Smoke and lightning, heavy metal thunder

(When a friend recently asked me if I’d ever written a blog entry about heavy metal, I recalled having written this piece back in 2015, the first year of “Hack’s Back Pages.” I dug it up and found that it still holds together pretty well. I don’t think I can I improve on it much, and since most of my readers today probably weren’t reading the blog back then, I’m running it again this week. I hope you get something from it.)

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I was 15 in the fall of 1970 when I met this strange, edgy girl in my suburban Cleveland neighborhood, a girl who would later be among those labeled as Goth — dark eye makeup, dark clothes, a creepy, nihilistic attitude.  She invited me to her house to listen to albums, which was one of my favorite activities, so I accepted…except her albums were nothing like my albums, and her room was lit with about a dozen candles and creepy wall hangings.

As I looked through her collection, I asked her to play me her latest favorite, and she lowered the needle on a song called “Black Sabbath,” the leadoff track from the album Black Sabbath by the band Black Sabbath.  The cover showed a sinister-looking woman lurking in the woods, with an old building behind her.  And the “music” — well, it was the sound of a thunderstorm, with a church bell tolling ominously in the distance.  What the hell is this?  I thought.  And then the band came crashing in with these weighty, frightening chords, evoking a sense of doom and death.  I got chills up my spine.

“What is this that stands before me??”  The vocals seemed to grab me by the throat and demand my attention.  I found it unnerving, but mesmerizing, and it went on for more than six minutes.  “Oh no no, please God help me,” the vocalist implored, followed by more sledgehammer chords, first slow and plodding, then eventually triple-time with bass and guitar in unison, drums wailing, before it all came to a cataclysmic, sudden conclusion.

Holy shit.

I’d heard and enjoyed plenty of heavy blues and psychedelic rock — Cream, Hendrix, early Zeppelin — but this was something else entirely.  It kind of scared me, like it was evil, possessed.  I thanked the girl for her hospitality and scurried home, where I put on something comforting like “Sweet Baby James” to make the dark vibes go away.

I didn’t really know it at the time, but I was hearing one of the earliest examples of a new genre of rock music:  Heavy metal.

Full confession:  This is not for me.  I like to think I’m willing to keep my ears open to all kinds of music, but it was readily apparent to me early on that this was not my cup of tea, even when I was a 15-year-old awkward teen, supposedly the prime demographic for it.

Why didn’t I like it?  Well, I’m into melody and harmony, and the subtle nuances of great singing, contagious rhythm and impressive instrumental passages.  Heavy metal isn’t interested in any of that, and the most ardent fans will tell you so.  “F–k melody, just give me volume,” was the bold appraisal of AC/DC’s lead vocalist Bon Scott before he died in 1980 of alcohol poisoning, known in British parlance as “death by misadventure.”

Even heavy metal artists and fans will concede that, for them, it’s all about high volume and heavy distortion, less syncopation, more showmanship, long guitar solos, tons of brute force.  It’s what one critic called “the sensory equivalent of war.”  It’s a duel between the lead vocalist and lead guitarist as to who can get the most attention.  The tone of voice as an instrument in the mix is far more important than what the lyrics are about, which is probably a good thing, because the lyrics are overwhelmingly dark and depressing — “personal trauma, alienation, isolation from society, nasty side effects of drugs, the occult, horny sex, a party without limits.”  And this isn’t me talking; it’s a summary from Ozzy Osbourne, sometimes referred to as the Godfather of Heavy Metal.

The 31-year-old son of a good friend is a devoted metalhead, and he offered this opinion: “After jazz, it was the genre that got me into playing drums and opened my mind to other forms of ‘not so mainstream’ music.  Slipknot, Underoath, Slayer…  Their live shows were unlike any other…just a sea of throbbing heads, aggressive, sweaty, loud, not giving a f–k about what people thought about you.  Deep down I will always be a hardcore metal kid.”

Another friend, now in his 50s, was more pragmatic about it:  “There can be something very cathartic and powerful about heavy metal.  It appeals to lost or outsider kids, mostly, I think.  Sometimes it just fits the bill.  It got me through lots of cold, lonely walks across campus.  You have to be of the right age and mindset… One thing about metal I never got into, though, was the cartoonish ‘evil’ imagery and stupid vibe of the lyrics, which were really kind of laughable.”

It’s not clear exactly when and how the term “heavy metal” came to describe this genre. Scientists refer to various elements like zinc, mercury and lead as heavy metals, which can be toxic but can be nonetheless important to our health in small quantities.  The iconoclastic author William Burroughs used the term in his early ’60s novels “Naked Lunch” and “The Soft Machine.”  The ’60s band Steppenwolf used it in their biker anthem “Born to Be Wild” in 1968 to describe the thrill of riding a noisy chopper down the highway at breakneck speed.

