Back when I was 16 in high school, Trevor, my link to the
wild blue yonder of the Air Force, was a sort of friend that I knew from hanging around other people. He was
incredibly into running and keeping fit, which made him different than almost all of my other friends. As a result, we didn’t always see eye to
eye since I was a lazy slacker, but when my friend Ken wanted to sell
his ticket to Iron Maiden, a concert that we had planned to see for so long, it
was Trevor who jumped at the chance to go, so it was like, "OK. Let's do this.
So the next day, Trevor
and I jumped into his dad’s black Triumph TR-7 convertible ragtop, and headed
off to Allentown to see Iron Maiden. It was a shame that I hadn’t been able to
see them in 8th grade, because that was when they changed my world. Piece of Mind, Power Slave, Number of the
Beast, Live after Death, and Somewhere in Time made them the epitome of all
that was heavy metal. Their artistic skeleton, Eddie, was the coolest rock
image that was ever known to man. Their stage show was fantastic, artistic, and
dramatic, and I was finally going to see them in all of their live glory! Life
was good.
It was just a shame that
nobody else was going to see them...
By the time we were
driving on Route 222 to go see them, my life had already been changed by the
rock show. I had been to see Anthrax, Exodus, and Celtic Frost, which meant
well and it was entertaining, but it wasn’t the same as punk energy. In
particular, Henry Rollins’ explosive one-man wrecking crew force was the most
intense live act I ever saw in the 41 years of my life.
Standing in a bingo hall
that was transformed into a club and watching this hardcore punk legend call
out all the kids that he wanted in his mosh pit was unlike anything that I had
seen or would see in the rest of my life. It was so new and awe inspiring that
my pre-16-year old self couldn’t be anything other than thrilled to be a part
of this spectacle. Here was this man, standing only in a pair of shorts,
sweating, shaved headed, and covered in tattoos of punk bands, philosophical
ideas, and random cool stuff. Here I was, a goofy suburban white boy, looking
across the room, which couldn’t even masquerade as a club, and there was
Rollins who was unlike anything I had ever seen in person. His face was the
rock hard Nietzschian special forces assault against weakness, pain, and
bullshit, and his intensity kicked into gear as he burst into song. Behind him,
the band slammed into full-fledged assault on their guitars and drums. The
album title said it all: Hot Animal
Machine. Moving through the post-teenage depression and angst that was Black
Flag, Rollins was changing into thee warrior of the suburban apocalypse. Of
course, in twenty years, he would be the only man in Hollywood who had almost as many jobs as Ryan Seacrest. In addition, he was definitely someone that you would
be more interested in sitting down and talking to about life and living than
you would with Ryan Seacrest… that is if he had time for you. Then again, I understand him not having time for me. I did kind of barge into his dressing room.
As I wandered back the
hallway, I was followed by several Brits, my friend Mike, who we all called by
his last name and a few other Americans that were in tow with us. I
was first in line, and when I walked into the dressing room and professed my
worship of his highness, Rollins just looked at me like I was from Mars.
The look of surprise
quickly vanished, and he then angrily asked me how I got backstage. I told him
the bouncer let me. He responded that this dude shouldn’t have done that. At
the point, the Brits barged in with typical English joviality. Immediately,
they asked for autographs. When they got them, they walked out as they had
entered, still bubbling with their joy for the universe as Rollins looked over
at me, the instigator, and asked what I wanted signed. I told him that all I
wanted was for him to stand there and take a picture with me. When we both got
into the picture, I called Mike over, and as we stood for the photo, Rollins
asked in the most annoyed way that I’d seen since Basic Training if everyone
was in the picture now. I said yes, and we left without another word said after
some guy we were with who I can’t remember the name of took the picture.
In the end, I had met my
hero, and I had offended him in one life-changing moment. Still, it was a great
moment that I will always remember (Henry - if you're reading. I'm sorry. I was a jerk, and I shouldn't have done that).
At the time, punk rock
and its transitional forms that became grunge, indie rock, and alternative rock
took the anger and hostility of metal and replaced it with politics and perhaps
more importantly, a sense of trying to describe and explain the existential
vacuum that existed in my high school life. Of course, I would have never known
it as some deep philosophical concept at the time; I just knew that I didn’t
have a car, didn’t have a girlfriend, didn’t have that many friends, didn’t
relate to my parents (as many teenagers feel), and I didn’t have any sort of solid future lined up, let
alone money or proximity to do the things that I wanted, whatever the hell that
was. Without music, I would have been lost to all that was hovering over my
head. Who would have known that it was the backdoor that took me into all that I was
going to find in literature 10 years later?
