Decibel's Top 100 Old-School Metal Albums of All Time

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A Hungry One, on a Birthday Cake Raid Our editor-in-chief at 14 refused to mow the lawn, take out the trash or tidy his room

The Top 100 Old-School Metal Albums of All Time

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Albert Mudrian

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Contributing Writers

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Andrew Bonazelli

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Ben Umanov

Adrien Begrand J. Bennett Shawn Bosler Brent Burton Liz Ciavarella-Brenner Chris Dick Jonathan K. Dick Sean Frasier Jeanne Fury Nick Green Jonathan Horsley Scott Koerber Daniel Lake Shawn Macomber Shane Mehling Justin M. Norton Dutch Pearce Forrest Pitts Rod Smith Matt Solis Kevin Stewart-Panko Adem Tepedelen Jeff Treppel Contributing photographers

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Yeah, we know some of you are gonna be pissed. We understand—Decibel’s “Top 100 Issues” are intended to heap praise and shed light on some of the darker corners of our metal universe as much they are to spark lively debate. We’re prepared to deal with the consequences—which are primarily inciting 15-year-olds to call us “poser fagz” on Instagram.

One thing that we can all agree on is that the term “Old-School Heavy Metal” is certainly up for interpretation. Here’s ours: Any metal album released prior to 1989 that doesn’t adhere to extreme subgenres of metal (i.e., thrash, death, black, doom, etc.). Spoiler alert: That means you won’t find Metallica or Slayer records here. We don’t have spots for the first six Sabbath albums. And we only have room for the first six Maiden albums.

This criteria, however, does not account for the sizeable gray area where “hard rock” and “heavy metal” intersect. For the most part, traditional hard rock is left outside of our list, as it owes more to blues (which clearly has very little to do with those aforementioned Maiden LPs), but its heavier purveyors are indeed represented— particularly at #16. So, yeah, it’s a slippery slope that potentially ends with debating the old-school heavy metal merits of Jethro Tull. Maybe the Grammys were right.

Despite that rambling disclaimer, I proudly stand behind the 100 albums— and the over 27,000 words about them—that follow. Not necessarily because I consider myself an expert on this particular genre of music; shit, I was like seven years old when our #1 album was released. Fortunately, long-toothed… er, longtime contributors Adem Tepedelen and Adrien Begrand’s metallic tastes were formed in the pre-extreme metal era, so the guidance they each provided during this issue’s assembly was invaluable. And one final helmet tip to all of the artists from past Decibel Top 100 and year-end lists who provided their own personal top 5 old-school faves. Hail to them. I’m leaving the hall.

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here’s a reason why the two Def Leppard albums on this list conclude with bylines from the editor-inchief and yours truly, the managing editor. When the former lived in Philadelphia, circa 2006, we took it upon ourselves to beg a publicist for pavilion freebies to the Lep’s painfully titled Yeah! Tour stop in neighboring shitpit Camden, New Jersey. (Journey opened, but we sadly missed what had to have been a stirring rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”) Surrounded by 50-year-old women guzzling $15 daiquiris out of guitar-shaped souvenir glasses, we were among the fortunate elite to witness “Make Love Like a Man” live. And at least like three songs from High ‘n’ Dry and Pyromania, their actual good albums, immortalized herein alongside 98 other shredtastic, fist-pumping proto-metal curiosities.

Decibel has a special dank, stalactite-ridden cavern in our lifeless, black hearts for nostalgia–specifically the authoritative documentation of the unique early history of extreme music–so fluff up whatever’s left on top of your dome and go deeper than you ever thought you would into the Top 100 Old-School Heavy Metal Albums of All-Time. —Andrew Bonazelli

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100

Helloween Keeper of the Seven Keys, Part 1 Noise (1987)

M

aybe it’s a growing-up-stateside thing, but I can’t honestly say I’ve ever met a single headbanger who got into metal through Helloween. As a young teenager in the late ’80s/early ’90s, however, copies of Keeper of the Seven Keys, Part 1 were damn near ubiquitous amongst the black plastic cassette towers and dilapidated bedroom floors of sonically like-minded friends and acquaintances. It just seemed to be one of those purchases aspiring connoisseurs of riffs ‘n’ pageantry heavy music made once they’d acquired all the requisite Priest and Maiden records.

99

Picture

Diamond Dreamer Backdoor (1982)

Back in the days before Eindhoven’s Dynamo Festival, when the guilder was the currency of national use before the Euro, international knowledge of Dutch rock music was limited to Golden Ear-

And while manifestly not as instantly iconic as the seminal jams from either of those bands, Seven Keys, Part I is nonetheless a multilayered, vital offering that rewards engagement—the gallop-gallop-pause-to-pumpfist-gallop-gallop riffage, operatic vox, general swagger and otherworldly, epic-rager-at-the-Elysian-Fields vibe are all seriously on point. “Listen now, we are calling you,” Michael Kiske croons during the breakdown of “Halloween” before wailing, “And there is magic in the air!” It is a beckoning and a boast that holds up even after all these years. Heed the call, brothers and sisters. —Shawn Macomber

ring and—maybe—Diesel. When it came to heavy metal in the late ’70s/ early ’80s, the landscape was pretty barren, despite the existence of a solid homegrown scene.

Hailing from a small town in northern Holland, Picture—often credited with being the first Dutch metal band to score a record deal—managed to catch the attention of metalheads with their ears to the ground who knew that things didn’t start with America and end with the NWOBHM. Limited distribution outside their homeland meant that the quartet from Hilversum may not have set the world on fire, but their powerful stomp, sculpted twist on the harder side of the blues, and bursts of proto-speed metal (complete with double bass!) demonstrated an acumen and creative understanding of heavy sounds, and showed that metal was alive and well, even in remote outposts.

98

Twisted Sister

You Can’t Stop Rock ‘n’ Roll Atlantic (1983)

Like the Pete Carroll-era Seahawks, Twisted Sister succeeded as much for the chip on its collective shoulder as talent.

—Kevin Stewart-Panko

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No one was gonna tell them what to do: how to look, how to play, what to play. So, there was no compromise on 1983’s You Can’t Stop Rock ‘n’ Roll, their first album for Atlantic. The production was better than debut Under the Blade, but their amped-up Alice Cooper-meets-Judas Priest attack remained as potent as ever.

One of the greatest things about YCSRNR is that instead of opening with the title track—a typical TS statement of intent—they close the album with it, as if to say, “there’s more where this came from; we’re not going anywhere.”

The band-against-the-world attitude pervades the entire record, and tracks like “The Kids Are Back,” “Like a Knife in the Back” and “We’re Gonna Make It” foreshadow a certain track on Stay Hungry that would change the band’s fortunes forever. But this is the most complete, aggressive and raw album of the band’s career. It was their Super Bowl LXVIII. —Adem Tepedelen

97

Jag Panzer

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Ample Destruction Azra (1984)

When kids cite American heavy metal bands—new or old—they rarely give props to Colorado ragers Jag Panzer. That’s probably because Ample Destruction was issued on an underground label, and it was the group’s first and only album until 1994, some 10 years after the debut hit indie shops and traders. Nevertheless, “Warfare,” “Licensed to Kill” and “Symphony of Terror”— basically Side A—crushed, quietly setting the standard for aggro-heavy metal (mostly in Europe).

Frontman Harry Conklin had an untouchable range, and his passion was also unrivaled. Likewise, guitarists Mark Briody and Joey Tafolla were also talented, if unsung players and songwriters. One spin of album closer “The Crucifix” is enough to experience Jag Panzer’s indelible power. One spin of “Warfare” is enough to hear Jag Panzer’s potential. Sadly, both were lost after Ample Destruction. Not that Jag Panzer disappeared entirely— they demoed through to 1988—but whatever momentum was gained on their debut didn’t translate to much on ’90s revival albums Dissident Alliance, The Fourth Judgement and The Age of Mastery. —Chris Dick

Grim Reaper See You in Hell Ebony (1983)

The chain of events following victory in a Battle of the Bands contest doesn’t usually end up in any amount of real success, let alone the sort of success that gets fondly looked back upon some 35 years later. However, back in the early ’80s, Worcestershire’s Grim Reaper won studio time in just such a showdown. The demo that emerged led to a deal with then-powerhouse label Ebony, and the result was the issuing of one of 1983’s most iconic albums.

Featuring the rocket-powered, skyscraping vocal range of Steve Grimmett and the prodigious, fleet-fingered axeslinging of local legend Nick Bowcott, See You in Hell grabs the listener by the throat from the off. Grimmett shatters glass 30 seconds into the title track, while Bowcott complements the robust riffs in songs like “Dead on Arrival,” “Wrath of the Ripper,” and “All Hell Let Loose” with a melodic darkness and panache that exudes indirect lines of influence to Metallica and Megadeth albums to come. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

my top 5 King

Michael Schenker Group, MSG

Deceased

Y&T, Mean Streak

Fowley

Uriah Heep, Abominog

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Lizzy Borden

Earthshaker In the late ’70s, Bay Area band Yesterday & Today released two mostly unremarkable hard rock albums before shortening their name to Y&T and unleashing this NWOBHM-influenced masterpiece in 1981. Like Riot’s Fire Down Under, issued the same year, Earthshaker offered evidence that there was a sea change happening in the U.S. metal scene. Basically, shit was becoming more “metallic,” with an increased emphasis on faster tempos and heavier/gnarlier riffs. It was impossible not to see a direct influence from the U.K. Earthshaker stumbles a bit with overly long power ballads “Rescue Me” and “I Believe in You,” but more than compensates with some of the most savage and aggressive material in Y&T’s (admittedly spotty) career. “Hungry for Rock” thumps like old-school Raven; “Squeeze” unleashes a nonstop of torrent of squealy riffs; “Hurricane” could have been on Metal for Muthas or one of the many Neat Records compilations of that era.

The songwriting and playing are razorsharp, and the production is rock solid.

Y&T followed up with two more decent albums, but utterly lost the plot by ’85.

Their later missteps, however, shouldn’t overshadow the brilliance of Earthshaker.

Take a moment to study the album art for Lizzy Borden’s debut LP and, as you do, know that I forgive you for passing this one by. But also understand that while you were off making rational choices, you were missing out on a fascinating exercise in West Coast power metal.

Love You to Pieces is counterweighted between a blue-collar adaptation of the NWOBHM playbook and Lizzy Borden’s own off-color, Hollywood eccentricities, giving their early Maidenand-Raven-style fastball a little Alice Cooper-esque topspin. While opener “Council for the Cauldron” asserts Borden’s batshit belligerence and technical command, it’s the ensuing track, “Psychopath,” that first alludes to their ambition. (Imagine Maiden’s “Still Life,” only with pit-stain-discolored sleeves and mascara running down its cheeks.)

The following tracks only improve on this design, all the while flaunting the fantastic rhythm section Borden had at their disposal, which freckles every riff with offhand intricacies that few American outfits—outside, say, Megadeth and Riot—could even conceptualize, let alone absolutely nail.

Sure, Lizzy Borden’s bird-of-prey vocals will continue to disenfranchise some, just as they should. They draw an appropriately crude and defiant tattoo on that classic album you passed up.

—Adem Tepedelen

—Forrest Pitts

Y&T

A&M (1981)

Black Sabbath, Mob Rules

Blue Öyster Cult, Fire of Unknown Origin

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94

Love You to Pieces Metal Blade (1985)

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92

Running Wild

X (Japan)

Vanishing Vision

Noise (1984)

Extasy Records Japan (1988)

Three years before launching pirate metal’s mighty flotilla with Under Jolly Roger, Running Wild planted a different flag in hotter, drier terrain: blackened anti-authoritarian speed metal. Satan gets a far better deal on the Hamburgbased quartet’s debut than on most albums before or after: the band does Milton one better by making him the eternal champion of the underdog.

Even his son (Adrian, BTW) gets a piece of the supernatural social justice action on “Adrian (S.O.S.),” incinerating racists left and right and freeing the weak from their oppressors. “Prisoner of Our Time” posits Adrian’s dad as the patron deity of a new kind of street art, while “Walpurgis Night” gleefully puts women behind society’s wheel and men under it.

Musically, the album is simpler and less nuanced than the band’s late ’80s work, but mostly filler-free and not without its charms —mostly provided by guitarists Rolf Kasparek and Gerald Warnecke. In the end, though, it’s the lyrics that end up sticking with you, if only because the notion of Satan as a force for good opens onto a vast expanse just waiting to be explored.

X (Japan) are like the Japanese version of KISS, only they don’t just look metal.

One of the progenitors of the “visual kei” style, where the musicians basically dress up like living anime characters, their aesthetic has influenced countless bands in Japan—and, admittedly, some of the more “-core” U.S. bands that this magazine mocks frequently. Once you get past their outlandish appearance, though, it becomes quickly apparent that they’re more than just pretty faces.

Vanishing Vision, quite simply, rips as fiercely as the murderer on its cover. Musically, X have elements of Queensrÿche, Megadeth and Iron Maiden, but the way in which they put those pieces together feels unique. A lot of that is due to frontman Yoshiki— who writes the bulk of the band’s music—and his emotive, melodramatic approach informed by classical training. Their 1988 full-length debut sounds more unpolished than their later work.

That only contributes to the sense of urgency. With impassioned songs like “I’ll Kill You,” “Vanishing Love” and “Kurenai,” they slashed open a whole new vision of what Japanese metal could be. —Jeff Treppel

—Rod Smith

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Mountain Climbing!

my top 5

lee dorrian With the Dead/ ex-Cathedral

Sex Pistols, Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols

Windfall (1970)

Black Sabbath, Vol. 4

Much like the Leslie West “solo” album that Mountain recorded the year before, Climbing! suggests a mind-meld between guitar virtuoso West and bassist Felix Pappalardi, often credited as the “fourth member” of Cream for his ace production work on Disraeli Gears. West and Pappalardi split vocals and songwriting credits, and pull the band in semi-con-

Stooges, Fun House Hawkwind, In Search of Space Metallica, Ride the Lightning

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tradictory directions here: West’s songs are all about 12-bar blues and primal riffing, while Pappalardi’s tracks suggest a fascination with the immersive sound of psychedelia.

In truth, the hippie-era artifacts— like “For Yasgur’s Farm,” which the band actually played at Woodstock—are quite lush and beautiful. But Mountain’s rep was built on the monstrous boogierock swagger of “Mississippi Queen,” which spawned an entire genre of imitators in the ’70s. Between the cowbell count-off, the infectious riff and especially West’s vocals, “Mississippi Queen” might be one of the best album openers ever. The song’s spiritual twin, “Sittin’ on a Rainbow,” is almost as heavy and funky (courtesy of drummer Corky Laing’s backbeats), but falls just short of “classic” status. Something’s missing here, and the only prescription is… more cowbell. —Nick Green

lee dorrian photo by ester segarra

Gates to Purgatory

Guns N’ Roses were one of the few Sunset Strip bands who publicly acknowledged their admiration of Hanoi Rocks, the glammed-up Finnish rockers who had already disbanded, by the time Appetite for Destruction changed the hard rock landscape forever.

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Warlord Deliver Us

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elcome to the jungle,” Hanoi Rocks vocalist Michael Monroe sings on “Underwater World,” the second single from 1984’s Two Steps From the Move.

The album was released three years before Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction, the 30-million-selling chartbuster that a certain W. Axl Rose Two Steps From the Move introduced with an identical CBS (1984) sentiment. GN’ R were one of the few Sunset Strip bands who publicly acknowledged their admiration of Hanoi, the glammed-up Finnish rockers who had already disbanded—after Mötley Crüe vocalist Vince Neil killed Hanoi drummer Razzle in a drunken car wreck—by the time Appetite changed the hard rock landscape forever.

Two Steps was Hanoi’s fifth and final album before splitting up, and it happens to feature some of their best material. After opening with a slightly wonky cover of CCR’s “Up Around the Bend,” the band seizes control with contagious sing-alongs like “I Can’t Get It” and gang-vocal junkie lament “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” (both co-written by Mott the Hoople’s Ian Hunter), not to mention a punky ode to cockney pub culture in “Boiler.” —J. Bennett

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Hanoi Rocks

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88

Cirith Ungol One Foot in Hell

Metal Blade (1983)

Restless/Metal Blade (1986)

Not as mainstream-friendly as the Sunset Strip bands, and nowhere near as cool as Slayer, Warlord’s debut is a fascinating early Metal Blade release. Led by guitarist Bill Tsamis and drummer Mark Zonder, Warlord were an anomaly because they took themselves so damn seriously. Their brand of heavy metal was arch and self-important, lacking the fun, menace and shock that the bigger local bands specialized in. It’s no wonder they split in 1986—compared to everyone else, they were killjoys.

But what music they created on the beautiful Deliver Us. Tsamis brought neoclassical elements to his compositions that warrant comparisons to Randy Rhoads, and the title track exudes similar majesty as what Rhoads pulled off on Ozzy’s Diary of a Madman. Elsewhere, “Child of the Damned” bursts out of the gates like late-NWOBHM band Tokyo Blade, while “Penny for a Poor Man” juxtaposes Riot-style swagger with some audacious melodies lifted from Yes. Zonder’s drumming—which is best described as a touch “busy”— sometimes overwhelms Tsamis’ breathtaking guitar work, but the strength of these songs still make this an enduring success. —Adrien Begrand

Arguments might eternally rage as to which of Cirith Ungol’s ’80s masterworks takes the cake in terms of front-toback quality, but there’s no denying that even in ’86—a bold year for metal’s development—One Foot in Hell was a radical proposition. As vocalist Tim Baker noted in an interview at the time, it was radical by design, right down to Michael Whelan’s cover art depicting some sort of anthropomorphized insect deity holding court.