Metal was born in the late ’60s, when bands like Deep Purple, Blue Cheer, The Stooges and even Led Zeppelin were pushing the boundaries of blues and hard rock to become even more thunderous, more caocophonous, more chaotic.  It could be rugged or mysterious, but rarely both at the same time, and hardly ever frightening.  Then Black Sabbath arrived to change the game.  Ozzy Osbourne and Company, originally known as Earth, went over to the dark side with a foundation built on thick, simplistic power chords, tempos that shifted from dirge-like to frenetic, desperate vocals spewing despairing words, and a relentless, basic bass/drums underpinning.

Geezer Butler, bass player for Black Sabbath, recalls, “In some review of our first album, someone called us ‘heavy metal’ as an insult.  It said, ‘This isn’t music.  It sounds like a load of heavy metal crashing to the floor.'”  Lemmy Kilmister, the leader of the British metal band Motorhead, said:  “For me, it needs to be big and it needs to be loud.  In a club, you can have conversations over bands that are playing jazz or pop, or even hard rock.  Nobody can ever have a conversation over my kind of music.  Once we start, you listen or you leave.”

Osbourne, who named his band after a Boris Karloff movie, is remarkably matter-of-fact about the darkness of it at this point in his life.  He said in 2010:  “In the beginning, we decided to write scary music because we really didn’t think life was all roses.  So we decided to write horror music.  We never dealt with the occult ourselves, but all these nutters started sending us letters, and it kind of freaked us out.  If you play with the dark stuff long enough, bad shit happens.”

The audience for heavy metal has typically been white teenage boys struggling to make their way in a world that they think doesn’t want them.  Critic Jon Pareles said this:  “As long as ordinary teen white boys fear girls, pity themselves, and are permitted to rage against a world they’ll never beat, heavy metal will have a captive audience.”  Ronnie James Dio, vocalist for Sabbath after Osborne’s departure, had this to say:  “Heavy metal is an underdog form of music because of the way you dress, how you act, what you listen to.  So you’re always being put down.  It’s this edgy, angry music, and because it pigeonholes the bands and their fans, together we feel strength with each other.”

It was also, let’s not kid ourselves, about sex and drugs.  Bad boy Ted Nugent, now a poster boy for the far right, had disparaging things to say about those who liked his brand of music:  “I toured more for the girls and the sexual adventure than for the music. If all I had was looking at those unclean heathens in the front row with their lack of personal hygiene and stenchy clothes, I’d take up crocheting.”

The reason heavy metal fans became known as “headbangers” is the tendency among fans (and band members too) to aggressively bang their heads in the air to the beat as they absorbed the music.  Think “Wayne’s World” at its most crazed.

Heavy metal remained pretty much a fringe genre for nearly a decade, as punk, disco and New Wave dominated, with the occasional exception like Kiss’s “Rock and Roll All Nite” and “Beth,” both top ten singles in 1975 and 1976.  But then, beginning in the ’80s, bands such as AC/DC, Def Leppard and Quiet Riot not only packed stadiums but went to the very top of the album charts with “Metal Health,” “Pyromania” and “For Those About to Rock We Salute You.”  Between 1983 and 1984, heavy metal albums grew from 8% to 20% of the albums sold in the US market. At the three-day US Festival that year, the Heavy Metal lineup of Ozzy, Van Halen, Scorpions, Motley Crue and Judas Priest drew by far the largest crowds.

The rise of MTV beginning in 1981 helped the heavy metal snowball continue to grow, with outrageous music videos of sex and drugs and rock and roll at its most decadent and hedonistic.  Iron Maiden, Saxon, Guns ‘n Roses, Metallica, Poison, Ratt, Megadeth, Anthrax and others sold millions of albums and concert tickets, thanks in large part to the constant exposure of their videos.  And their audience widened; astute observers recognized that metal fans were no longer exclusively male teens but also college grads, pre-teens and, curiously, females (despite the often mysogynistic lyrics).

Eventually, the monolithic heavy metal audience became fractionalized.  Hard core fans dismissed some bands as “light metal” and fed the desire for more extreme versions.  If you Google “heavy metal,” you’ll see more than a dozen subgenres of metal that claim a share of this audience:  Thrash metal, death metal, power metal, doom metal, gothic metal, sludge metal, rap metal. Even folk metal and Christian metal (really?).  Each emphasizes one facet of the sound or lyrics more than the next.