There was a part of me
that was still clinging onto metal, even after hearing The Smiths’ “There is a
Light that Will Never Go Out” on WXPN led me to the classic album The Queen is Dead, which came along and
left Kiss, Ozzy, and W.A.S.P. in the
dust. Nevertheless, I still found louder, heavier music in early Metallica,
Megadeth, Anthrax, and Slayer, which sufficed for a year or two, but most of it
was just a passing fad until I really got back into hiking in 2013 and used it to energize myself up for pre-hikes (though I tend to go more mellow or poppy on the way back - some of the LaLaLand stuff is just incredible for positive energy).
With my affection for an Emma Stone / Ryan Gosling musical being said, let it also be said that the
dudes in Slayer just kick the holy hell out of anything that is frustrating,
annoying, or nonsensical to my life. Granted, they’re not relaxing music, and
they’re broken out for energy in times of extreme angst, but I will say they’re
still one of my favorite bands. How could they not be? Songs like “Disciple,” “Haunting the Chapel,” and “Raining Blood” represent the purest
greatness of thrash metal as a genre. For what it’s worth, “Reigning Blood” was
number 87 on VH1’s America’s Hard 100.
That said, when Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” is number one, it kind of says
a lot about the order and fairness of things as well as a definition of what is
hard.
Nevertheless, most of the
louder metal-core bands of the 1980s, forgettable ensembles such as DRI,
Corrosion of Conformity, SOD, and the Cro-Mags faded into nothingness to be
replaced with punk staples like Dead Kennedys, Circle Jerks, Minor Threat and
Black Flag, which also faded into obscurity soon after I realized that teenage
rebellion really only matters until the pre-frontal cortex fully forms or until
you are paying your own room board. All the same, at the time, these were the
singers that would make a difference in my life in all of those lonely high
school days. Eventually, they would be replaced and modified by more
experimental tastes such as Husker Du, Sonic Youth, Bauhaus, Joy Division, the
Minutemen, and the late 80’s / early 90’s industrial scene. For all these guys
never achieved in commercial success with tours to the Enormodome, they
combined to say one thing: The nothingness that was my America at that time was
not mine alone. There were many others just like me, and at the same time,
while they were different than me, they were also people who didn’t fit in and
were looking to belong to something.
Together, we formed a
place to go in those 10 months or so after high school and before the Air
Force.
However, in 1988, I was still 2
years away from the Air Force. I was still a year from graduating from high
school. At the time, I was also
three years away from stepping foot in merry ol’ England, a place that would
erase much of the American culture void and replace it with the unique wonder
that was being able to allow myself to be absorbed in British styles, while
still retaining the select parts of the American culture that I liked or would
come to call my own identity, which was pretty much all music at the time.
In short, I was light
years from getting to know who I really was so that I could journey on Route 80
through Ohio and become who I was truly meant to be.
And in that lost period,
I was riding as a passenger on that other highway, Route 222 in Pennsylvania,
and I was heading to a concert that would be cancelled for lack of fan support,
and then, I was coming home on that same highway.
As we passed the halfway
point back to the West Lawn area, I looked over and told Trevor that I was
going to fall sleep, and he nodded, as he continued to drive home. I don’t know
how long it took my drowsy self to fall asleep in that hot July hazy sun, but
no sooner had I fallen asleep than Trevor fell asleep, too. I woke up and felt
him driving off the road, the gravel making the speeding car rumble. Then in
the shock of my screaming to be awoken in this position, I woke him up too by
screaming, “Trevor, we’re going off the
road!”
Just like that, we hit a telephone pole, a tree, and a do not
pass sign. The car spun around and came to a stop, as Trevor got out of the car
to survey the situation. As he did, he started talking to himself.
“I’m going to be grounded
forever, I’m not going to get my senior license, My dad is going to kill me.”
I looked back at him and
summoned up all that is my trademark sarcasm and lack of sense of reverence for
any serious moment.
“Trevor, My head is
bleeding. My arm is broken. It’s really not that bad”.
It was then that he
turned off the Contour’s “Do You Love Me,” which was playing on the radio
because the movie Dirty Dancing had
brought back an LP’s worth of oldies but goodies for eighties girls to feel
nostalgic about a time they never knew.
And it was then that the
other cars began to pull over to help us out.