Much of Cirith Ungol’s radicalism—and, indeed, what turns some weak fools off their magic—rests in Baker’s protean delivery; the charismatic frontman’s vocals rev up and down the gears as he powers through his lines, his phrasing impossible to second-guess. He was unconventional, but exactly the sort of out-there personality to complement a sound forged in complex steel. After all, Cirith Ungol liked to lose themselves in their material, to daydream their way through a Tolkien-esque milieu and take a suitably phantasmagorical approach to composing heavy metal songs that had a generous bounty of riffs, hooks, melodies and other earthly pleasures to keep the mortals headbanging.

—Jonathan Horsley

my top 5 Shane

embury

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86

Savage

Tygers of Pan Tang

Ebony (1983)

MCA (1981)

Sometimes an album achieves classic status not through originality or influence (although Metallica covering one of their songs didn’t hurt in this particular case); sometimes an album is a classic because it’s just really damn good.

Savage were one of many New Wave of British Heavy Metal bands to make a run at glory. They didn’t succeed on an actual success level, but Loose ’n Lethal still kicks ass.

Heavy blues influences run through a good chunk of the album, the Scorpions’ specter looming especially large.

Still, a big part of metal lies in the presentation, and in this case, it’s presented through busted speakers. The production is lo-fi enough to make a basement black metal band jealous. That coating of dirt makes all the difference; “Cry Wolf ” and “Ain’t No Fit Place” are especially nasty in that light.

Still, opening track “Let It Loose” remains Savage’s lasting legacy. A high-speed chase so fast the guitarists can barely keep up, it feels dangerous because it is—that puppy could go flying off the track at any moment.

Metallica heard, and thrash was born.

Despite taking their moniker from an otherworldly Michael Moorcock novel, Tygers of Pan Tang were never ones to explore the fantasy worlds or the demonic dark side like many of their contemporaries. Instead, they preferred to focus on down-to-earth themes and structures, topping things off with solid riffs that refuse to vacate your musical muscle memory, not to mention John Sykes’ virtuosic guitar work and John Deverill’s crystalline vocals.

To wit, two things about the band’s second full-length have always taken this scribe aback. First, how the Whitley Bay natives could flip-flop between coming off like a band that wrote a collection of songs designed to kickstart a particularly raucous pub brawl (specifically, “Tyger Bay,” “Gangland” and “Hellbound” ), but also spotlighted tracks “Take It” and “The Story So Far,” which made it feel like your skin was being bronzed on a Southern California beach. Secondly, it’s almost shocking how often Spellbound is overlooked despite housing some of the greatest songs and performances of the NWOBHM era. Hopefully, we’re able to right that wrong. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

Loose ’n Lethal

—Jeff Treppel

Raven, Wiped Out Saxon, Wheels of Steel

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Spellbound

Raven

Dio, Holy Diver Satan, Court in the Act Ozzy Osbourne, Diary of a Madman

Wiped Out Neat (1982)

England’s industrial northeast has a grim reputation, but it was fertile land for metal in the early ’80s, when the likes of Satan, Fist, Tysondog, Saracen and, of course, Venom saw the NWOBHM and crude speed metal outstrip coal and iron ore as the region’s chief exports. This was the scene from which Raven emerged.

Having formed in 1974 by brothers John (bass) and Mark Gallagher (guitar), and Paul Bowden (guitar), Raven honed their chops in working men’s clubs—the very definition of a tough crowd—and signed to Neat Records

at the turn of the decade. Even at their rawest, Raven were always formidable.

Wiped Out still sounds fast today, perhaps because Raven play to the very limit of their technical ability, just staying in control while powering through lithe and frantic anthems such as “Battle Zone” and “Faster Than the Speed of Light.” Raven call this “athletic rock.”

You can just imagine the scene backstage in ’83 at the Mayfair Ballroom, Newcastle; the air thick with the scent of tobacco, Deep Heat and brown ale.

They are still going strong.

—Jonathan Horsley

Even at their rawest, Raven were always formidable. Wiped Out still sounds fast today, perhaps because Raven play to the very limit of their technical ability, just staying in control while powering through lithe and frantic anthems.

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shane embury photo by ester segarra

Napalm Death

84

83

Cacophony

Voivod

Speed Metal Symphony Shrapnel (1987)

If there was ever an album where the song or the band didn’t matter, it’d be Cacophony’s Speed Metal Symphony.

Seriously, without looking it up, who fronted Cacophony? Who was on drums?

Who played bass? OK, while vocalist Peter Marrino and über-drummer Atma Anur were notable, they didn’t set the world on fire. The conflagration— minor as it may be considering that Hysteria, Appetite for Destruction and Whitesnake owned 1987—was set by wonderkids Jason Becker and Marty Friedman, two rising stars in Mike Varney’s stable of jaw-droppers.

Though Speed Metal Symphony didn’t hold the highest production standard—one wonders how Lange, Wagener or Werman would’ve handled it—it set the bar ultra-high for shredders the world over. Tracks like the nine-minute closing epic title track, the awe-inspiring “Concerto” and opener “Savage” were no guitar joke. Becker and Friedman were cohesive, classicallyinspired monsters, though different in playing style and tone.

Heavy metal always tried to justify itself as something headier than it really was. Well, Speed Metal Symphony is contrary proof that there were thinkers amidst an ocean of burnouts.

—Chris Dick

War & Pain

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Metal Blade (1984)

Most influential albums from the early history of underground metal were happy accidents, featuring bands too naïve to know better, and often producers and engineers who had no clue what they were doing. Toss in the fact that Voivod sounded like aliens attempting to play heavy metal, but not quite getting it right, and it’s easy to understand why War & Pain baffled many when it came out in 1984.

Hindsight works wonders sometimes, and over three decades War & Pain has not only aged beautifully, but is far more fully realized than people originally thought. You had four wildly different individuals—prog/NWOBHM fan Michel “Away” Langevin, punk Denis “Snake” Bélanger, Killing Joke fan Jean-Yves “Blacky” Thériault and krautrock aficionado Denis “Piggy” D’Amour—but from all those influences came a sound unlike any other in metal history. At the heart of it all was Piggy’s revolutionary guitar work, in which he incorporated atonal riffs that flew right in the face of people’s assumptions of what defined heavy metal. Fast, surreal and foreboding, it’s a marvelous opening salvo by one of the genre’s greatest innovators. —Adrien Begrand

my top 5 scott

Hull

Pig Destroyer Slayer, Reign in Blood

The Michael Schenker 81 Group Queensrÿche Assault Attack Chrysalis (1982)

By 1982, Michael Schenker had been around the heavy metal block a time or two. He started as a teen in the Scorpions, put in five years with UFO, returned to the Scorps and finally went solo with MSG. Two previous albums got the ball rolling, but those felt a little light thanks to vocalist Gary Barden’s clean, melodic wailing. So, in the emerging era of musical chair musicians, Schenker brought in ex-Rainbow vocalist Graham Bonnet (who soon moved on to Alcatrazz) and ex-Rory Gallagher drummer Ted McKenna, and booked time with Maiden producer Martin Birch. Just like that, Schenker hit paydirt.

Bonnet’s grit and McKenna’s punch were the perfect foil for Schenker’s riffs, and Birch gave the band a palpable heaviness. Some of the best material in Schenker’s solo era can be found on this album, including the title track, “Rock You to the Ground,” “Samurai” and “Desert Song.” Unfortunately, Bonnet was out before the album hit the shelves and Barden was called back in to re-record the vocals for the “Dancer” and “Desert Song” promotional videos.

Regardless of the drama, it remains Schenker’s solo high-water mark, and certainly one of the more intriguing albums of the era. —Adem Tepedelen

Corrosion of Conformity, Animosity Metallica, Kill ’Em All Voivod, Killing Technology Anthrax, Among the Living

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Rage for Order

EMI America (1986)

Here’s another great record my old man always told me to jam. But at the time I thought it wasn’t angsty or dark enough for my tortured teenage soul. I thought: these vocals = butt rock. Boy, was I ever wrong! Michael Wilton and Chris DeGarmo’s riffs, for all their progressive, squealy nimbleness, are ballasted by a ponderous gloom that’s like something out of a dark opera— their melodies soar, but on black wings.

And Geoff Tate’s lyrics were never so disarmingly poignant.

It’s obvious that Queensrÿche were banking on huge commercial success with Rage for Order—just listen to the radio-ready anthemic chorus of “The Killing Words.” Or maybe it’s simply that they gave it their all, and what I infer as “poppy” is something more like perfection. Either way, what held RFO back is what ultimately makes it a fantastic record: a pervasive loneliness most apparent in tracks like the proggothic “I Dream in Infrared,” “The Killing Words” and the cinematically epic “Neue Regel.” But said loneliness is all over the album, seeping through, likely causing all the minute fissures of this otherwise polished, synth-crammed classic. —Dutch Pearce

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77

Oz

Bitch

Fire in the Brain

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Fates Warning

Awaken the Guardian

Be My Slave

Combat (1983)

Led by new bassist and primary songwriter Jay C. Blade (a.k.a. Jukka Homi), Finnish metal squadron Oz followed up their lackluster debut with Fire in the Brain, one of the greatest and most underappreciated albums of 1983. All killer with not even a hint of filler, Fire prefigured Slayer’s Reign in Blood surgical-strike strategy by three years: The album’s total running time is just under 28 minutes.

Powered by the awesomely unhinged vocals of frontman Ape De Martini (a.k.a. Tapani Hämäläinen)—Scandinavia’s answer to chrome-domed, pint-size Rose Tattoo frontman Angry Anderson—and the homicidal guitar mastery of Speedy Foxx and Spooky Wolff, the influence of Oz’s fantastically violent delivery can be heard prominently on recent Darkthrone records (particularly Fenriz’s songs). Packed with NWOBHM-flavored savagery like “Search Lights,” “Gambler” and the maniacally catchy title track, Fire was produced by Boss Forsberg, father of Bathory mastermind Quorthon— in fact, that’s Quorthon’s forearm and bloody hand on the cover, resplendent in spiked leather gauntlets, holding a flaming skull. Because real recognizes real. —J. Bennett

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Witchkiller

Metal Blade (1986)

Day of the Saxons EP

On paper, Awaken the Guardian seems doomed: angular, dense power-prog with a histrionic singer who came to the studio with counterpoint phrasing and enough lyrics for a goddamn novella.

But you know what they say: Never judge a book by its Frazetta-trippingballs-on-DMT cover. To make a snap judgment on this seemingly incongruous formula is to miss out on one of the best albums ever.

From the martial stomp of opening track “The Sorceress” to the aggressive grandiosity of closer “Exodus,” Fates Warning’s third LP is a masterwork of forward-thinking metal that never forgets the importance of groove and relatable melody. “Fata Morgana,” “Guardian,” “Prelude to Ruin”—chuck a dart and you’ll hit an all-time classic stuffed with memorable, perplexing riffs that sound like Iron Maiden trying to pry open the Lament Configuration from Hellraiser.

Awaken the Guardian is also significant because it marks the last FW appearance of the incomparable John Arch, whose impressive range and uncanny knack for resting hooks on top of bizarre riffs are on full display throughout the 48-minute runtime. His performance mirrors the album’s legacy as a whole: electrifying, catchy and delightfully bewildering. —Matt Solis

In 1984, Canadian quartet Witchkiller loosed their sole five-tune collection in Day of the Saxons. The band’s flash-inthe-pan existence belies their talent for writing and executing gritty, satisfying songs that stamped their own character onto the templates crafted by British heroes like Priest and Maiden. Unlike some of Witchkiller’s contemporaries, the long-locked foursome found a place for elegant musicality amidst their hard-charging rock anthems. “Riders of Doom” contains passages of quiet string-picked melody borne on distant thunder. “Penance for Past Sins” dabbles in a similar lilting intro before slamming forward into a ripping affair rife with King Diamond-indebted falsetto screams.

Of course, most of the EP’s 18 minutes revel in galloping rhythms, jut-chinned chord repetition, Doug Adams’ growl-sung vocals and meaty solos. Drummer Steve Batky opens the throttle on the title track without the slightest hesitation. “Cry Wolf ” slings a menacing ground game right from its opening howl. “Beg for Mercy” might double as song title and imperious command, but you can be sure that neither guitarist Kurt Phillips nor Adams will offer any. Saxons is short, punchy and proud. Spin it again. —Daniel Lake

Metal Blade (1984)

Metal Blade (1983)

Betsy Weiss never set out to become metal’s first frontwoman, a member of the first band signed to Metal Blade or a prime target for Tipper Gore’s PMRC. After leaving Los Angelesbased new wave-turned-ska band the Boxboys—in part because the dudes in the band made her dress like one of them—the longtime Alice Cooper fan just happened to see guitarist David Carruth and drummer Robby Settles’ ad in Music Connection, and ended up becoming Betsy Bitch in a matter of weeks.

The rest was destiny.

As for the band’s onstage BDSM shtick, it just followed naturally after the release of their debut album. NWOBHM influence notwithstanding, Be My Slave is punk as fuck in a very specifically Angelino sense: Bitch would have fit like a bespoke buttplug on a bill with, say, the Mentors, 45 Grave, and Roid Rogers and the Whirling Butt Cherries. While any serious power-relationship lifestyle enthusiast would’ve pegged the band as showbiz posers after one listen, Gore’s relationship with the future Vice President was obviously vanilla enough for her to become the album’s number-one promotional device for years to come.

—Rod Smith

my top 5 steve

brodsky Cave In

Sir Lord Baltimore, Kingdom Come

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Captain Beyond, Captain Beyond Deep Purple, The Book of Taliesyn Grand Funk Railroad, Grand Funk King Crimson, Red

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Saxon

Strong Arm of the Law

O

Carrere (1980)

While 1980’s Wheels of Steel was the more important milestone for heavy metal in general, the band arguably hit their peak later that year with Strong Arm of the Law. Awesome from start to finish, classics like the boogieing title track, the barnstorming “20,000 Feet,” and the sweltering JFK reenactment “Dallas 1 PM” feel leaps and bounds above what they’d accomplished a scant few months before. Although they’d later try to chase commercial success right off a cliff, here Saxon proved that metal didn’t need to be amateur hour. —Jeff Treppel

f all the greats to come out of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, Saxon were probably the squarest. You couldn’t take Iron Maiden or Def Leppard home to dinner with your parents; Saxon seem like they’d be super polite and help with dishes afterwards.

Always more classic rock than punk (“Heavy Metal Thunder” is basically a sped-up Sweet song with heavier guitars, and they don’t hide their love of AC/DC), their professional playing and production set them apart from rawer contemporaries.

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Holocaust The Nightcomers Phoenix Record & Filmworks (1981)

“Death or Glory,” the second track from Holocaust’s 1981 debut, The Nightcomers, packs one of the sickest riffs of all time. Just ask James Hetfield, who definitely, uh, reimagined it for the verse riff of “Seek & Destroy.” Not to

mention how similar young Hetfield’s singing is to Holocaust’s Gary Lettice.

(You’re familiar with Metallica’s cover of “The Small Hours”? Well, these guys are that Holocaust.)

But Holocaust are more than just a band that influenced Metallica, and it’s unbelievable that their independently released debut has fallen into such overlooked obscurity. A true shame—yet something tells me that even at the height of the NWOBHM period, these Scots never got the praise they deserved.

It’s easy to hear why. These nine songs lurk like young, greasy punks on the fringe of the crowd at a Thin Lizzy concert. The vibe’s simply more complicated than what most bands of that era were going for. Its swagger is belied by dolorous lyrics and a Venom-ous atmosphere, and the title track could almost pass for an early, lost Hellhammer song—at least until Lettice’s vocals come in, chin out, lip curled.

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Armored Saint March of the Saint Chrysalis (1984)

For every individual who’s talked about how Kyuss should reform and re-record everything they ever did with Josh Homme on vocals, there are probably three who’d like to see Armored Saint

—Dutch Pearce

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remake their first album with, say, Erik Rutan—primarily because the band never made any bones about how bigbuck mainstream producer Michael James Jackson (KISS, Mahalia Jackson) put way too much gloss on what they’d envisioned as a far more rough ‘n’ tumble affair.

The rest of us have no complaints.

Even “Take a Turn”—arguably March of the Saints’ schlockiest number—pulls out of ballad mode for the chorus. Most of the album hews to strict NWOLAHM standards, with the band’s focused, utilitarian approach to writing and performing songs allowing for just enough sleaze metal lube and glam-happy dust to justify the neo-medieval gear they sported onstage. Their aptitude for folding a sense of narrative into every solo they play makes Dave Prichard and Phil Sandoval especially stand out; but, like the guitarists, vocalist John Bush, bassist Joey Vera and drummer Gonzo Sandoval waste not a single note. —Rod Smith

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73

Def Leppard

UFO

High ‘n’ Dry

Lights Out

Mercury (1981)

Chrysalis (1977)

After Eric Clapton was God, and before Yngwie Malmsteen was God, Michael Schenker was God. Back in ’77, shredding was a completely different game, and there were few better than Schenker, a young, Flying V-wielding German prodigy. His association with this U.K. outfit may seem odd today, but his addition to the band produced unquestionably all of UFO’s finest moments. Lights Out was the fourth of his five studio albums with the band (before he returned to Scorpions, from which he was originally poached in ’74), and it features not only several classic songs, but incredible performances from the maestro.