Heavy metal in all its permutations remains a powerful force in the new millenium among the same audience it has always attracted — teenaged, disenfranchised, mostly male, alienated, pissed off.  There’s a whole slew of newer bands (Bullet for My Valentine, Korn, System of a Down, Linkin Park, Mastodon) to keep the genre alive, but some of the veterans are still cranking out new material.  Even Black Sabbath (the original lineup, including Ozzy) had a #1 album in 2013 with their reunion album, “13.”

For those who are curious, I highly recommend “Louder Than Hell:  The Definitive Oral History of Metal” by Jon Wiederhorn and Katherine Turman.  Many of the quotes included here were gleaned from their comprehensive book.

Clearly, many rock music fans will never like heavy metal.  One music-loving friend summed it up by saying, “I love my rock and roll loud, but I would rather stick a hot poker in my ear than have to listen to metal.  And I don’t want to leave a concert covered with bruises.”

Illegal drugs and violent images aside, it’s a mostly harmless escape, a way to isolate in a sonic bubble with like-minded outcasts for a little while.  In that way, it’s not all that different from other niche genres like opera, or progressive rock, or Australian folk music: It’s definitely not mainstream…but maybe that’s the whole point.

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When you raise the roof with your rock ‘n’ roll

In 1967, at age 12, I persuaded my parents to get me an electric guitar for Christmas.  I was one of apparently hundreds of thousands of young American boys who wanted to get together with a handful of like-minded friends and start a band.

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I took lessons, learned a few chords, and saved up money to buy a small amplifier.  I was now equipped to thrash my way through a few basic rock songs like “Gloria” and “Hey Joe” with my drummer friend Paul.  Later, I joined forces with my buddy Steve on bass, Andy on lead guitar, and Tim on drums (Paul had moved).  We called ourselves Phoenix.

Like so many other rudimentary bands across the country, we would practice in basements (if our parents could tolerate the noise) or in garages (where we were out of earshot).  We tried mightily to get proficient enough to play in front of friends at school variety shows or YMCA dances or “Battle of the Bands” parties.

It was thrilling, even though we weren’t very good.

Some of these rough-edged groups practicing in garages nationwide were lucky enough to have connections, or be discovered, and somehow managed to cut a record that, against all odds, got played on the local AM rock and roll station.  An even smaller segment watched dumbfounded as their record received regional and then national airplay.  Probably less than one tenth of 1% achieved the holy grail:  Their record made it into the Billboard Top Ten pop charts!

Rock historians now look back at the transitional period from roughly 1965 through 1968 as the era of “garage rock” — although it wasn’t called that at the time.

As Wikipedia defines it, garage rock “often sounded amateurish, naive or intentionally raw… The lyrics and the delivery were frequently more aggressive than the polished acts of the time, often with nasal, growled or shouted vocals punctuated by shrieks and screams…  Instrumentation was characterized by basic chord structures played on keyboards and electric guitars, often deliberately distorted through a fuzzbox.”

Keep in mind, rock music was only 10-12 years old, still finding its way, redefining itself after its initial birth (1955-1959) and subsequent pillaging/whitewashing by corporate record labels (1959-1963).  Then the Beatles and other “British Invasion” bands arrived, re-interpreted American blues songs and artists, and gave American kids a schooling in the roots music they’d forgotten or never learned.

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And suddenly, everybody wanted to be in a band.  In the Pacific Northwest, in Texas, in the Midwest, in New Jersey, in southern California, groups huddled in garages and worked on covers of their favorite songs, or maybe they tried writing their own stuff.  Most were hopeless, but some had something intangible that clicked.

Rock historian Gary Stewart summed it up this way:  “Although most of these kids wanted to be The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds, The Kinks, The Animals… few had anywhere near the talent to deliver the goods.  But what they had was passion, informed by a heavy dose of unmitigated gall, and naivete, and attitude to spare.”

If I rattled off the names of some of these bands, you might recognize a few:  The Barbarians, The Choir, Count Five, The Leaves, The Swingin’ Medallions, The Thirteenth Floor Elevators, Syndicate of Sound, The Electric Prunes.

Or maybe a couple song titles will ring a bell:  “Pushin’ Too Hard,” “96 Tears,” “Oh Yeah,” “Nobody But Me,” “Night Time,” “Little Bit o’ Soul,” “Farmer John,” “Beg, Borrow and Steal.”

Or possibly you won’t know the band, the title or even the song itself because it barely made a dent and was soon forgotten (“Let’s Talk About Girls” by The Chocolate Watchband).

