put it down. Yet Tremaine has no interest in examining hair metal through the lens of ’80s culture in general, meaning it comes across as simply a fad aimed at having fun and getting off. That’s true, but that ends up not being enough to fill three episodes.

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The malicious objectification of women in hair metal justifies (get it?) a few casual comments in Nothing but a good time. The main attraction, however, is little things like Riki Rachtman, owner of the Cathouse nightclub (and future host of MTV’s Headbanger’s Ball), remembering a Guns N’ Roses show before which Axl Rose chased a drunken David Bowie down the Strip because the starman had hit on his girlfriend.

Tremaine recognizes that the appeal of this genre lies in its lack of restraint. Unfortunately, he only briefly addresses the dark side of this excess, and nothing he can think of can compare to the legendary depressing scene from Spheeris’ Decline of Western Civilization, Part II in which WASP guitarist Chris Holmes pours vodka over his head in a swimming pool and calls himself a “piece of shit” while his mother sits next to him.

Anyone looking for more than a superficial portrait of Quiet Riot, Dokken, Skid Row and the others will be disappointed by Nothing but a good time. Nevertheless, this loving look back can be quite amusing, for example when Kix guitarist Brian “Damage” Forsythe tells how the entire scene was pulled when grunge took off – in the case of his band in the truest sense of the word, whose music video was summarily cancelled in the middle of filming (!) because the label had decided that the party was officially over.