The title track captures UFO at their most pounding and aggressive, which by today’s standard may seem tame. However, in these grooves lies the nascence of many other globally known and influential bands. Iron Maiden bassist Steve Harris is a huge UFO fan, and Gary Holt of Exodus will happily profess his love of classic Schenker. Before shredding meant playing a million notes a minute, Schenker shined with incredible riffs and solos with so much subtle technique, feeling and soul. —Adem Tepedelen

We have more than our fair share of laffs around here. But, holy shit does debating the merits of Def Leppard turn some of our staffers into the most humorless assholes on earth. Yes, the “Wasted” 7-inch was a killer NWOBHM chestnut. No, it did not take this band long to decide they had zero interest in going the way of Diamond Head. (And thank god, or we never would’ve been gifted Songs From the Sparkle Lounge.) But even compared to what followed, it’s hard to see how even Lep purists (yes, I just typed that) would have beef with High ‘n’ Dry. Behind an even more idiotic/iconic cover than the previous year’s On Through the Night, High ‘n’ Dry boasted three of the Sheffield quintet’s most undeniable hits: “Let It Go,” the PMRC magnet title track and “Bringin’ on the Heartbreak” (which segues into excellent A-side-ending instrumental “Switch 625”). Founding axemen Steve Clark and Pete Willis were responsible for some of the band’s most inventive, tasteful riffs, and Joe Elliott was years away from achieving cheeseball supernova, bleeding charisma on even lesser-known should’ve-been-hits like “You Got Me Runnin’” and “Mirror Mirror (Look Into My Eyes.)” —Andrew Bonazelli

my top 5 Hamish

Glencross Vallenfyre

Black Sabbath, Paranoid

W

here would the world of metal be without Manowar’s hypermasculine aesthetic sensibilities? Deafheaven, that’s fucking where. (Ah, shit.) The New York band’s flamboyant virility thundered from their records, and was echoed in their Hail to England image as musclebound warriors Music for Nations (1984) in tiny fur-and-leather garments, wielding electrically charged weaponry while being closely attended by voluptuous female creatures whose intentions are likely far from sweet. Manowar’s undiluted commitment to steel and strength may strike modern (American) audiences as cartoonish, but an early generation of hard-rocking fanatics exulted in the band’s uncompromising power.

Hail to England scales mountains of the writhing defeated, stomping across battlefields littered with the bodies of anyone not metal enough to march in line behind those who “Kill With Power.” Ross “The Boss” Friedman bathes these victory hymns in staccato crunch and lip-curling solos. The rhythm section of bassist Joey DeMaio and Scott Columbus anchors Hail deep into the scarred (English) earth, while Eric Adams’ commanding tenor acts as a transatlantic call-to-arms. From “Blood of My Enemies” to “Bridge of Death,” Hail sees Manowar intent on winning over (and then possibly eating) the hearts of England. —Daniel Lake

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Manowar

Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast Rainbow, Rising Thin Lizzy, Jailbreak Alice Cooper, Billion Dollar Babies

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70

Judas Priest Sin After Sin Columbia (1977)

Quick quiz: Have you ever tucked your manhood between your legs à la Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs, then preened and danced in front of a mirror while badly copying Rob Halford’s falsetto on “Sinner”? If the answer is yes, then you

are one of the perceptive readers who knows the power of the oft-forgotten early Priest album Sin After Sin, the band’s major label debut and first concerted push to stardom. You’re also a sociopath.

Sin After Sin has the distinct disadvantage of preceding the mighty Stained Class, as well as Priest’s pivotal ’80s slabs of heaviness British Steel, Screaming for Vengeance and Defenders of the Faith.

Compared to other Priest albums, Sin After Sin does lack the muscle and power you expect from the Brits. And unlike other Priest albums that would sound fabulous after 1,000 years on a comet, Sin After Sin has moments that feel trapped in the ’70s. At the same time, there are classic, canonical tracks like “Dissident Aggressor” tucked away on this record. Sin After Sin is a portrait of a band finding its footing and an iconic vocalist finding his sweet spot.

—Justin M. Norton

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Anvil

D

Metal on Metal

of Anvil’s early Cheap Trick/Max Attic (1982) Webster tendencies still appear (“Stop Me”, most notably), this record is all about power and technical prowess. The title track is a Canadian classic—Gen-X hosers heard this song hundreds of times whether they liked it or not—and “Mothra” is a wonderful cartoon, while “666” rampages with manic energy. The real eureka moment, though, is on the two-and-a-half-minute “March of the Crabs,” a masterpiece in which you hear Killers-era Maiden morphing into early thrash. Underneath that weirdness was genius at work. —Adrien Begrand

on’t let Fenriz fool you: There’s no “Canadian metal” sound. In the pre-internet 1980s, the country was too damn big to develop a nationwide scene, despite the “Canadian content” laws on TV and radio. Instead, metal grew in various pockets scattered across the country, and produced some weird, weird music in the early ’80s. It was killer, yet there was always something eccentric about it, whether Jonquière’s Voivod, Guelph’s Razor, Ottawa’s Exciter, Vancouver’s Thor or Toronto’s Anvil.

Anvil’s 1982 album is an important touchstone, a crucial bridge between the NWOBHM and the nascent American thrash sound. Although traces

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Raven

Crimson Glory

All for One

Neat/Megaforce (1983)

Transcendence

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Girlschool Hit and Run Bronze (1981)

Imagine an alternate dimension incarnation of the Runaways assembled

by Lemmy Kilmister rather than Kim Fowley and you’ll land virtually dead center in the sonic ballpark that is the Girlschool sound.

Perhaps that’s not much of a surprise: After hearing their first single, Lemmy offered this all-female quartet an opening slot on Motörhead’s 1979 Overkill tour. The two bands collaborated on the 1981 St. Valentine’s Day Massacre EP, each covering a song from the other and converging on Johnny Kidd & the Pirates’ “Please Don’t Touch.” And Ace of Spades producer Vic Maile helmed the Girlschool debut full-length Demolition (1980), as well as its blockbuster sneering-punk-meets-metal-laced-hard-rock follow-up Hit and Run. The latter is a collection of badass, hook-laden songs so seductive and beguiling it very well might get the title charge depicted on the album’s cover tossed out of court despite head-to-toe leather outfits that fairly scream, “We love trouble!”

Girlschool headlined Reading around this time, but have since—cult status notwithstanding—failed to receive their proper trailblazers’ due. Want to change that? Like the ladies sing on the opening track, “C’mon Let’s Go.” —Shawn Macomber

With All for One, Raven shed most of their NWOBHM leanings for a more aggressive, in-your-face sound. Co-produced by Accept’s Udo Dirkschneider, AFO is faster, harder and more technical than anything Raven had done before. That same year, the Newcastle trio also toured the U.S. and Europe with Metallica, on the Kill ’Em All for One tour. 1983 was a huge year for Raven, and they would never look back, getting more thrash with each new record. But All for One is more than Raven’s watershed; it’s their masterwork.

The Brothers Gallagher, along with drummer Rob “Wacko” Hunter, had by this album developed a chemistry totally deserving of the Three Musketeersinspired title and cover. Every song is heavy-hitting, yet supercharged with a graceful speed and agility perfectly suited for playing in spandex. Songs like “Mind Over Metal,” “Sledgehammer Rock,” “Hung, Drawn and Quartered” and “Seek and Destroy,” are indicative of both where Raven came from and where they were going. These songs stand as lasting anthems, mini-treatises on the freedom that comes with playing loud, partying hard and never looking back.

Roadracer (1988)

Transcendence does what it says on the box: It eclipses nearly every effort from its peers (past, present and future), and ultimately transcends the margins of power metal while simultaneously embodying it, sum and substance. Jim Morris’ production is muslin-textured, inventive and sexy as all fuck, providing tracks like “In Dark Places” and “Red Sharks” sufficient elbow room to raise themselves to their full, towering height.

The guitars twine along the length of the album like vines scaling a latticework, pausing frequently to flower into some of the finest riffs and leads ever recorded.

And the vocals—few in the world could touch frontman Midnight’s performance here, which doesn’t so much pivot between hubris and grandeur so much as forge them into an ungovernable javelin; graceful in flight and lethal by dint of its nature.

Transcendence’s closing piece is one of the more beautiful existing within the metal canon, withdrawing on a note of unaffected elegance and capping a work for which I simply can’t thank its contributors enough. Rest in peace Midnight, you lion. —Forrest Pitts

—Dutch Pearce

my top 5 dave

witte

Iron Maiden, Powerslave Deep Purple, Burn

Municipal Waste

Judas Priest, British Steel

Metal Church, Metal Church

AC/DC, For Those About to Rock We Salute You

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65

King Diamond Fatal Portrait

Roadrunner (1986)

Kim Bendix Petersen’s godlike qualities are legion, but you already knew that.

Can he write a righteously haunted metal feast for the ears? Shit, he can write a few dozen of ’em without breaking a sweat.

Can he shriek like a Danish banshee about deranged love and demented families? We’d heard that crystal-shattering voice before on Mercyful Fate’s early output, but on Fatal Portrait, the King truly unleashes his high-pitched hellmouth.

And even on a record not dominated by a single storyline, King Diamond still devotes an entire Side A (plus a smidge of Side B) to a chilling yarn about a malevolent mother and her daughter’s vengeful soul. On these strengths alone, Fatal Portrait already rules.

Of course, then Michael Denner and Andy LaRocque pile brilliance upon excellence in an ostentatious show of virtuosity and flat-out badassery.

Guitars solos coil and spasm through every ghoulish track, not so much stealing the spotlight as intensifying it and sharpening its edges. Everything serves the album’s arrow-straight vision toward a blood-seeping bull’s-eye. If Fatal Portrait gives you nightmares, then congratulations: Your nightmares fucking rock. —Daniel Lake

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Metal Church

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Metal Church

tomas lindberg photo by ester segarra

Ground Zero (1984)

In 1984, thrash was undeniably a thing.

But most bands climbing the ranks were way high on the fumes of NWOBHM. The prevailing sentiment of most early ’80s metalheads was that thrash was “a bunch of punk bullshit.” (This writer recalls seeing the Ozzman return in ’86, where some fans heckled Metallica due to their inability to comprehend the opener’s thrashy discord.)

So, it was with a sense of freshness that the most agreeably named Metal Church founded a congregation baptized in NWOBHM, but with a flock open-minded enough to dabble in that weird thrash/speed metal shit. This hallowed, endearing classic is an intriguing snapshot into the origins of extreme metal. On one hand, the album’s frontto-back solid songwriting and production is a stamp of tried-and-true, rifffueled heavy metal—“Beyond the Black” and “Gods of Wrath” wouldn’t be out of line on a Priest album. But placing those gems alongside thrashy numbers like “Battalions,” or the pummeling crossover-esque “Merciless Onslaught” (Crumbsuckers, anyone?) displays a band pushing hard against the preconceived definitions of what it meant to be metal in 1984. —Shawn Bosler

Yngwie Malmsteen Rising Force

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Polydor (1984)

ngwie J. Malmsteen is very good at playing the guitar, and Yngwie J. Malmsteen knows it. That leads to a weird dichotomy: his prodigious ego makes him insufferable, but only someone with such a high opinion of himself would dare attempt something this audacious.

After leaving deeply shitty AORockers Alcatrazz, Swedish virtuoso Malmsteen took Randy Rhoads and Eddie Van Halen’s neoclassical influences to their natural conclusion: an album of classical compositions for metal guitar and band. In the process, he invented the genre of guitar shred. 1984’s Rising Force was, above all, a showcase for his undeniable talent. There’s a singer on a few songs, but you don’t even notice him. It’s all about the assured melodies coming from Malmsteen’s fingers.

The influence of songs like “Black Star” and “Far Beyond the Sun” can’t be overstated, from Shrapnel Records to power metal to Japanese videogame soundtracks. Despite the descent into selfparody in later years, here the man proved that an album consisting of a dude shredding on electric guitar could be captivating. Punchline or not, he’ll always have that. —Jeff Treppel

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my top 5 tomas

Lindberg

At the Gates Savage Grace, Master of Disguise Exciter, Violence & Force Tygers of Pan Tang, Wild Cat Satan, Court in the Act Omen, Battle Cry

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Twisted Sister Under the Blade

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Secret (1982)

ost kids don’t remember the original mix of Twister Sister debut Under the Blade.

Released on Secret Records, the amateur-hour soundscape left much to be desired. In fact, most kids were still chewing on Stay Hungry’s bone—due to the innocuous fun of videos “We’re Not Gonna Take It” and “I Wanna Rock”—by the time Atlantic Records figured they had an easy cash-in (which it was) on the remix of Under the Blade.

But Twister Sister’s debut is a landmark effort insofar as it did two things: 1) cementing East Coast heavy metal as real, marketable and

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Satan

Court in the Act Roadrunner (1983)

More interested in blazing technicality than the anthemic sky-punching of NWOBHM, English proto-thrashers Satan fully realized their attack after several demos on Court in the Act. Amidst a Technicolor swirl of keyboards and green fog, opening venture “Into the Fire”

genuine; 2) becoming the focus on which outside groups (like the PMRC) would influence (or try to) the music industry to routinely heel under the weight of their moral crusades. What the outside groups didn’t realize is that they singlehandedly overexposed that which they set out to quell to millions of bored kids who had the time and the cash to imbibe on Twisted Sister’s image-first play on time-tested tenets. —Chris Dick

drops you into an alternate dimension’s high court, presided over by injustice and the undead. Listening to “Trial by Fire,” you can hear the song being burned from both ends by the incendiary dueling guitar licks of Russ Tippins and Steve Ramsey. With glam lurking garishly around the corner, “No Turning Back” has everything that made hair metal a commercial force, but without the brainnumbing pandering to teen sex drives.

While Brian Ross’s vocals command and demand attention (especially on “Blades of Steel”), it’s the strength of consecutive instrumentals that cements the album’s greatness. Inducing adrenaline before hypnosis, “The Ritual” and graceful interlude “Dark Side of Innocence” offer their closing remarks before album highlight “Alone in the Dock” slams the goddamn gavel and lowers the noose. Though they’d soon after temporarily change their name to Blind Fury, Satan was indeed alive—and kicking ass—in 1983. —Sean Frasier

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Warlock

Triumph and Agony Vertigo/Mercury (1987)

Lead singer Doro Pesch was the only remaining member from the notoriously fungible Warlock lineup left during the band’s final years, so it’s hard to call Triumph and Agony a “swan song.” It’s essentially a showcase for a very powerful singer, which hastened Doro’s transition

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to recording Warlock-style albums as a solo artist.

Warlock’s cultural impact in North America was minimal, except for the all-important demographic of horny teenage boys who purchased the album explicitly for the liner notes. In retrospect, Triumph and Agony is highly evocative of the era: over-produced, cold-sounding, smothered in cheese.

And, yet, Doro showcases a great range here: the all-German “Für Immer” features raspy vocals à la Pat Benatar, while “All We Are” and “I Rule the Ruins” are fist-pumping anthems in the vein of Dokken/later Scorpions.

Aside from the objectively terrible novelty song “Metal Tango” (avoid unless you’re a huge Mr. Mister fan), the rest of Triumph and Agony passes the smell test: Most of these songs would not have sounded out of place on a Nightmare on Elm Street soundtrack.

—Nick Green

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King Diamond “Them”

Roadrunner (1988)

In 1988, my eighth grade class took a field trip to Philadelphia to see the Liberty Bell. Philly was a two-hour bus ride, so me and my best friend Jeff armed ourselves with chocolate Twizzlers and cassette Walkmans to pass the time. At 13,

Jeff was already a King Diamond lifer, and brand-new opus “Them” blared through his Nerf-like headphone pads.

Absorbed in the falsetto screams of the painted king, the gloomy cover art, the galloping drums, the neo-classical guitar work of stalwart Andy LaRocque and the creepy solos from newcomer Pete Blakk, Jeff was caught off-guard when the bus suddenly swerved and sent the liner notes out into the aisle.

An unassuming classmate scooped them up. “What the… ?!”; “Is this Satan music?!”; “Do you worship the devil?”; “Even your Twizzlers are black!” Jeff deadpanned how “Them” was just a concept album about a deranged grandma who uses blood and tea to summon the dead, an answer that reassured no one.

It did, however, guarantee us plenty of leg room on the ride home when nearby seats were vacated to give the two candyeating “Satanists” a wide berth.

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Witchfynde Give ’Em Hell Rondelet (1980)

Witchfynde’s opening gambit has been surprising the crap out of metalheads prone to judging a book by its cover for more than 30 years (myself definitely included). Though the band name and album art are blatantly suggestive of a

—Scott Koerber

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proto-black metal synod drawn together within the bowels of haunted wood, the relative warmth and looseness of the album are more like a furtive bong hit in the school parking lot, enjoyed with the radio cranked.