Medical attention was
also soon upon us, and everyone who came to rescue the scrawny kid in the
passenger seat with the broken arm kept asking me how many fingers they were
holding up and wanting to know if my neck was okay. After a while, the pain and
anxiousness that I felt caused me to get annoyed with the repetitive questioning (as I said, I was an annoying teenager),
and I told the well-wishers that I had already answered that question. I don’t
think they understood my sense of frustration and lack of ability to tolerate
pain or process what just happened. I also don’t think that they understood the fact I just wanted to be done with
it, but oh well.
When the real medics
came, they also asked me if my neck was sore. For some reason, I said yes, and
they upped the medical situation as they placed a neck brace on me for 2 days.
The neck brace also gave me a Med-Evac ride from Kirbyville to Allentown where
I was treated for my broken arm. At the hospital, they cut off my clothes
leaving me naked on the table as a male nurse told me to tell him if I had to
go the bathroom. Immediately, my nakedness, which hadn’t been an issue suddenly
was a very big problem. Where I thought that they would only cut off my shorts,
they also cut off my underwear and my cool Metallica T-shirt, which I paid
someone to pick up for me at Monsters of Rock for concert price, which is hefty for a teenager! In addition, now I also had to
go to the bathroom, which really was a nightmare because if that was the case,
then I would have to let a room full of nurses, doctors, and technicians watch
me make a steady stream.
Though I tried to control
this sensation as best as I could, I eventually had to cave in, and so, in the
end, I was forced to face the pee bottle and lose all modesty as they gave me
pain killers and prepped me for surgery.
In short order, my
parents arrived, and for the first time ever, I felt like I had been meant to
survive the incidents of my life for a reason, as if it was part of a greater
plan that I had made it this far. At the time, I had no idea what this meant. I
just remember feeling like a survivor. There are those incidents that are so momentary
or fleeting to the teenage years, but that seem to have little or temporary bearing on a life, have a way of coming back to affect us as something far more than
they ever did at the time. They are a lot of what makes us who we are. And this moment, was far from that since it was not a small moment by any means. This glowing neon light of demarcation would hold bearing on my life for some time after this.
But those other events, when they
start making more sense in the aftermath, even if that aftermath is all but 30 years removed, that’s saying something.
For all that the feeling
of purpose in life would have later, that something else, which was going to
have potential implications for the immediate future was what it meant to have
a steel plate on my right arm.
This metal device was
hinged into place with 3 solid screws boring deep into my radius. As a result,
I was barred from entering the military with the plate intact, and therefore,
since I couldn’t pass the physical, the Air Force had no time and / or patience
for me. The Army talked to me because they wanted to get all of their ducks in
a row when it came to meeting new entrant quotas, and to be honest, I wanted to
be talked to. I didn’t want to be in school, and I wanted to do something
towards a future, which was two-fold thing in that it kept my parents off my
back as well.’
Months of uncertainty and
stupid high school days passed, and when the plate came out toward the end of
my senior year, I still had several weeks to wait before I could get a doctor’s
approval to say that I was capable of doing whatever motions it was that I
needed to be doing with my arm. Like all things, the necessary time quickly
passed, and I was given the note, and then it was off to sign up for the Air
Force.
Even in signing up for the Air Force, I was
never wooed. There was never a feeling of you’re our boy, so let us take you
out to dinner so we can wine you and dine you before we let your ass get yours handed to you in Basic Training. Instead, I was made to feel like a fish that was going to
bite, got reeled in, and now here I was, waiting the required amount of time
until I would become one of them in some participatorial orgiastic love fest
where all my youthful weakness would be the main course. But that's a whole other story, this is a story about Iron Maiden.
Over time, I drifted away from Maiden, but I found them again in 2004, which I'm glad that I did since they were a part of my life as a kid, and some things from our
I finally did get to see Iron Maiden in June at the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia. They put on a really good show and played a lot of old songs and quite a few newer ones. I have to say that I liked their new disc, which is a collection of extended songs that tend to move closer to 8-10 minutes of jammed out metal. They may be old, but they sure know how to rock. As an older person with a long drive home and an early morning commute, I gave up the encore to get out of the parking lot and missed them doing "Wasted Years," my favorite song of theirs, but still I got to see them do "Book of Souls," "Fear of the Dark," "Powerslave," "Speed of Light," and "The Trooper." and quite a few other great songs. The last song I heard was "Number of the Beast."
So this day is in honor of them and the show I never saw, the one to support the Seventh Son of a Seventh Son tour. There's nothing on here from that disc (of which the best track is "Infinite Dreams"), so here's a live "Wasted Years" from this current tour. Enjoy.
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