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But thanks to Lenny Kaye (who went on to become the guitarist in The Patti Smith Group), and Jac Holzman (founder of Elektra Records), an incredible collection of garage rock gems exists:  “Nuggets:  Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era, 1965-1968,” first released in 1972, is a loving, 27-song compilation that provides an excellent overview of the period.  Critics have praised it as one of the best retrospectives in rock history.

There were supposed to be additional volumes, but those never surfaced…until 1998, when “Nuggets” was re-released as a 4-CD package, expanding the song list to more than 100 tracks, which should be a real treasure trove to any devotee of roots rock.

As Kaye put it in the liner notes, “These records’ lasting impact comes not in spite of their creators’ limitations, but because of them.  What defines the garage-rock era more than anything else is not knowing any better — and even more important, not caring.  The new package consists of 118 tracks which, when combined, took less time to record and mix than one CD would now.”

Garage rock was attitude over aptitude — snotty and arrogant, fueled by fuzz and frustration, with usually stupid lyrics, but just enough skill to produce catchy riffs or choruses, and the desire to pull it off convincingly.

The records were innovative, especially in the way they were recorded:  quickly, almost carelessly, with maybe one or two microphones, lots of echo, miscellaneous studio noise and, of course, all in one take, maybe two.  There was diversity, too; some of these tracks showed R&B elements of Memphis and Motown, some offered three-part Beach-Boys harmonies, others presaged the acid rock of Hendrix and Cream.

In ’72, Kaye referred to this music as “punk,” first used by critics in 1965 to describe brash, petulant bands like ? and the Mysterians.  But by 1976, the punk rock movement in London, New York and Los Angeles had hijacked that term for themselves, so instead, historians started using the terms “garage rock” and “garage bands” to describe the 1965-1968 period.  And actually, ’70s punk rockers, ’80s New Wave artists and ’90s grunge bands have often mentioned ’60s garage rock music — specific songs and bands, and in general — as being deeply influential.

So here are 20 garage rock classics, hand-picked by Hack’s Back Pages, most of which appear on “Nuggets.”  If they made the Top 40 charts, I’ve include their peak position in parentheses.  If you came of age in the ’60s or ’70s, some of these are bound to stir a memory or two.

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“Wild Thing,” The Troggs — Grungy and basic, this song is a shining example of the genre, and one of the only British contributions.  One of only two or three to reach the top spot.  (#1)

“Pushin’ Too Hard,” The Seeds — Led by the great Sky Saxon (born Richie Marsh), this L.A. band is a favorite of critics and fans of psychedelic-era music, thanks to a half-dozen regional singles (“Mr. Farmer,” “A Thousand Shadows”) and a couple of milestone albums.

“It’s Cold Outside,” The Choir — In December 1966 (when it was cold outside, appropriately), the Cleveland-based group enjoyed this one regional hit (#1 in the Midwest, bumping The Beatles out of the top spot, but only #68 nationally).  Several band members went on to form the ’70s pop group The Raspberries.

“Lies,” The Knickerbockers — This is a spot-on Beatles middle-period knockoff with a brash edge to it, certainly rougher and more in-your-face than any Fab Four recording.  You can hear both Lennon and McCartney mimicked by the group’s two singers.  (#20)

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“Dirty Water,” The Standells — A personal favorite (and one of my go-to karaoke choices), this infectious track about Boston actually comes from an L.A.-based band.  It’s still played today during Red Sox games.  (#11)

“You’re Gonna Miss Me,” The Thirteenth Floor Elevators — One of the first bands to emerge nationally from the musically rich Austin, Texas, area, this prototype psychedelic group caught on in Houston and Dallas in 1966 before winning coveted warm-up assignments at The Fillmore for California bands like Moby Grape and Quicksilver Messenger Service.

“The Little Black Egg,” The Nightcrawlers — Described by one critic as a “rather bizarre nursery rhyme,” this tune did well in Florida and the Midwest but stiffed nationally.  Still, many garage bands added it to their required repertoire.

“Are You a Boy or Are You a Girl?” The Barbarians — This California band got its lucky break appearing on the widely praised “The T.A.M.I. Show” concert film in Santa Monica in 1964 alongside The Rolling Stones and James Brown, largely on the strength of this single, even though it stalled at #55.