The lugubrious baritone of vocalist Steve Bridges brings to mind King Diamond in his lower register, and effectively restrains Give ’Em Hell from being a frothy, heavy rock album, afflicting the whole affair with an unrelenting bite of melancholy, as if the band is enjoying one last holiday before being marched to the stake. It’s this juxtaposition of superficiality spiked with an occult aesthetic (not to mention a friggin’ lorry-load of great riffs) that imbues Give ’Em Hell with brutally ambivalent charm. It’s a sudden hiss of piercing wind on an otherwise warm afternoon. Put more bluntly, it serves as an ominous presentment of heavy metal on the very cusp of the ’80s as it pivoted from carefree nascence to a state of grim self-realization. —Forrest Pitts

Hall of the Mountain King is undoubtedly Savatage’s finest hour (er, 40 minutes): a cavalcade of massive riffs, blazing guitar solos and dramatic vocals that conjure the spirit of the titular character.

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Balls to the Wall RCA/Portrait (1983)

A quintessential classic, Balls to the Wall is the fifth studio offering from Germany’s Accept. Issued in 1983, the record epitomizes true heavy metal with 10 fiery tracks of rebellious, fist-pumping urgency, all led by Udo Dirkschneider’s untouchable, high-pitched, gravel snarl.

Mixed by original pre-Accept guitarist Michael Wagener, this album is all thriller, no filler. The only record of their winding discography to go gold in the States, there’s something inherently magical about Balls both sonically and conceptually. A true leather ‘n’ spikes masterpiece, replete with its (at the time) controversial/alleged sex references, the record is classy, honest and pristinely executed, bedecked in driving rhythms and guitarists Wolf Hoffmann and Herman Frank’s soaring riff/solo work.

Traditional verse/chorus song structures keep things catchy, while a meticulous track sequencing ranging from lead-footed slow-burners to high-octane road-ragers complete with backing chants (“Losers and Winners”) maintain a fluidity throughout.

And though the title track remains an unofficial band anthem/heavy metal keystone more than three decades since its initial release, Balls to the Wall taken as a whole still reeks of burning rubber and synchronized headbanging in the best way possible.

—Liz Ciavarella-Brenner

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Scorpions

Motörhead

Blackout

Orgasmatron

Polydor (1982)

GWR (1986)

By 1982, the Scorps had added some career-defining moves to their Teutonic sting. Most notably, underrated shredder Matthias Jabs (replacing the inimitable Uli Jon Roth) swapped Uli’s cosmic Hendrix vibes for Van Halenlike pyrotechnics. Jabs added the proverbial spikes and leather, while Rudolph Schenker and Klaus Meine further crafted their denim-wearing, prog-weaned hard rock with ballsy riffs and power balladry that—uncommon for the era—placed power before schmaltz.

The formula was masterfully executed on Blackout, hands down (and horns up) the most high-energy album in the Scorps’ catalog. Even classic rock radio’s heavy rotation can’t dim the burning hot cinder that is the title track, with its train-chugging groove and cocky guitar wizardry. Many a cast has been fitted for pimply-faced air guitar aces who flew too high trying to shred along to the sick dual-guitar harmony in “No One Like You”—the high bends, the frenetic fingerboard runs, Meine’s passionate pleadings, the power chord stabs. It’s poppy as hell, but still undeniably heavy fuckin’ metal. Other golden nuggets like “Dynamite,” “You Give Me All I Need” and “Now” help clinch the HM gold. —Shawn Bosler

Motörhead hate Orgasmatron. They think the mix sounds muddy and trendy, and stinks faintly of hip-hop.

Seriously. And while Lemmy and the rest who worked on this know what it’s “really” supposed to sound like, they’re still wrong. Beginning with the anvil rhythm of “Deaf Forever,” no suspect production can muzzle the band spitting diesel through these nine tracks. Their first record as a quartet, and the debut of veteran guitarist Phil Campbell, this is Motörhead functioning as seasoned lowlifes, tearing into their songs with the brawling zeal of someone who drives better after they’ve had a few.

The record builds and builds until everything is laid to waste by the title track, arguably the heaviest thing the band’s ever recorded. It’s a trudging, relentless fuck-off anthem to gods and governments that has been faithfully covered by bands like Satyricon, Integrity and Sepultura. And maybe those versions—or Motörhead playing live—are more true representations of these songs. But despite what could have been, by the end of Orgasmatron, you’re still left shivering in the fetal position, covered with your own sticky mess. —Shane Mehling

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my top 5 danny

Lilker

ex-Brutal Truth Black Sabbath, Paranoid Judas Priest, Sad Wings of Destiny Motörhead, Ace of Spades Iron Maiden, Iron Maiden Venom, Welcome to Hell

danny lilker photo by jonathan pushnik

Accept

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Exciter

Loudness

Heavy Metal Maniac

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Savatage

calvin robertshaw photo by ester segarra

Hall of the Mountain King

S

Atlantic (1987)

avatage’s fourth LP is a time-tested classic that’s replete with extraordinary guitar work and scorching energy, but its most impressive attribute might be that it dropped a mere 15 months after its predecessor, the keyboard-driven fiasco that is 1986’s Fight for the Rock. It’s as if the boys anticipated the backlash and were ready to fire back with the heaviest songs they’d ever written—and they didn’t even need the motivation of Internet trolls to do it!

Hall of the Mountain King is undoubtedly Savatage’s finest hour (er, 40 minutes): a cavalcade of massive riffs, blazing guitar solos and dramatic vocals that conjure the spirit of the titular character. Indeed, the album has two scene-stealers, and it’s fitting that they came from the same womb: Jon Oliva on vocals and the late Criss Oliva on guitar.

The former’s range is a marvel on songs like “Beyond the Doors of the Dark” and “Legions,” while the latter’s solo work on “24 Hrs. Ago” and the iconic title track is nothing short of legendary.

Bonus points for essentially being the origin of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, the heaviest band your parents know. —Matt Solis

Massacre (1983)

Thunder in the East

They may not have a documentary resembling a Canadian This Is Spinal Tap like their peers in Anvil, but Exciter were every bit as crucial to the speed metal scene igniting north of the United States border. Formed from the wreckage of short-lived bands Hell Razor and Jet Black, the members decided to shamelessly borrow the name of the fastest song on Judas Priest’s Stained Class. While Halford’s aesthetic is present on Exciter’s debut LP—checklist: muscular arm/studded leather/tattoo of a sword-impaled heart wrapped in a sash inscribed “metal”—Heavy Metal Maniac’s frantic energy and unbridled acceleration blasted them away from homage at a hundred miles an hour while pioneering increasingly extreme territories.

From the album’s first furious charge, John Ricci’s riffs spill out faster than the blood rushing from the face of a switchblade-slit speaker. From behind his battered kit, vocalist/drummer Dan Beehler howls tales of supernatural terror over the mid-paced groove of “Iron Dogs” and the pyre-lit power ballad “Black Witch.” Along with Anvil and Annihilator, Exciter were the raucous Canuck choir shouting, “Stand up and fight for the metal in your blood.”

By the time Thunder in the East hit American kids, Loudness were heavy metal icons in their home country, with four full-lengths under their belts. True, the more social metaller knew Loudness, but kids stuck in the sticks had no idea that heavy metal awesomeness was reverberating strongly from the Land of the Rising Sun. Thunder in the East marked Loudness’s first foray in North America.

ATCO marketed the band strongly on two points: 1) they were Japanese, and therefore “unique”; 2) at a time when guitar heroes fell off trees, Akira Takasaki was a top gun with a unique style and voice. The video for “Crazy Nights” was warmly received by kids looking for an alternate to Ratt , Stryper and KISS. The promise of Takasaki was immediately heard in the song’s mean main riff, as well as the breathtaking solo.

Sure, the lyrics are unadulterated cheeseburger—a kind of non-American view of an American heavy metal gig—but frontman Minoru Niihara nails it, his accent no less a distraction than, say, Klaus Meine’s. “Crazy Nights” wasn’t Thunder in the East’s only killer.

“Like Hell,” “Heavy Chains” and “Run for Your Life” were also top-shelf paeans.

—Sean Frasier

—Chris Dick

ATCO (1984)

my top 5 calvin

Robertshaw My Dying Bride

Warrior, Fighting for the Earth KISS, Lick It Up Asia, Asia

AC/DC, Back in Black

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Saxon, Wheels of Steel

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he album came during a period of change for Maiden; Bruce Dickinson was only on his second album, and drummer Nicko McBrain replaced Clive Burr. Several songs from Piece are Maiden staples, particularly “Where Eagles Dare” and “The Trooper.” But Piece of Mind works equally well as a complete statement and listen.

The album features some of Piece of Mind Dickinson and Maiden’s best EMI (1983) tributes to mythology and science fiction in a career of drawing from fantastic tales. “Flight of Icarus” is a retelling of the Icarus and Daedalus myth. “To Tame a Land” is a take on Frank Herbert’s Dune, also adapted to film in the 1980s by David Lynch. Both songs set the stage for even more expansive Maiden takes on myth like “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” a year later, and “The Wicker Man” in the new millennium.

The album also includes one of the great fuck-yous in Maiden’s career: a planted backward message before the track “Still Life.” What’s the hidden message? “Ho said the t’ing with the three ‘bonce,’ do not meddle with things you don’t understand.” —Justin Norton

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Iron Maiden

50 Omen Battle Cry

Metal Blade (1984)

They’d probably call it power metal nowadays, but back in 1984, it was just heavy metal, and this was the real deal. Sure, there’s a histrionic largesse to Omen’s sound, but nonetheless, there’s none of the saccharine artifice that debases today’s power metal to the point of parody.

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Battle Cry was produced by Brian Slagel during a golden era for Metal Blade, recorded in little over a week by a band that had been officially together for a month or so.

Some of the songs here were based on ideas that predate Omen, back before guitarist and driving force Kenny Powell, drummer Steve Wittig and guitarist/ later bassist Jody Henry left Oklahoma for L.A. The title track (that chorus!) and “Die by the Blade” were written by Powell when he was in Savage Grace, but they didn’t want them. Their loss. While Savage Grace were still getting their shit together, Powell formed Omen, got them a deal, and released Battle Cry. From Vince Gutierrez’s work of He-Man fan fiction on the cover art to the late J.D. Kimball’s blessed pipes gilding every jam, Battle Cry was—and is—a 100 percent solid-steel classic.

—Jonathan Horsley

my top 5 lev

Slayer, Hell Awaits

Weinstein Krallice

Thin Lizzy, Live & Dangerous

Iron Maiden, Powerslave

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Deep Purple Machine Head

Warner Bros. (1972)

Long before Gavin Rossdale demanded we “breathe in, breathe out” and Robb Flynn was ejected from the Sistine Chapel, Deep Purple’s Machine Head reigned at number one on the top 40 in their native U.K. The sixth album from Ritchie Blackmore and his accomplices, it’s their most lasting and influential serving of dirty-denim hard-edged boogie rock.

Early in a career that included a Black Sabbath stint—as well as landing the singing role of Jesus in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Jesus Christ Superstar—vocalist Ian Gillan’s dynamo performance sears from his first shriek on “Highway Star.” Inspired by a catastrophic fire that forced Deep Purple to change recording studios—started by a Frank Zappa audience member’s flare gun—“Smoke on the Water” and its iconic opening riff is of course the album’s cornerstone. But “Pictures of Home” smolders with Ian Paice’s urgent percussion; Hammond organ and harmonica stop in for a chilled beer on bluesy jam “Lazy”; and “Space Truckin’” feels like they’re paving the intergalactic highway for every strung-out stoner band formed decades later with black light posters plastering their practice space. —Sean Frasier

Kreator, Pleasure to Kill

Motörhead, Ace of Spades

48 Tank

Filth Hounds of Hades Kamaflage (1982)

Listening to them now, it’s clear that Tank’s songs were written to get people (i.e., the band) laid. Thirty-plus years later and the songs are as potent as ever. By combining Motörhead’s no-frills songwriting approach and punk’s spitting, classless attitude, Tank exemplified that cocky, beer-shotgunning bravado that bands like Metallica and Slayer would run off with like stolen records.

While brothers Mark and Peter Brabbs were an integral part of the band’s early and surviving greatness, time has shown that it’s Algy Ward’s bedrock-solid basslines, desensitized lyrics and crooning snarls that solidify Tank as legends of the NWOBHM era. Meanwhile, wrongheaded detractors who are content to call Tank “Motörhead, Jr.” only prove their own obtuseness, and ultimately miss out on the less-thansubtle disparities between the London trio and their so-called progenitors.

For Tank were something like the vox populi of a disaffected generation whose ennui pushed them toward rowdiness and ribaldry, and kept them kilometers away from ever giving one single fuck.

Besides, when did you ever hear Lemmy sing anything so poetically crass as “Her love is like dragging your balls across barbed wire?” —Dutch Pearce

my top 5 matt

harvey

Exhumed

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Tank, Filth Hounds of Hades Rainbow, Rising

Manowar, Hail to England

Riot

Sortilège

Elektra (1981)

Devil’s Records (1984)

“Swords and tequila, carry me through the night!” Fuck yeah! Tattoo those words on your arm, eat the worm, grab your Union Jack headband and meet me in the back of my Camaro! I got a motherfucking cassette tape to play you.

Who? Only the most badass and unsung British heavy metal band from New York City, that’s who. Okay, yes, they’re American—probably big in Japan—and they rock shit not too far afield from what Def Lep were driving at on their first two classics, but with more aggression and razzle-dazzle. But get this: This manic metal monster came out in 1981! If we don’t wreck this sweet ride after banging our head through the proto speed-metal of “Don’t Hold Back,” it’ll be a miracle.

Grab a hankie and pass the roach; up next is the somber, yet fist-pumping “Altar of the King.” Channeling from the best of the blues-based hard rock British canon, Riot took cues from Priest’s twin axe attacks and Blackmore’s flamboyant classical/ prog flirtations, but with AC/DC and Thin Lizzy’s workman like songwriting skills. The result was something undeniably heavy metal and (considering their nation of origin) totally enigmatic. —Shawn Bosler

Can you believe that these Parisian sophisticates recorded an English language version of this to appeal to a wider audience? Quelle horreur! Only Japan got on board with that. The rest of the world savored the Gallic authenticity that lends Métamorphose the air of a multicultural document endorsing heavy metal’s ability to translate no matter the tongue being spoken.

Not only did Sortilège translate, but their righteously positive, burnished metal sound could replenish the body’s serotonin as if it were an over-the-counter dietary supplement. There’s an élan and brio to “D’ailleurs” and the urgent “Légende” that’d make Francophiles of us all. With Métamorphose, you can’t fight the impression that this is what Manowar might sound like if they knew how to use cutlery. Joey DeMaio is probably still eating peas off his knife, and he still has a career while Sortilège don’t.

There is no justice.

Anyways, we’d rather dine with Sortilège’s master of ceremonies and Métamorphose MVP Christian Augustin, a.k.a. Zouille; here, he has proved himself a man of profound bonhomie, his band a short-lived acme of ’80s metal’s wide-eyed imagination and big-hearted innocence. —Jonathan Horsley

Fire Down Under

UFO, Strangers in the Night

Jag Panzer, Ample Destruction

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Métamorphose

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Deep Purple There are no radio hits here at the level of “Smoke on the Water.” But, really, who needs them when you’ve got the proto-thrash opener “Speed King”?

The song takes the early rock of Little Richard and morphs it into a feast of gonzo riffs, Ritchie Blackmore guitar noise and tales of ’70s miscreantism.

As jaw-dropping as “Speed King” is, In Rock’s next track is even more of an orange-squeezer. “Bloodsucker” pairs a super-funky groove with a serpent-eating-its-own-tail riff that, in 1970—the same year as Sabbath’s debut—both anticipates much of the palm-muted metal to come and also puts much of it to shame.

And has any singer ever sounded more badass than Ian Gillan when he screams, “No, no, no, no”? The rest of the album is a smorgasbord of scenerychewing death blues and amps-on-11 rave-ups. It’s all high-grade stuff, but the centerpiece is no doubt “Child in Time,” a 10-minute power ballad as otherworldly as anything in the extreme music canon. In Rock? In Metal is more like it. —Brent Burton

A

fter a middling debut, Saxon’s second album came roaring out of the beer-stained NWOBHM gates in 1980 sounding like someone had lit a gasoline fire under their pasty English arses. The entire A-side of Wheels of Steel is jammed with certifiable Wheels of Steel classics: “Motorcycle Man” Carrere (1980) (covered live by Metallica), “Stand Up and Be Counted,” “747 (Strangers in the Night)” and the unforgettable title track, which has apparently been featured in no less than three installments of Grand Theft Auto.

The flipside kicks off with “Freeway Mad,” complete with unsettling stereo siren effects to strike fear into the hearts of late-night motorists after a pint or three at their local. Riffmongers Paul Quinn and Graham Oliver deliver the finest in British hot licks throughout, while future Motörhead drummer Pete Gill holds down the action and singer Biff Byford belts out tales of road warriors, street fights and narrowly averted aerial disasters. Let’s not forget bassist Steve Dawson, who co-wrote many of the songs and provided inspiration—along with Lemmy—for Harry Shearer’s iconic turn as the cucumbersmuggling Derek Smalls in This Is Spinal Tap. —J. Bennett

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Saxon

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my top 5 bill

steer

Carcass

Tank, Filth Hounds of Hades Saxon, Wheels of Steel Motörhead, Bomber Tygers of Pan Tang, Spellbound Savage, Loose ’n Lethal

bill steer photo by ester segarra

In Rock

Harvest (1970)

my top 5

mike amott

Arch Enemy /ex-Carcass /ex-Carnage

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Helloween Walls of Jericho Noise (1985)

Bio-mishaps, human rights, an allpowerful, global police state’s pursuit of universal acquiescence—30 years on, Helloween’s full-length debut seems more lyrically relevant than most contemporary music. It’s not just Michael Weikath and Kai Hansen’s preference for reality over fantasy that set Walls of Jericho apart from its 15 successors, either. While the band offers no lack of dramatic flair, their mode of delivery has way more to do with thrash and speed metal than the genre they’d help define a couple years later.

It’s also raw, dense and aggressive to an extent that distinguishes them from both their contemporaries and later versions of Helloween. Hansen and Weikath play the fuck out of their guitars, raising the bar for stacked-lead execution to heights rarely matched since. Drummer Ingo Schwichtenberg contributes enough surplus momentum value to let bassist Markus Grosskopf occasionally add to the album’s abundance of melody. As for Hansen’s oftmaligned vocals, sure, maybe he sounds a little thin at times, but with no lack of power or soul—not to mention that he regularly hits glass-shattering notes with an apparent ease as rare now as then. —Rod Smith

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Judas Priest, Defenders of the Faith

Queensrÿche, Rage for Order

Scorpions, Lovedrive

Europe, Wings of Tomorrow

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Manowar

Rush

Battle Hymns Liberty (1982)

2112

The U.S. metal scene in 1982 was a pretty lonely place. There was an upswing being documented by regional compilations like Metal Massacre, but the happening shit was mostly in the U.K., where the NWOBHM had by this point spawned some classic albums and bands that would be household names in a few short years. But it’s safe to say that in America in 1982, no band was more fuckin’ metal than Manowar.

Their debut manifesto, Battle Hymns, made that pretty goddamn clear. Many of their contemporaries shied away from being labeled as heavy metal bands for fear of being marginalized, but these New Yorkers donned loincloths, wielded swords and screamed in the face of anyone who’d listen that they were heavy metal to the bone.

That’s Battle Hymns in a nutshell. It’s not subtle—like Spinal Tap before there was Spinal Tap. Every ridiculous bit of this band goes to 11—Eric Adams’ vocals, Joey DeMaio’s bass acrobatics, the works—as though they figured the only way to wake America the fuck up was to be as obnoxiously over-the-top as they could. And for U.S. heshers starving for more heavy ‘n’ loud music, this album was manna. No other Manowar album can touch this for its unwavering statement of intent. —Adem Tepedelen

Rush have always been so stylistically malleable and amorphous that their primary connection to heavy metal fans is just how much they’ve influenced so many. However, for a brief spell in the mid-’70s, Rush was absolutely heavy metal incarnate. While other bands projected power, might, theatrics and sex, Rush refined a crucial, underappreciated aspect of heavy metal culture: nerdiness.

Rush proved that heshers can be literate. Sure, some who bought The Fountainhead after hearing the Ayn Rand-inspired title track probably didn’t finish it. But how many bands compel a teenager to read Ayn Rand? That’s the power of Rush, and indeed the mighty 2112 exudes power amidst Neil Peart’s literary proclivities. Sure, “A Passage to Bangkok” is towering and “Something for Nothing” is hugely underrated, but it’s all about the title track, where Rush’s prog/metal hybrid finally coalesces after a series of near-misses, resulting in a thrilling opus, from that cosmic overture to that enigmatic, explosive finale.

The final words aren’t so much a denouement as an assertion by Rush themselves. Attention all planets of the Solar Federation: We have assumed control.

The nerds had arrived, and metal was never the same. —Adrien Begrand

Anthem (1976)

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Michael Schenker Group, MSG

40

Judas Priest Defenders of the Faith Columbia (1984)

No band should be this good nine albums in. (In this case, no band was this good 10 albums in, but that’s another story.) Cynics grouse that Defenders of the Faith parrots predecessor Screaming for Vengeance a bit too closely, and, uh, they’re right! Not that there’s anything wrong with that, to quote our favorite syndicated leather daddy sympathizer.

Compositional similarities aside, this album is far from hit-packed. Let’s throw out Defenders’ “Night Comes Down” and Screaming’s “(Take These) Chains,” because who gives a shit about power ballads? “Freewheel Burning” is Tipton/Downing at their most jawbreaking aggressive, “Jawbreaker” is Halford at his most double-entendre delicious (bet your ass the viper is “peering from its coil”), and “The Sentinel” bursts at the seams with ballsy prog hubris. Okay, the record is a little front-loaded, but that was par for the course back in the day. All I can say is Hasbro and Columbia missed out on a rad cross-promotion opportunity: making a Transformer for whatever the fuck Doug Johnson created for the cover.

—Andrew Bonazelli

T

he story behind this four-song EP is almost as incredible as music in the grooves.

This was originally an indiereleased effort—a demo, in fact—by a quintet of Seattle-area teens who had never played a live show together. The music was like Queensrÿche EP nothing else coming from 206 Records, Inc. (1983) North America—an amalgam of Euro influences, primarily Iron Maiden, Judas Priest and Dio-era Sabbath, with a musical maturity that belied the members’ ages. The production is minimal and rough, but it was clear that these guys were already aiming high. Their efforts were soon rewarded with a deal with EMI (Maiden’s label).

Though obviously not a part of the NWOBHM, Queensrÿche benefited from that movement, as it was the U.K. media (Kerrang!, Metal Forces, et al.) high on the local talent that first brought them to the attention of the metal world and heralded them as the next great thing. They were right. Just for context, this came out two months after Metallica’s Kill ’Em All in 1983, and though both bands headed off in dramatically different directions musically, the impact that both their first efforts had shaped the metal world forever. —Adem Tepedelen

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Queensrÿche

38

Danzig Danzig

Def American (1988)

The serpentine guitar bend from “Twist of Cain” that ushers in Danzig’s debut was enough to prove that the former punk and death-rock frontman was creating a new bleak kingdom. While he was always a distinctive vocalist, this was the first time that Glenn Danzig could truly

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mold a band around himself. Crooning his warped hooks about angels falling to earth and distorted souls over John Christ’s blackened blues riffs created an amalgam that, honestly, should have never worked.

While Danzig would not exist without Black Sabbath (“Am I Demon” is pure Iommi reverence), the band went back further, fully embracing genres considered outmoded jokes by most of the metal scene at the time. The Misfits may have embraced doo-wop elements, but Danzig has a Booker T. & the M.G.’s cover, and was initially supposed to include Elvis’ “Trouble.”

By design, this gave Danzig what he was always headed towards: a singular position in extreme music.

The persona that started with this record made him ripe for parody ever since, but Danzig’s debut as Danzig remains audacious and abnormal. Like the man himself, it has aged incredibly well. —Shane Mehling

37

Van Halen Van Halen

Warner Bros. (1978)

B

y the time they hit the studio to record Van Halen II in ’78, Eddie Van Halen and David Lee Roth were at war, so this album likely represents the only period in the band’s existence where all four members didn’t want to kill each other. It’s worth noting that critics hated this album when it came out; Robert Christgau of the Village Voice proclaimed, “This music belongs on an aircraft carrier.” He wasn’t exactly wrong.

Of course, the group’s populist streak eventually enabled Van Halen to become one of the best-selling rock bands of all time, but tracks like “Runnin’ With the Devil” and the cover of “Ice Cream Man” (both long-

time live staples) are legitimately fun and free of the contrived sound of later Van Halen singles.

Van Halen is also unquestionably Diamond Dave’s finest vocal hour with the band (especially on “Little Dreamer” and “Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love”), and Eddie Van Halen inspired a generation of guitar geeks with his double-tapped instrumental solo “Eruption” and his insane shredding on the album’s brilliant closer “On Fire.” —Nick Green

there ever was one; Bain also produced the first two albums for Budgie, a Welsh trio best known on these shores for Metallica’s late ’80s cover of “Crash Course in Brain Surgery.”

Budgie’s version of the song originally appeared on the American release of Budgie’s self-titled debut, which hit record bins way back in 1971—the same year as Sabbath’s Master of Reality. Like all of Sabbath’s Bain-produced efforts, Budgie’s components include a brutal drum sound, riffs that practically ooze out of the speakers and upperregister vocals that pierce through all of the low-end thunk. If this sounds like a slept-on masterpiece—one that’s much heavier than the hard rock of the era—that’s because it is. Bain’s early ’70s productions are ground zero for heavy metal. In other words, Budgie were true long before any of the bands on your battle vest. —Brent Burton

bands Black Rose and Brats—it was only natural that the band started out under the influence of King and his coven.

However, after appreciable amounts of woodshedding, the quintet blazed their own path of self-discovery; stage prop altars and skulls were cast aside, and Witch Cross soon became known as “the smiling heavy metal band” in recognition of the jovial nature of their live performances. Following this good time and cheer was Fit for Fight, a twin-axe, Judas Priest-esque masterclass in the fields of pulsating rhythms, chugging riffs and grandiose choruses. Tracks like “Rocking the Night Away,” “Fight the Fire,” the furious instrumental “Axe Dance,” and what became their signature, “Nightflight to Tokyo,” remain the sort of hair-swinging, fist-pounding metal that attracts air guitarists in Canadian tuxedos like black bears to salmon streams.—Kevin Stewart-Panko

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Budgie Budgie

Kapp/MCA (1971)

Those looking for pre-’80s examples of honest-to-goodness heavy metal would do well to check out producer Rodger Bain’s résumé. Not only did he oversee the first three albums by Black Sabbath—an unfuckwithable run if

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Witch Cross Fit for Fight

Roadrunner (1984)

As with most Danish bands of the early ’80s, Copenhagen’s Witch Cross witnessed the international rise of Mercyful Fate. Having seen that renown from the streets of their hometown—as well as the local popularity of pre-Fate

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32

Iron Maiden Somewhere in Time

33

EMI (1986)

For a young kid discovering metal alone in his or her bedroom via the pimps at Columbia House’s “12 cassettes for a penny” scam, Somewhere in Time couldn’t have been a more fitting introduction to the Iron Maiden canon. Though not a concept album by design, withdrawal and introspection function as the load-bearers that provide its structure. From the plaintiveness of the title track’s refrain to the slight distance of the guitars within the mix and the cool, glum civility of the whole affair, Somewhere in Time divulged far more than the barefaced brilliance of Maiden. Rather, it was an exposition on what the metal genre could really offer an isolated kid.

At times, it plied a leering, skinless Eddie, who could singlehandedly incite one’s parents to lathering panic; while at others, it offered discourse on Alexander the Great. Sometimes, on a really good day, you got both. Now, overhearing my son Phoenix practicing the riff to “Wasted Years” through his bedroom door, this work’s poignancy could hardly be more apparent. Here is something greater than a fantastic album; here’s an imperishable well of vitalism.

—Forrest Pitts

Ozzy Osbourne Diary of a Madman

W

Jet (1981)

hen Sharon Arden (later Osbourne) rescued Ozzy from a lengthy hotel room drug binge and revived his career, she probably didn’t see the exiled Black Sabbath singer becoming this successful. Diary of a Madman is Ozzy’s second and last collaboration with legendary guitarist Randy Rhoads, who died in a plane accident after this album was completed. It’s one of the sonic benchmarks of a time when Ozzy snorted fire ants on a tour bus, pissed on the Alamo and (allegedly) drank stadium cups filled with fan spit during concerts.

Diary features two of the gems of Ozzy’s solo catalog: “Over the Mountain” and “Flying High Again.” Although neither became a stadium staple like “Crazy Train,” they are nonetheless classic rock radio and concert perennials. Original bassist Bob Daisley and drummer Lee Kerslake were removed from the 2002 Diary reissue and replaced with new recordings by Robert Trujillo and Mike Bordin. What made this especially troubling was Daisley’s clear assist in songwriting. The 30th anniversary reissue restored Daisley and Kerslake’s contributions. —Justin Norton

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Dio

The Last in Line Warner Bros. (1984)

Even though The Last in Line’s big brother is Holy Diver and its little brother is Sacred Heart, you won’t find any symptoms of Middle Child Syndrome on the nine songs therein—only 41 minutes of energetic, intrinsically melodic power rock featuring virtuosic guitar work and one of the most iconic voices the genre will ever know.

Most people probably think of the title track when this album comes up, and that’s perfectly understandable— it’s definitely on the short list for Dio’s Mount Rushmore. But it’s the supporting players that make The Last in Line a true classic, like the anthemic opener “We Rock,” the electric “I Speed at Night,” the doom-laden “Egypt (The Chains Are On),” and the riff-driven groove monsters “One Night in the City” and “Eat Your Heart Out.” Sure, every song is constructed to showcase Ronnie J. and his unparalleled vocal abilities, but they still left plenty of room for Vivian Campbell to unsheathe his trusty Charvel and imbue even relatively weak tracks like “Mystery” and “Breathless” with a charming, fiery exuberance. Ten thousand horns out of 10. —Matt Solis

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King Diamond

Rainbow

Roadrunner (1987)

Oyster/Polydor (1976)

As far as sheer talent, few bands in metal history can equal the King Diamond lineup that yielded the band’s first two albums: guitarists Michael Denner and Andy LaRoque, bassist Timi Hansen, drummer Mikkey Dee and, of course, the band’s namesake. Although King Diamond the man would go on to build a sterling career in the wake of Mercyful Fate’s 1984 implosion, 1987’s Abigail ranks as his finest post-Fate moment.

Much more polished than Melissa and more streamlined than Don’t Break the Oath, Abigail sees King Diamond embracing the storytelling side of heavy metal with devilish glee. For a 40-minute concept album telling a 19th century ghost story, it’s remarkably well-structured, as King weaves a genuinely involving tale about the doomed Miriam Natias and the horrifying Abigail La’Fey, shrieking and growling like a madman. As fun as the plot is—at one point King stops his grisly narration and says, “Oh, I cannot tell you!”— the entire band is on fire, especially on highlights “A Mansion in Darkness,” “The Family Ghost,” “Omens,” “The Possession” and the creepy title track.

The next 28 albums on this list better come with a bonus handjob or something, because Rainbow’s Rising is the greatest heavy metal LP of all time.

Spoiler alert: There are records featuring Ritchie Blackmore and Ronnie James Dio that placed higher in the poll, and that’s fair, but every song on Rising rescues fair maidens, defeats wizards and vanquishes poseurs.

Blackmore was arguably at his creative zenith here; it’s amazing that the iconic guitarist started flirting with neoclassical song structures and writing on the cello, and the first couple of Rainbow albums is what came out of that. As Dio vocal performances go, “Run With the Wolf ” is every bit as iconic as the überclassic Holy Diver material. “Stargazer,” which opens the album’s second side, is an epic in every sense of the word: Cozy Powell opens with a memorable drum solo, the symphonic arrangement sounds incredible, and Dio really sells the swords and sorcery lyrics with his quasi-operatic delivery. The album falls off slightly with closer “A Light in the Black,” but Blackmore’s astonishing (and endless) solo is a psychic workout, man. —Nick Green

Abigail

F Mötley Crüe

ew truly believed that Mötley Crüe embraced the Dark One. Nevertheless, pentagrams were in full effect, as were Mad Max-ed black leather outfits, blood splatShout at the Devil ters and even corpsepaint, all Elektra (1983) concepts freely appropriated from icon and provocateur Alice Cooper. Nobody’s fool, Mötley Crüe knew that perception equals reality. And they reveled in it on Shout at the Devil.

But cut away the myriad Hollywoodisms, and what remains is a genuine banger. The album’s three singles—“Shout at the Devil,” “Looks That Kill” and “Too Young to Fall in Love”—are untouchable Cold War-era anthems. Recession economies, rampant urban crime, war, and twentysomethings’ views on sex and drugs were cleverly funneled riff-first into Shout’s iniquitous three. But it didn’t stop there. “Bastard,” “Knock ’Em Dead, Kid,” “Red Hot,” “Danger” and the lascivious “Ten Seconds to Love” are also undeniably great.

Certainly, Too Fast for Love had its moments, but songwriter Nikki Sixx—responsible for 75 percent of the album—had matured dramatically on Shout. From a cinematic point of view, Sixx channeled First Blood, Escape From New York and Porky’s into a heavy metal edifice that was heretofore unheard of. To this very, day Shout is Mötley Crüe’s signature moment. —Chris Dick

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—Adrien Begrand

Rising

my top 5 mike

thompson Withered

Iron Maiden, Somewhere in Time

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Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast Napalm Death, Scum Possessed, Seven Churches Ratt, Out of the Cellar

Motörhead, Ace of Spades

my top 5 scott

Iggy & the Stooges, Raw Power

Carlson Repulsion

Judas Priest, Sad Wings of Destiny

Black Sabbath, Vol. 4

Thin Lizzy

Y

ou know the legend: How Sabbath lost their beloved court jester John, but found redemption in a troubadour named Ron. And how Ron(nie), the magical elf found at the end of the rainbow, restored sight to a snowblinded Bill, Geezer and Tony with hymns from heaven and hell.

For Mob Rules, Tony Iommi and Geezer Butler did not listen to Mob Rules fools—the mob whined, “This Warner Bros. (1981) doesn’t sound like Black Sabbath!