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“Liar, Liar,” The Castaways — As you can see from the photo at left, these Minnesotans were still in high school (maybe middle school?) when they cut this irresistible, organ-dominated track.  They would never be heard from again.  (#12)

“Psychotic Reaction,” Count Five — In a psychology class at San Jose City College in 1965, aspiring musician Sean Byrne decided “Psychotic Reaction” would be a great name for a song, and with the help of his friends in the fledgling band Count Five, he came up with the track that is widely considered the first acid rock single, modeled after early Yardbirds material.  (#5)

“Little Girl,” Syndicate of Sound — Another band out of San Jose was this group who won a “Battle of the Bands” competition and a recording contract, which resulted in this Top Ten single.  They toured behind Paul Revere & The Raiders and The Young Rascals, but their moment in the sun faded quickly.  (#8)

“Let’s Talk About Girls,” The Chocolate Watchband — This Bay Area group went through numerous personnel changes and were recruited by Fillmore promoter Bill Graham to hitch their wagon to The Grateful Dead’s rising fame, but they instead moved to L.A., where they recorded a couple albums and singles that went nowhere, although this psychedelic track was wildly popular in California in 1967.

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“She’s About a Mover,” Sir Douglas Quintet — The Vox Continental organ riff that dominates this track took it into the national Top 20 for this Texas-based band, who deftly merged R&B, Tex-Mex and British blues styles.  They relocated to San Francisco, released four LPs and a half-dozen singles, and stayed active on the club circuit throughout the ’70s.  (#13)

“So What!!” The Lyrics — This angry, harmonica-led garage rocker from a San Diego band ranted about the school’s rich girl and all her trappings:   Well, I guess there ain’t too much you haven’t got, well, all I can say to you about that is ‘So what??’…”

“Nobody But Me,” The Human Beinz — From Youngstown, Ohio, came this foursome who took an obscure Isley Brothers song from 1962, updated it for the garage-rock era, and had their only Top Ten hit.  It holds the record for most repetitions of a word in the lyrics (“No” is said 31 times in succession).  The track appeared in Quentin Tarantino’s “Kill Bill: Vol 1” (2004) and Martin Scorsese’s “The Departed” (2006).  (#8)

“I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night,” The Electric Prunes — Ooh, drugs, man.  This was the definitive Top 40 version of an LSD trip, complete with undulating guitar parts and cosmic lyrics.  The best example of the psychedelic arm in the “Nuggets” collection, and a big seller as well.  (#11)

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“Little Bit o’ Soul,” The Music Explosion — Emerging from the small town of Mansfield, Ohio, this one-shot group exceeded their wildest expectations with their slurred vocals and cheesy Farfisa organ to flirt with the top of the charts in early 1967. (#2)

“Night Time,” The Strangeloves — A trio of New York-based songwriters who had written such hits as “My Boyfriend’s Back” in the early ’60s came up with the material and recorded anonymously as The Strangeloves, scoring a Top Ten hit in 1964 called ” I Want Candy.”  They sent other musicians on tour in their place, and scored more hit singles like “Night Time” in 1965 before giving up the gig and becoming celebrated producers in the ’70s and ’80s. (#30)

“Oh Yeah,” The Shadows of Knight — The great Van Morrison, with his band Them, wrote and recorded the classic “Gloria,” but it was the more lightweight version by Chicago-based The Shadows of Knight that most American listeners bought, sending it to #10 (and to #1 in several major markets).  Its follow-up, the riotous “Oh Yeah,” was far less successful but still loads of fun. (#39)

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“96 Tears,” ? and the Mysterians — Speaking of Farfisa organ, this track is the undisputed king of that instrument on the charts.  I’m not even sure there’s guitar on this track, the organ dominates so completely, along with the half-talked vocal by a guy who, even now, goes by the name Question Mark.  “96 Tears” held the #1 spot in the US in October 1966.

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If the definition of garage rock is expanded to include any band that ever rehearsed or recorded in a garage, that might include about 80% of all rock bands.  It’s certainly valid to point out that, for musicians who form a band with dreams of becoming famous, making a start in someone’s garage has a proud and noble history — and a future, for that matter.

Dave Grohl, guitarist of The Foo Fighters and former drummer for Nirvana, encourages kids to think positive and pursue their dream, even if it starts in a garage.

“Young musicians should go to a yard sale and buy an old drum set,” he says, “and get in their garage and just suck.  And get their friends to come in, and they’ll suck, too.  And then they’ll start playing, and start getting better, and they’ll have the best time they’ve ever had in their lives, and then all of a sudden they’ll be on the radio.  Because that’s exactly what happened with Nirvana.  Just a bunch of guys that had some shitty old instruments, and they got together and started playing some noisy-ass shit, and they became the biggest band in the world.”

Grohl adds, “There’s a band somewhere in a garage right now writing songs that will do the same thing “Nevermind” did for Nirvana 25 years ago.  We don’t know who or where, but it will f–king happen again.  All it takes is for that storm to break.”

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