They should’ve changed their name!” (oh, foreshadowing, you sly dog!)—but Sabbath Mark II forged ahead with the ultimate companion piece to H&H. One difference, however—Bill Ward’s hard partying had him slipping away. Cue Vinny Appice, whose powerful pummeling drove aggressive classics like “Turn Up the Night.” Reenergized and refocused, Iommi’s songwriting blossomed with his new frontman’s fluid vocal control and melodic depth. Tracks like “The Sign of the Southern Cross” and “Over and Over” expanded on Sabbath’s gloomy compositions—from acoustic beginnings to heavy-as-hell apocalyptic endings—and reached new heights in epic stature. It was these tunes’ darker, woeful style that become a cornerstone of modern doom. —Shawn Bosler

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Black Sabbath

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Warner Bros. (1983)

Judas Priest

As if the studded leather fist punching skyward on the album’s sleeve doesn’t give it away, Thunder and Lightning is definitely Thin Lizzy’s most metal album. Phil Lynott’s gang of Irish rockers were circling the drain by 1983— T&L is the band’s 12th and final studio album—but they went out with a serious fucking bang.

To replace departed guitarist Snowy White, Lynott enlisted former Tygers of Pan Tang axe wizard John Sykes, who would co-write and shred the living fuck out of T&L lead single “Cold Sweat,” the heaviest and most undeniably metal song Lizzy ever recorded. Sykes would become one of Lynott’s most faithful musical disciples, even after Phil’s untimely death in ’86—and after helping David Coverdale write much of Whitesnake’s mega-platinum 1987 album.

Elsewhere on T&L, the booming title track and soaring fight anthems “This Is the One” and “The Holy War” offset cool synth-powered cuts like “The Sun Goes Down” and “Bad Habits.” Given the vast gems of the band’s back catalogue, T&L is probably nobody’s favorite Lizzy album, but it does make one wonder how much heavier they would have become if they’d stuck around. —J. Bennett

You can tell a lot about a metalhead by which Priest album is their favorite. Sad Wings of Destiny is mine. Because I love dynamic, conceptual songs with catchy licks; blissfully blistering solos; solid, straightforward drumming; and risktaking, acrobatic vocals. It’s impossible to say which came first: my proclivity for these things or my profound love for Priest’s sophomore album. But it hardly matters, because any time I hear “The Ripper,” “Tyrant,” “Genocide,” et al., it’s like I’m hearing them for the first time all over again. Except now I know every word, note and drum hit.

And what a fun record to know by heart. With the exception of 2014’s Redeemer of Souls, Judas Priest were never so daring as they were on Sad Wings. From the heralding falsetto of the classic opening track “Victim of Changes” all the way to the last line of “Island of Domination,” Sad Wings is par excellence heavy metal created during a time when such a thing as “heavy metal” barely existed. And Sad Wings gets more relevant every day in this era of oversaturation and myriad pretenders. —Dutch Pearce

Thunder and Lightning

Sad Wings of Destiny Gull (1976)

scott carlson photo by maclyn bean

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Angel Witch, Angel Witch

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Manilla Road Crystal Logic

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Motörhead Overkill

Roadster (1983)

rebecca vernon photo by helen leeson

A lot of power metal bands tell you their songs are about epic fantasy battles, but how many of them actually make you feel like you’re bearing down on a horde of bestial barbarians, cleaving heads for glory? Precious damn few—most of them are too frilly for that. Manilla Road, however, perfectly captured that thrilling pulp vibe with their 1983 masterpiece, Crystal Logic.

Hailing from the ancient kingdom of Wichita, KS, Manilla Road took a uniquely American approach to the New Wave of British Heavy Metal that they called “epic metal.” Like Manowar, their metal was fueled by raw power, but without that band’s over-the-top macho posturing. Instead, they embraced their inherent nerdiness and told tales inspired by Conan the Barbarian, Michael Moorcock and Dungeons & Dragons, using barebones recording techniques that gave their songs a unique jagged edge.

“Necropolis” and “Dreams of Eschaton” stand neck and neck with any of Iron Maiden’s classics, and “Flaming Metal System”—a non-album single usually included as a bonus track— still inspires invisible oranges. It’s tragic that this album only ever achieved cult status, but the cult still accepts new members. —Jeff Treppel

Bronze (1979)

Overkill sees Motörhead at their most virile and dangerous. That it is the band’s third album and was released before their proper debut, On Parole (which was committed to tape in ’76, then mired in industry limbo until December ’79), speaks to its irrepressible life force. Lean, sinewy and aggressive, it was released amid a climate of punk rock posturing and socioeconomic turmoil in the United Kingdom. Was the world ready? It should have been; Overkill was just the sort of cleansing fire it needed.

With tracks such as the brooding “Metropolis”—inspired by Fritz Lang—and the explosive “No Class” and “Damage Case,” Overkill was to ’70s urban Britain what Taxi Driver was to New York. The punks bought into the energy, though Motörhead were too rock ‘n’ roll to be punk, and too wired on amphetamines, booze and Little Richard 78s to be metal. Their world was the real world, and they were going to drink and fuck their way through it at maximum volume. And then, of course, there’s Phil “Philthy Animal” Taylor’s double-kick drum on the title track, a searing, propulsive beat that’d become the engine room for so much extreme music to come. —Jonathan Horsley

my top 5 rebecca

Vernon SubRosa

Judas Priest, Sad Wings of Destiny

S Iron Maiden

teve Harris will forever deny that punk had any influence on Maiden’s formative early years, to which we have to throw his status as legendary elder statesman of our metallic universe to the wind and call bullshit.

Iron Maiden We think ol’ Harry’s forgetEMI (1980) ting about/outright ignoring the staccatoed-up handful of chords that propel the peppy “Sanctuary” and the gruff voice of then-frontman and admitted punker dude, Paul Di’Anno. And if you can’t hear the “Hey ho, let’s go!” feel to the anthemic “Running Free,” you might want to get your ears candled.

Of course, the dueling guitars of the Dennis Stratton/Dave Murray tandem—along with Harris’ galloping bass—contributed to the undeniable metallic textures in “Prowler,” “Phantom of the Opera” and the majority of the other tracks comprising this classic. But there’s a roughshod charm to the band’s debut, a debut that pulled out the chairs for 35 years of sitting at heavy metal’s head table and is still essential listening in this day and age. —Kevin Stewart-Panko

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Voivod, Killing Technology Motörhead, No Sleep ’til Hammersmith Plasmatics, Coup d’Etat Guns N’ Roses, Appetite for Destruction

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Scorpions

W.A.S.P.

Taken by Force

W.A.S.P.

RCA (1978)

Capitol (1984)

Blackie Lawless has become such a vocal Christian (his latest album, Golgotha, refers to the location of Christ’s crucifixion) that it’s easy to forget when he was a legitimate threat. Although W.A.S.P. are often lumped in with Sunset Strip bands like Ratt and Mötley Crüe, the only thing they shared is locale and a weakness for anthems.

W.A.S.P.’s eponymous debut is the perfect union of arena bombast and club sleaze. W.A.S.P. has several pump-yourfirst moments, particularly “I Wanna Be Somebody,” and “School Daze,” two songs to unite the kids that appeared in Heavy Metal Parking Lot. What sets this album apart from its Aqua Net contemporaries is Lawless’s songwriting chops. He was so celebrated for his Alice Cooper-style stage theatrics in the early ’80s that people forgot what got him to the show was his songwriting. W.A.S.P.’s best-known song, “Animal (Fuck Like a Beast),” was deleted from the record shortly after the original release. But if you grew up in the ’80s, you were getting the 45 with a saw blade protruding from a bloody codpiece, anyway.

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Diamond Head

—Justin Norton

my top 5 johanna

Sadonis Lucifer

Diamond Head, Lightning to the Nations

Mercyful Fate, Melissa

Witchfinder General, Death Penalty

Angel Witch, Angel Witch

Metallica, Master of Puppets

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here are more good riffs in a single Diamond Head song than there are in the first four Black Sabbath albums”—that’s how Kerrang! founder Geoff Barton described Lightning to the Nations (Barton was also the first journalist to use the term “New Wave of British Heavy Metal” back in May 1979).

Arriving in 1980 alongside NWOBHM touchstones like Lightning to the Nations Motörheads’s Ace of Spades, Priest’s Happy Face (1980) British Steel, Angel Witch s/t, Saxon’s Wheels of Steel, AC/DC’s Back in Black and debut LPs from Ozzy & Def Leppard, Lightning to the Nations was adored by critics, but never achieved the breakaway success hoped for by the band’s eventual label, MCA (in fairness, MCA naively promoted the band as “the next Led Zeppelin” rather than lauding Diamond Head’s genre-bursting originality).

Though Diamond Head would split by 1985, metal’s next wave— thrash—cemented Lightning’s legacy, as bands like Megadeth, Exodus and, most unabashedly, Metallica tirelessly name-dropped the album as a cornerstone of the early Bay Area thrash metal sound.

—Scott Koerber

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johanna sadonis photo by ester segarra

The 1970s Scorps were a very different beast than the ’80s megastars they would become. Though both iterations wrote effortlessly catchy tunes, the ’70s lineup with guitarist Uli Roth had a little more grit and soul than the flashier, airtight commercial enterprise that cranked out MTV power-hits “No One Like You” and “Rhythm of Love.”

1977’s Taken by Force was the final Scorps studio album of the Roth era; it also marks the debut of drummer Herman Rarebell, who would eventually help write the ubiquitous arena anthem “Rock You Like a Hurricane,” fan favorite “Another Piece of Meat” and fucking “Blackout.” He gets his first co-writing credit on Taken with the bombastic gender-bending single “He’s a Woman - She’s a Man,” a killer cut outmatched only by jackhammer L.A. shout-out “Steamrock Fever” and “The Sails of Charon,” an infectious stutter-step rocker that anticipated Josh Homme’s Queens of the Stone Age guitar style by a full 20 years. Meanwhile, “We’ll Burn the Sky” is a Hendrix tribute featuring lyrics written by Jimi’s last girlfriend—who was shacked up with Uli Roth at the time. —J. Bennett

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Rush

Moving Pictures Mercury (1981)

While the rest of 1981 was OK in terms of music, Rush’s Moving Pictures was the rock ‘n’ roll flex to the mercifully quick death of disco. The Canadian trio’s eighth studio album wasn’t so much groundbreaking as it was their most

fully realized work in a career that had already included 2112 and Hemispheres, two albums that fully embodied the core of progressive rock’s ADHD tendencies.

While a handful of prog’s high-profile acts had managed to find crossover into mainstream radio, the majority of the genre and its love for 11-minute keyboard solos was not so lucky.

Building on the more streamlined and structured focus of its predecessor, Permanent Waves, Moving Pictures was the damn near perfect convergence of mainstream accessibility and the band’s proclivity for doing whatever the hell they wanted to. Songs like “Tom Sawyer,” “Limelight,” “Red Barchetta” and the instrumental mindfuck known as “YYZ” were all released as singles, and would result in the group’s long overdue taking to the woodshed of any preconceived notions that prog was only for (at the time) Pong geeks and Commodore bros. —Jonathan K. Dick

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Guns N’ Roses

Appetite for Destruction Geffen (1987)

Over the 11 years of this magazine’s existence, GN’R—okay, fine, just Axl—has been referenced almost exclusively as a punchline, and for very good reason. Whispers of an original-

lineup reunion in 2016 are getting (slightly) louder, and the reason anybody still gives a flying fuck isn’t the Lies EP or either Use Your Illusion (the ensuing discography provides Metallicaworthy LOLZ). No, it’s because every song on Appetite is an 11, with the arguable exception of “Anything Goes” and its fucking talkbox.

After 28 years of “Welcome to the Jungle,” “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and “Paradise City” soundtracking NFL games, it’s easy to forget how intimidating this album was when it came out. Rapist robots roaming the liner notes! Axl recording himself fucking Steve Adler’s girlfriend for “Rocket Queen”! Millions of teenagers learning the hippest new heroin slang via “Mr. Brownstone”! It’s so sleazy! If you haven’t informed a group of strangers at karaoke that you see them standing there, and that they think they’re so cool, why don’t you just FUCK OFF? —Andrew Bonazelli

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Angel Witch Angel Witch

A

Bronze (1980)

lmost 40 years before Johanna Sadonis and Gaz Jennings joined forces, Kevin Heybourne and his mates performed under the name Lucifer in late-’70s London. After slicing their lineup to three members—Heybourne owning vocals/guitars, Kevin Riddles supporting on bass/keyboard and Dave Hogg on drums—Lucifer traded in its pitchfork for black wings of feathers ‘n’ leather, and emerged as Angel Witch.

On their self-titled album, they armed NWOBHM’s melodic power with sharper weaponry and draped it with supernatural menace. With a cover painting by John Martin originally intended for Milton’s Paradise Lost—titled “The Fallen Angels Entering Pandemonium”—it also

describes metal’s unholy transformation, as thrash and black metal bubbled up from the darkest chasms of the ’80s during Angel Witch’s tenure.

While the members were already embroiled in turmoil, and would split before their next official release, Angel Witch’s deft songwriting never suggests a band on the skids. From the dizzying lead guitar in their timelessly infectious eponymous anthem to the occult allure of “Sorceress” and shadow-dwelling bad intentions of “Angel of Death,” Heybourne’s soaring hooks have spellbound every generation of the loud and heavy since. —Sean Frasier

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AC/DC

Mercyful Fate

Don’t Break the Oath Combat (1984)

This was released in the summer of 1980, and by Christmas that same year, there wasn’t a Camaro or Firebird in North America that wasn’t blasting this at full volume. This fact alone—or the fact that it has to-date sold 80 bazillion copies worldwide—is not what placed this album so high on our list. It’s the music. Akin to Bruce Dickinson’s arrival in Iron Maiden on Number of the Beast, new vocalist Brian Johnson— filling the shoes of recently deceased Bon Scott—brought a new dimension to the band with his gritty, highregister howl. The music and lyrics are also darker, much of it sounding like a eulogy to Scott. The band members were mourning, but they weren’t going to go away quietly.

Opening BIB with “Hells Bells” was sheer genius. The deep, chiming bell and the evil, gothic riff introduce AC/ DC Mark II, a band less about boogie and blues and more willing to use minor chords and heavy, plodding rhythms.

They took their new asset and the inspiration from a fallen comrade, and made a metal album for the ages. One that’s probably being played loudly in a 1980 Camaro or Firebird right now.

As influential as Mercyful Fate are, the Danes wouldn’t be part of this metaller’s repertoire until well after Metallica, Slayer and Testament made their respective marks. Times were tough in the ’80s.

Availability of a record like Don’t Break the Oath didn’t become evident until yours truly graduated from shopping for cassettes at Meijer and Tape World to hip shops like Wyatt Earp and RockARolla.

Nevertheless, Don’t Break the Oath is a true classic. From the naughty gallop of “A Dangerous Meeting” to the frighteningly awesome “Come to the Sabbath,” the mighty Fate—as powered by axemen Hank Shermann and Michael Denner—could do no wrong. With the inimitable King Diamond fronting, Mercyful Fate checked all of heavy metal’s requisite boxes, but unlike most, the Danes were special. They were divinely inspired. They knew how to conjure oldworld terror. And they had the songwriting chops to support it.

Tracks like “Desecration of Souls,” “The Oath” and “Nightmare” were at once profoundly musical, yet histrionically evil. They scared parents— mostly God-fearing moms—into thinking the Apocalypse was nigh based on two talented Danes hitting once-forbidden tritones against King’s unearthly falsetto. I wish I had found Fate earlier.

—Adem Tepedelen

—Chris Dick

Back in Black Atlantic (1980)

Rainbow

Judas Priest

Polydor (1978)

CBS/Columbia (1978)

Ronnie James Dio has enough classic albums under his belt to practically warrant his own special issue, and Rainbow’s third album is an early example of his songwriting acumen. You obviously can’t discount former Deep Purple guitarist Ritchie Blackmore’s contributions (the band started in ’75 as “Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow,” after all), but by ’78, Dio was sharing top billing with the guitar god.

The mercurial duo were ably backed by an all-star rhythm section of bassist Bob Daisley and drummer Cozy Powell.

This would be the last of Dio’s three studio albums with Rainbow, and it’s the most concise and forceful. (Mostly) gone are the gothic folk tunes and ambling jams that filled half an album side on previous efforts. Nearly every tune hits hard and is driven by Powell’s heavyhanded drumming. The mystical vibe is still there, but it has a much darker edge, particularly on “Gates of Babylon,” “Kill the King” and “Lady of the Lake.” Dio’s ascending stardom no doubt caused his eventual ousting from Rainbow. This may not be guitar god Blackmore’s piece de resistance, but it features the perfect balance between his inventive neoclassicism and Dio’s proto-power metal fantasy land. —Adem Tepedelen

The first of two albums the mighty Priest would unleash in 1978 (and their fourth overall), Stained Class is perhaps best known as the one that landed Rob Halford and his leather-clad henchmen in court a dozen years later, after two Nevada teens made a partially—and horrifically—botched suicide pact while listening to “Better by You, Better Than Me.” Though the song was actually written by Gary Wright of “Dream Weaver” fame, Priest were accused of back-masking subliminal messages on the track that inexplicably encouraged their young fans to put shotguns in their mouths. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed and the case was tossed.

But Stained Class is also crammed with wall-to-wall bangers like “Saints in Hell,” the anthemic title track and proto-thrash opener “Exciter,” the highvelocity game-changer from which a certain Canadian speed metal trio took their name. Then there’s the album’s seven-minute centerpiece, “Beyond the Realms of Death,” an acoustic/electric epic about alienation and (ironically) suicide that would set the stage for later death ballads like Metallica’s “Fade to Black” and Pantera’s “Cemetery Gates.”

Long Live Rock ‘n’ Roll

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13

Stained Class

—J. Bennett

my top 5 erik

wunder Cobalt

Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast

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Judas Priest, Stained Class Black Sabbath, Vol. 4 Metallica, Master of Puppets Motörhead, Ace of Spades

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Iron Maiden Killers

EMI (1981)

Although Iron Maiden’s debut was a major turning point in heavy metal history, ask any Maiden fan and they’ll tell you that follow-up Killers is the richer album. It’s certainly a diverse record in their discography, as bassist Steve Harris was still tinkering with the band’s sound.

Make no mistake, though: Killers has bite. The band would never sound as ferocious as they do here: “Wrathchild,” “Another Life,” “Innocent Exile,” “Purgatory,” “Drifter” and “Twilight Zone” explode with energy. Paul Di’Anno’s snarl sounds commanding, while Clive Burr propels the music with some inspired drum performances.

The acoustic-tinged “Prodigal Son” is the biggest curveball, Harris indulging his inner prog nerd, channeling Jethro Tull and Rush. However, there are two significant signposts. “Killers” is a brilliant, brooding number that oozes menace, a harbinger of the tension/release the band would become so masterful at on record. Meanwhile, “Murders in the Rue Morgue” hints at further musical complexity. Di’Anno adapts to Harris’ increasingly demanding lyrics and melodies, but it’s clear he’s out of his league, and the way Maiden was evolving, they would need a new voice, but fast. —Adrien Begrand

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ever Say Die! wasn’t a terrible album. It was just rife with the lackadaisical filler that had plagued the past three Ozzyfronted efforts. What makes Heaven & Hell 1980’s Heaven & Hell so special Vertigo/Warner Bros. (1980) in the Black Sabbath canon— besides Dio’s valiant and enduring vocal performance—is its return to form, to being a Black Sabbath record of thorough awesomeness. Although H&H isn’t simply dud-free. It’s a masterpiece.

On their ninth album, Bill Ward, Geezer Butler and Tony Iommi weren’t content to rest on any laurels. Instead, they took a major hand in shaping what we know today as heavy metal. And in Ronnie James Dio, the remaining Sabbath members finally found a suitable frontman to fit their evolving sound. Dio’s finger-pointing, exhortative delivery was just the impetus that Black Sabbath needed to move forward. With the little Italian-American man at the helm, Sabbath were rejuvenated; gone was the stagnancy of the past five to eight years. Iommi’s riffs, Butler’s grooves, Ward’s decisive strikes—all possessed this renewed sense of vitality that simultaneously recalled the Ozzy era and sounded like a completely novel band, which most bands can’t do even once.

Sabbath did it twice. —Dutch Pearce

my top 5 richard

christy

Charred Walls of the Damned Mercyful Fate, Don’t Break the Oath Meatloaf, Bat Out of Hell Scorpions, World Wide Live KISS, Alive Quiet Riot, Metal Health

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Black Sabbath

10 Accept Restless and Wild Portrait (1982)

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ike its legendary polka-into-“Fast as a Shark” bait-and-switch

intro, Restless and Wild arrived as a whiplash-inducing change of pace from Accept’s first three albums. Although 1981’s Breaker showed tantalizing hints of potential, it still felt too rooted in ’70s classic rock. Restless and Wild smashed into the future, with its double bass drumming, proto-thrash guitar lines and Udo Dirkschneider’s inimitable snarl coming into full, gargling bloom.

“It felt like we were getting more selfassured and confident in what we were doing,” guitarist Wolf Hoffmann explains, “because at that point—it was album

number four for us—we had tried a few things beforehand that other people had tried at the time, and none of that seemed to work out that well for us, so we

thought, ‘What does it matter? Let’s just do what we feel is right and have fun, and just not think too much about everything that other people tell us.’”

Inspired by a 1981 tour opening for Judas Priest, the German hard rockers focused their sound, ditching the schmaltzy ballads, boogie rock and Rainbow knockoffs that had peppered their previous efforts. It also helped that they realized their singer’s limitations and figured out how to make his wild style work for them—i.e., not having him try to sing. While their new material certainly owed a debt to Priest (although, whose didn’t in 1982?), it was lean, mean, and possessed that distinctive Teutonic bite that bands like Destruction and Kreator would soon take to another level of viciousness. And man, the songs.

“Fast as a Shark” is not only an alltime metal anthem, but no other song could’ve worked as the perfect soundtrack to the scene in Lamberto Bava’s Demons where the hero rides a motorbike through a movie theater while decapitat-

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ing zombies with a samurai sword. The title track remains a sing-along concert favorite, its tune perfectly matching its name. The enigmatic “Princess of the Dawn” still intrigues, its fantasy storyline underscored by a creepy, repetitious Krautrock-inspired backing track. There’s not a single dud in the bunch, though, and that’s part of what makes the album such a classic.

Ultimately, though, its legendary status comes down to the perfect storm of factors. Not only was the band experienced enough to finally articulate their musical vision, but they were still passionate young men with a viewpoint embodied by the very title of the album.

As Hoffmann puts it, “We were obviously a lot younger back then, so we didn’t think too much about consequences or what people might think about it, because we didn’t really care. We didn’t expect this to be a huge commercial success or anything of that nature. We were just rebellious in our attitude.” —Jeff Treppel

9 Def Leppard Def leppard photo by ross halfin

Pyromania

B

Polygram (1983)

ack in Black and Appetite for Destruction may have sold more

copies in the U.S. than Pyromania’s still-jaw-dropping 10 million units, both no other album on this list had a greater mainstream impact on heavy metal. As Pyromania was first stocked in record store racks in January 1983, MTV was simultaneously added to local cable television providers across North America. Over the course of the next 24 months—and videos for Pyromania singles “Photograph, “Rock of Ages” and “Foolin’”—Def Leppard became the first metal band championed by heshers and housewives alike.

“We always thought that we were more in line with INXS and Duran Duran than we were with Metallica or Iron Maiden,” admits guitarist Phil Collen, who replaced axeman Pete Willis near the end of Pyromania’s 11-month marathon recording sessions. “I think a lot of people can be very narrow-minded in their approach to music, especially in their own genre.”

The band’s crossover appeal was further fueled by Robert John “Mutt” Lange— the reclusive pop/rock producer who actually also re-sculpted AC/DC from pub rock heroes to arena rock icons on both Highway to Hell and Back in Black just a few years prior. Lange managed to preserve Def Leppard’s original heaviness on burners like “Rock! Rock! (’Til You Drop)” and “Stagefright,” while expanding to their reach to borderline progressive metal with six-minute mini-epics “Die Hard the Hunter” and LP closer “Billy’s Got a Gun.” “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if he hadn’t pushed us to do that album,” recalls Collen. “He’d go, ‘This chorus sucks. It sounds more like a bridge to me.’ He’d constantly do that. He’d

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say, ‘It’s OK, but it’s not strong enough.

It won’t stand the test of time.’ And we made these songs stand the test of time under his guidance. He was writing with us and singing on this stuff as well. You know, he’s got the best voice in the band!”

Over three decades later, half of Pyromania still remains a staple of the band’s live set, despite Def Leppard selling an additional 15 million copies of follow-up albums since. Still, Collen believes it’s the fact that Pyromania wasn’t a commercial house of fire upon its release, but a smoldering slow burn, that has allowed the band to perform to arena-sized audiences to this day.

“At first, I was just helping my buddies who were making an album,” says the guitarist. “It wasn’t like I joined this big band [at the time]. It mushroomed. It evolved.

The first gig I played with Leppard was at the Marquee Club in London [capacity: 700], and the last show on that tour was at Jack Murphy Stadium in San Diego [capacity: 71,000]. Our first year off after that was 2010. It was crazy. It just never stopped.” —Albert Mudrian

8 Ozzy Osbourne Blizzard of Ozz Jet (1980)

I

f Randy Rhoads were still alive—and Ozzy were still coher-

ent—the story of the making of this album would have made for an incredibly drama-filled Hall of Fame entry. Blizzard of Ozz, which was supposed to be the band’s name, not only rebooted Ozzy’s post-Sabbath career; it introduced the world to a polka dot guitar-playing prodigy whose influence would resonate for decades. One of the songs, “Crazy Train,” even wormed its way into popular culture via TV ads and sports stadiums around the world.

But the ascension of this album— hell, even the fact that it was actually made—relied on an incredible amount of serendipity. Ozzy was, by all accounts, a fucking wreck, so the bulk of the songwriting was left to the unlikely trio of Rhoads, ex-Rainbow bassist Bob Daisley and ex-Uriah Heep drummer Lee Kerslake. The musical climate in the U.K. at the time—before the NWOBHM broke big—was not exactly metal-friendly, either.

“Anything hard rock was almost considered ‘dinosaur,’” Daisley tells us from his home in Australia. “But when we went into the studio, we didn’t want to follow trends; we didn’t want to have any preconceived ideas of what would be a hit or what was in vogue. So, we just said, ‘Fuck it, this is what we play, this is how we play—let’s do it.’”

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The results were, in fact, unlike anything the four had done in previous bands, as well as unlike any metal being made at the time. Rhoads’ guitar playing blossomed in the quartet.

“Randy hadn’t been in the right environment up to that time to really make him shine,” Daisley suggests. “I think some of the material and the general sort of image and musical direction of Quiet Riot wasn’t quite right to get Randy the recognition he deserved. Once he had former members of Sabbath and Uriah Heep and Rainbow to bounce ideas off of and mold him, that’s where it really all clicked.”

Though Osbourne, Rhoads and Daisley wrote together for a couple months before they recorded Blizzard, Kerslake joined right before the sessions began.

“We found our sea legs, if you like, in the studio,” says Daisley, “and I’m very proud of that album. I still remember how much fun it was. The camaraderie in the band was great. We all got on great together.”

Those positive feelings didn’t last, unfortunately. Daisley and Kerslake were booted after recording the band’s second album, Diary of a Madman, and there were decades-long battles over songwriting credits and royalties owed to the pair. Ozzy’s “management” (i.e., wife) even took the brazen step of taking the pair’s parts off the original recordings in the ’90s, though they have since been restored.

Despite the bad blood that taints this masterpiece. Daisley has managed to separate the art from the business side and appreciate how Blizzard has been heralded since its release. “When I was in Rainbow—and because it was Ritchie [Blackmore]’s band—I kind of had this ambition to come in on the ground floor, start a band and create an album or a single that becomes sort of legendary and iconic,” he says. “I fulfilled that ambition with [Blizzard]. I’m very proud of that. It feels great.” —Adem Tepedelen

7 Iron Maiden Powerslave

iron maiden photo by ross halfin

EMI (1984)

F

ifth album Powerslave saw Iron Maiden truly reap the benefits of their hard work, hitting another artistic and commercial peak in the process. Looking back, however, what springs to drummer Nicko McBrain’s mind is how a moment that had him contemplating leaving the band actually brought them all closer than ever before.

It all started in Allentown, PA in 1983, when McBrain and bassist Steve Harris had a furious backstage row.

Sneakily recorded by singer Bruce Dickinson, it’s forever immortalized as “Mis-

sion From ’Arry,” an endearing piece of Iron Maiden history.

“If you go back to 1983 on the Piece of Mind tour,” McBrain says, “Bruce, on the tape that he was recording that argu-

ment, he had lyrics for ‘Powerslave’ on that particular piece of tape. And there’s a whole backstory that goes after the argument finished.”

The following January, band and producer Martin Birch convened in Nassau to record Powerslave. “It was my second excursion in my tour of duty with the band, and the first time was very excitable, when I’d been on the world tour,” McBrain continues. “I was going to walk out on the band over the ‘Mission From ’Arry’ scenario, and we’d come to make Powerslave. When we were recording, the story came up, and Bruce’s wife at that time, Jane, was coming over to visit us, she brought the ‘Mission From ’Arry’ tape. And I’ll never forget; we were sitting in the control room and Bruce came in, and Martin Birch. We found one of the cassette players that were in the gear, and we stuck the tape in. The whole band, including Martin and our road crew, were with us, and we just couldn’t stop laughing! And we just heard this argument

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when Harry went, ‘We’ve got to put it on the back of a B-side!’

“We all decided it was so funny, so we stuck it on the back of the ‘2 Minutes to Midnight’ single. So, that was all pertinent and poignant, from the fact that it happened the year prior.”

No Maiden album has peaks as monumental as Powerslave’s four key tracks: speedster “Aces High”; the unparalleled groove of “2 Minutes to Midnight”; the theatrical title track; and the epic retelling of Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The resulting World Slavery Tour saw Maiden playing 187 shows in 330 days, including a groundbreaking run through Europe’s Eastern Bloc and a legendary performance in Rio de Janeiro.

By 1985, Maiden were one of the most popular bands in the world.

“Powerslave certainly does stand out, without a doubt; what a great record,” McBrain smiles. “It was something else.

We had such a wonderful time making that album.” —Adrien Begrand

6 Dio

Holy Diver Warner Bros. (1983)

V

inny Appice has seen some shit. In the ’70s, he rhythmically

BAND ORIGINS

“Ronnie and I were in Sabbath, and he had a solo deal. He was planning a solo record, but as things soured with Sabbath, he wanted to form his own band. He asked me and I was totally in. My predicament was that Sabbath asked me to stay—everybody should have that problem, right?! I chose to go with Ronnie because we got along and worked well. At first, it was just me, him and one riff: the chorus to ‘Holy Diver.’”

WRITING

“Ronnie was singing and playing a little bass with me on drums. We auditioned guitar players in California, including Jake E. Lee, who was great, but Ronnie wanted an international flair. So, we went to England to check out players.

We contacted [bassist] Jimmy Bain; he knew [guitarist] Vivian [Campbell]. We got together to jam in London, and it was magic. They came back and we started rehearsing. We’d basically get together

every night at 7, smoke a lot of pot and write. A lot of riffs came from stuff Viv had in his previous band [Sweet Savage].

There was a song called ‘Bottle of Wine,’ which we changed and added new parts and that became ‘Stand Up and Shout.’”

BACKWARDS MASKING

“For ‘Invisible,’ we had a riff we liked, so we recorded it. The next night, Angelo, our soundman, put the cassette in the four-track backwards. After busting his balls, we listened to it and decided it sounded good. So, we learned it backwards and that became the song’s second part! Back then, a lot of people were going on about backwards messages in music and all that, so as a joke, we decided to put Ronnie talking backwards on a song. At the end of ‘Shame on the Night,’ Ronnie says, ‘Crucify the diver,’ and no one said a word, but everyone would go on about all the backwards messages on Sabbath albums, where there was nothing.”

CLASSIC ALBUM RECOGNITION

“We weren’t thinking about making a classic record; we were just having fun.

When we cranked it in the studio, it was like, ‘Wow, this is good!’ My drum tech was like, ‘This is going to go platinum!’ We were humble and thinking, ‘Yeah, right!’

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When it came out, the feedback and reaction was amazingly positive. Even Geezer Butler’s wife, Gloria, commented to Wendy, Ronnie’s wife, ‘I knew it was going to be good, but I didn’t know it was going to be this good!’ And that was after we left Sabbath!” —Kevin Stewart-Panko

my top 5 andrew

Craighan

My Dying Bride KISS, Creatures of the Night

Ozzy Osburne, Diary of a Madman Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast W.A.S.P., W.A.S.P. Dio, Holy Diver

Andrew Craighan photo by Ester Segarra

backstopped Axis and Rick Derringer, and did session work with John Lennon before being drafted by Black Sabbath in 1980. Two years later, he and vocalist Ronnie James Dio walked away from Sabbath without a plan or a band, only to conquer the world half a year later with Holy Diver. When we get Appice on the horn, he exudes none of the jaded conceit you might assume would follow these experiences.

Instead, he’s warm and grateful, curious and appreciative, and genuinely surprised upon hearing that the record he helped birth half a lifetime ago is the focus of Decibel’s accolades. And much to the chagrin of our word count, Vinny loves gabbing about those days.

5 Judas Priest Screaming for Vengeance Columbia (1982)

D

uring the 1980 British Steel sessions, Judas Priest recorded themselves smashing milk bottles against a wall to add a bit of snarl and menace to the bridge of “Breaking the Law.” ¶ “We couldn’t very well go download a digital effects file on the Internet, could we?” bassist Ian Hill asks Decibel, chuckling like a man who has been present for a 2001-esque span of evolution in heavy music. “If you needed the sound of breaking glass back then, you actually had to break it.”

Indeed, British Steel represented this obliterate-and-repurpose approach writ large, melting down bits of ossified hard rock and aimless progressive noodling, then pouring the new, stronger alloy into

a sleek mold worthy of a song title like “Metal Gods.”

Alas, though not completely devoid of brilliant flashes, the follow-up, Point of Entry (1981), proved an oddly regres-

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sive affair. “You might say we went for a bit more commercial sound with Point of Entry, I guess,” Hill says, “but on Screaming for Vengeance we pushed the metal parameters as far as we could.”

That’s one way to describe the sublime, next-level mix of straight-out-ofthe-Hadron Collider riffage and Khanwould-be-jealous earworm choruses found on Screaming, a record that storms the gates with perhaps the quintessential heavy metal overture/scorcher (“The Hellion”/”Electric Eye”) and does not relent. Summoned forth during a notoriously hedonistic 1982 stay in Ibiza, Spain that by all accounts as much resembled a drunken demolition derby as a major label recording session, Screaming saw Priest assume its rightful position as the ur-band of the rising NWOBHM movement, while ironically securing the commercial success the band so obviously coveted on Point of Entry via a heavier, more metallic record and a guileless track that unexpectedly dumped a load of rocket fuel in tank of Rob Halford’s

Harley-Davidson. “‘You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’’ was completely off the cuff,” Hill confirms. “We had space left on the record, so we put our heads together and the song just fell together in a couple of days. Inside the band, we didn’t think of it as a single, but the record company ran with it and they were right—along came all this radio airplay, shows in larger venues. Eight albums in, we felt like we were breaking new ground again. We’ll be forever grateful for what that song did for us.”

Priest, of course, did not scale those heights alone.

“It was fantastic to see all these bands in the same vein rise up around us,” Hill says. “Not long after Screaming for Vengeance, heavy metal became one of the biggest categories of music around. And we were humbled to have a lot of those bands tell us we somehow inspired or influenced them. Something was definitely in the air. It was a magical time.”

—Shawn Macomber

Melissa

Roadrunner (1983)

T

he guitar work on Melissa is reason enough to call the album

one of the greatest metal records of all time. Hank Shermann and Michael Denner’s styles unite like conjoined twins trained by the same master. Kim Ruzz’s drumming is everything you could ever want from energetic, aggressive music. And the bass is so robust and tasty it both satisfies and provokes insatiability. All while you’re enthralled by Thomas Holm’s depiction of Satan’s thermogenesis, so vibrant it’s like he’s actually hurtling across the cover.

But Melissa is more than one of the best metal records ever. Because sitting atop its accumulated greatness is a

Legion-esque vocal performance that makes Melissa a legendary record. One that future scholars (not just trailblaz-

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we started running!” He laughs, recalling how then-bassist “Timi [Hansen] hit his foot and his knee so bad stumbling over one of the graves in pitch darkness.”

If you’ve read the HOF on Melissa, you’ll remember how producer Henrik Lund made everyone wait outside during the mixing process, which “bothered the piss out of ” King Diamond, he tells me, sounding as exasperated as ever. “When I say more reverb,” he says, his voice rising in pitch, “I want to hear it. I don’t want to hear it one notch up as if you’re using it up if you use too much.”

We talk for nearly two hours. Occasionally, King waxes on Melissa, but the past is a sprawling carnival thronged with dazzling distractions. Anyway, this day King Diamond is concerned with the future.

“I’ll let you in on a secret now,” he whispers, as if someone could be listening. “But you have to promise me not to say this. You really have to promise me…”

—Dutch Pearce

mercyful fate photo by adem tepedelen

4 Mercyful Fate

ing metal journalists) will cite as the first major work by a true musical genius: Kim “King Diamond” Bendix Petersen.

I caught King Diamond on a rare occasion when he was home in Dallas, preparing for his daily power walk with his wife. “Diet, exercise and no cigarettes—that is a must,” the King says of his new healthy lifestyle. Having just returned from the Mayhem Festival tour, and in the midst of preparing for the Abigail tour, it takes the King a few moments to reverse through time.

First, he recalls the experience of recording Melissa: “We were staying at a hotel ... all in one gigantic room, in the cold autumn time. There was no heat, no hot water. It was absolutely miserable. There was a graveyard on the other side of the street. We, of course, went over one night ... And we were in there, among the tombstones, walking around … Then suddenly there were two cop cars outside the iron fence ... They turned their sirens on and

3 Motörhead Ace of Spades Mercury (1980)

A

ce of Spades feels like an album that, if you’re a metal fan,

is an absolute essential purchase. Consider it an authentication of your tr00ness, because this is the embodiment of metal—from the music to the name to the look of a band on the front cover. If you picked this up and didn’t instantly know what lay in its grooves, clearly you’re an idiot.

Never a band to labor over its art, Motörhead largely wrote Ace while woodshedding in Wales, and later refined it in the studio with new producer Vic Maile.

It could be argued that Maile’s participa-

tion lifted the record to its exalted status, as he not only improved the Motörhead sound, but helped sharpen the material.

“It was very nice to have somebody who knew what he was talking about and was

sharp,” bassist/vocalist Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister says. “He had us doing all kinds of weird shit—wood blocks and doing all kinds of percussion. He was really good.”

“Oh yeah, he did all sorts of things,” guitarist “Fast” Eddie Clarke agrees. “He did this on quite a few tracks. That was one of the differences with Ace of Spades; that really did help to set it apart from the other records we’d done.” Maile even had a hand in the title track, according to Clarke. “The riff we were using [for ‘Ace of Spades’] was different than anything we’d done before. It wasn’t really a true Motörhead lick. Our licks were normally much more dirty than that. With Vic on board and him getting us to change the lick a little bit, it made [it] quite distinctive.”

The payoff was worth the effort. Although the band had been mercilessly mocked by critics, Ace landed high on the U.K. charts in 1980, which proved to be very satisfying. “I thought, ‘That will show ’em, cunts,’” Kilmister hisses.

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“When you get panned that badly like we were—we were destroyed by the press—and you think, ‘I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I’ll fucking show ’em.’ And, believe me, I think we showed ’em.”

Motörhead have been able to savor that vindication for 35 years now, as the album and its title track still remain stone-cold classics. “I wouldn’t have thought that ‘Ace of Spades’ was gonna do a 30-year stint and they still play it on the radio,” Clarke admits. “I’m pleased as punch, though. I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better to have happened to my career—to have a classic tune.

It’s quite a rarity and I’m really proud of that.”

“We got lucky—we got famous for a good song,” Kilmister adds. “You could get famous for a fucking turkey, couldn’t you? Think about being in the Bay City Rollers and having to play that rubbish every night for the rest of your life. It’s terrible, man, just to think of it.”

—Adem Tepedelen

2 Judas Priest British Steel Columbia (1980)

D

uring a mid-19th century visit, the American consul Elihu

Burritt once famously described Britain’s Black Country—its smoke-thickened foundry ‘n’ forge air unfurling a soot blanket over the hills and homes below—as a land “black by day and red by night.” A hundred years later, this same sinister, hardscrabble milieu would serve as something of a silent sixth member for the region’s most famous sons, Judas Priest.

Coincidence?

“No, a place like that never leaves you,” Judas Priest bassist Ian Hill tells Decibel. “Even now, if I close my eyes, I can see it vividly. I can smell the air. I

can hear the sounds. That’s why we are the band we are—us playing metal was like an artist setting up a canvas to paint a landscape. We were influenced by our surroundings… heavy metal, especially

in the beginning, was music by and for the working classes, the industrial classes. Nothing wrong with pop music, but it’s rather frivolous compared to early metal. Too frivolous to channel the needs and desires and realities of where we come from.”

Though previous albums Sad Wings of Destiny (1976) and Stained Class (1978) featured enduring tracks that remain live staples to this day, Judas Priest navigated this inspirational hometown “labyrinth of heavy metal,” as guitarist Glenn Tipton once memorably described it, to its sonic apogee on 1980’s landmark British Steel.

“The workers at British Steel happened to be on strike while we were making the album, so that was all over the news and we were looking for a title,” Hill recalls. “It just struck us: ‘Why not call it British Steel?’ That seemed a near-perfect match for the sound, for the atmosphere of the lyrics, for where we were as a band, for the stories of our lives. We’d become our own foundry.”

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And who could possibly quibble with the product? “Breaking the Law,” “Living After Midnight,” “Metal Gods,” “Grinder,” “The Rage”—this was the moment Priest went from interesting hard rock band to immortal creators of a sui generis heavy metal mutation destined to take over the airwaves and the world.

“There wasn’t a lot of head-scratching making that record, I can tell you that,” Hill says. “Everyone had the same mindset by British Steel. We hadn’t taken the most obvious course, but we instinctively understood we’d arrived at our sound. To be honest, it was a weight off our shoulders to know we finally had something unique and that it was going to take us somewhere good—even if we didn’t have any idea where that would be.”

Thirty-five years later, British Steel continues to carry Judas Priest and heavy metal forward, a flawless, vital piece of art still powerful enough to turn the day black and the night red.

—Shawn Macomber

THE BLACK DAHLIA MURDER ABYSMAL

TWITCHING TONGUES DISHARMONY

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Iron Maiden The Number of the Beast emi (1982)

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1

B

uilding upon the East London grit of their first two albums, Iron Maiden went global with their career-defining 1982 full-length. For the first time, all the band’s strengths coalesced: experimentation, lyricism, grandeur, melody. And if that wasn’t enough, one of heavy metal’s most iconic album covers would scare the bejesus out of Middle America, which would only help publicize the band even more.

This wasn’t an album that could’ve been made with erstwhile singer Paul Di’Anno, either. Di’Anno was already on thin ice during the band’s 1981 tour: not only was Steve Harris’ songwriting style starting to venture well beyond Di’Anno’s range, but the singer’s extracurricular behavior was clearly holding the ambitious band back. Bassist/founder Harris needed a frontman with more power, more charisma and—most importantly—more professionalism. He found his guy in one Paul Bruce Dickinson, the flashy young singer for minor NWOBHM band Samson.

Dickinson’s impact was immediate. While Di’Anno sometimes struggled to keep up with Harris’ increasingly logorrheic lyrics, Dickinson not only kept up, but also sounded commanding doing so. Harris’ songwriting is fresh and energetic on The Number of the Beast, and the rest of the band—guitarists Dave Murray and Adrian Smith, drummer Clive Burr—all play crucial roles. However, a singer could not have asked for a better showcase than this classic record, and Dickinson steps in and owns it from note one.

“That album was a combination of just gluing my voice onto Maiden,” Dickinson explains, “but everything altogether took the storytelling of the band to a whole new level, but didn’t lose any of the punch, any of the impact. I think that’s what freaked everybody out about it. Plus, you had ‘[The] Number of the Beast,’ a classic track. But even stuff like ‘Run to the Hills,’ with all the vocal harmonies, that stuff was shit-hot back in the day, and when you consider the recording technology that we had back then, it was even more shit-hot as a result. We were doing great stuff back then. I’m very, very proud of that album. It’s timeless. And I think it deserves to be.”

In lesser hands, opening track “Invaders” would’ve been a mess. With Dickinson at the helm, it’s thrilling, a perfect way to introduce this flamboyant new voice to the world: “Longboats have been sighted and the evidence of war has begun / Many Nordic fighting men their swords and shields all GLEAM in the sun!”

Harris knew full well just how powerful this new weapon in Maiden’s arsenal was; all eight songs on the record take full advantage of the new guy’s skills. “Children of the Damned” takes the brooding qualities of early faves “Remember Tomorrow” and “Prodigal Son,” and catapults the music into the stratosphere with a dramatic

47

climax. “The Prisoner” and wildly catchy (and popular) single “Run to the Hills” put vocal hooks front and center, something Harris had only hinted at on “Running Free” years earlier.

Dickinson proves to be an extremely valuable asset on the epic tracks, too. The ferocity of the title track is renowned, and for good reason, as Dickinson puts in a vocal performance for the ages in arguably the greatest exhibition of dynamics in heavy metal history. “22 Acacia Avenue,” a track from Smith’s old band Urchin reworked by Harris, bursts with bombast, but underneath lurks a subtle sense of compassion in Dickinson’s performance, something rarely heard in a genre so dependent on blunt force. Closing track “Hallowed Be Thy Name,” on the other hand, is a glorious coup de grace. A first-person narrative nonpareil, the track ranks alongside Judas Priest’s “Beyond the Realms of Death” and Rainbow’s “Stargazer” as a perfect embodiment of heavy metal vocal theatrics. Dickinson embraces the role of a condemned man, and his performance exudes sadness, anger, remorse and, ultimately, transcendence.

As strong as the entire band is on the album, Dickinson insists that producer Martin Birch was just as important a contributor as anyone. “Starting to work with Martin Birch, who was one of my childhood heroes... he produced loads of my favorite bands, loads of my favorite albums,” Dickinson explains, “I learned through him more about performance in the studio, about attitude and phrasing, and the kind of the inner performance that goes on when you’re in a studio.”

A favorite Number of the Beast-era track of Dickinson’s is one that for many years was an obscurity.

“A song I really, really love that actually should have been on the album, but for various reasons, ’cause we were consumed in a moment of madness and I think made a screw-up, was ‘Total Eclipse.’ That song should have been on Number of the Beast, and not only on the Japanese version. I believe we may have played that a couple of times, but yeah, it would be cool to play ‘Total Eclipse’ [again].”

The Number of the Beast would kick off a period of unparalleled success for Iron Maiden, as the band would dominate the rest of the decade. “And we just had a blast, you know?” Dickinson reminisces. “I mean, it was a crazy time, and we were all really young and we were all going off on tour and everything was new. First time I’d ever been in the United States, first I’ve ever been in Canada, first time in Japan, first time everywhere. It was like losing your virginity every week.” —Adrien Begrand

Canadian sensation the making of

Exciter’s

Heavy Metal Maniac story by j. bennett

As

America’s polite, boring and

farts and resentment after Metallica and Slayer perpetually shit-upon little took the controls. That album is Exciter’s ripsister, Canada rarely gets ping, shrieking, world-beating debut, Heavy Metal dBHoF any props unless the topic is Maniac. If the folks at Encyclopaedia Metallum have Rush, health care or Trailer their shit together, it was released on June 14, Park Boys. Don’t get us wrong: We here at Decibel 1983—which means our Canadian friends beat Heavy Metal thoroughly enjoy the musical stylings of revered Metallica’s Kill ’Em All to the shelves by five weeks Maniac Canucks like April Wine, Anvil and Sebastian and Slayer’s Show No Mercy by nearly six months. shrapnel, june 14, 1983 Bach as much as the next child of the ’80s, but Comprised of recently reunited guitarist Amp-slitting speed such storied fabulons will never be considered John Ricci, bassist Alan Johnson and vocalist/ metal madness top shelf entertainment here in Uncle Sam’s dogdrummer Dan Beehler (his impressive feat of patch, will they? musical multitasking was essentially unheard Such is the plight of Ottawa, Ontario’s Exciter. Though they of in metal at the time), Exciter burst into tape-trading consciproduced one of the first—and most satisfying—thrash records ousness with their 1982 demo World War III and the title track’s of the then-nascent genre, they’ve been stuffed into speed subsequent appearance on (oddly enough) Shrapnel Records’ U.S. metal’s musty Canadian caboose, riding bitch between Razor Metal, Volume II compilation. Heavy Metal Maniac was meant to be and Slaughter somewhere behind less exciting American bands the band’s second demo until history—and Shrapnel boss Mike like Anthrax, Overkill and Nuclear Assault, who quickly airVarney—intervened. Which brings us right up to the imposing, locked themselves into a second-class smoking cabin smelling of vault-like doors of Decibel’s Hall of Fame… [4]

exciter

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ďƒŞ photo by kevin hodapp/frank white photo agency

What were the early days of Exciter like?

We first got together in ’79—we didn’t just pop up in ’83 like a lot of people think, so it took a lot of gelling to get to “World War III.” We kind of hit our stride after that and started working on the Heavy Metal Maniac material, playing it live with Motörhead covers and Judas Priest covers.

Al Johnson: We used to rehearse a lot—three times a week, faithfully. We were doing some small bars and clubs [playing] mostly cover songs: Priest, Maiden, Sabbath, Saxon, Motörhead, Scorpions, AC/DC. My son was born in August of ’81, so I was a struggling father back then trying to juggle the band and a family. It was tough.

John Ricci: We had recorded a four-song demo in 1980 or ’81, the World War III demo. We recorded it in Toronto. Back in those days, it was cassettes, and we’d mail it to everybody just to see what kind of interest we got. Mike Varney from Shrapnel Records contacted me after we sent the cassette and said he was interested in one particular song from the demo and wanted to put it on his compilation, U.S. Metal, Volume II. That’s the first time Exciter appeared on record.

Dan Beehler:

If you have an original pressing, there’s … the place where the grooves start, and sometimes there’s little [matrix] numbers scratched in there. So, [Shrapnel owner Mike Varney] had “In God we trust” engraved in that spot.

That was Mike’s way of warding off evil.

Da n B e e hle r

 Sit down and fight

Dan Beehler was Beehler screams for a pretty much the only little respect drummer/vocalist in metal in the early ’80s. Was that a point of attraction for people coming to see Exciter?

Absolutely. There was a Chicago metal band called Zoetrope that opened for us a few times, and their drummer [Barry Stern] was also the singer. But Dan was the original as far as playing this kind of music and singing and playing drums. We never needed a frontman because he’s such an attraction, you know? He carries the band so well. Even for a three-piece band, the audience doesn’t get bored watching us. It’s very entertaining, very visual. Dan is a huge drawing card for the band.

Beehler: I don’t think it was the main draw, but I think it was a lot of the talk because nobody else could do it. Even today, I’ve seen a lot of singing drummers, but nobody that can do it at the velocity that I do it. I’ve heard it all my life: “There’s no fuckin’ way he can do that.” But then they’d come to see us and be like, “Holy shit! He does it better live!” That was when I was in my early Ricci:

50  photo by kevin hodapp/frank white photo agency

BETWEEN THE BURIED AND ME COMA ECLIPTIC

CATTLE DECAPITATION THE ANTHROPOCENE EXTINCTION

[Opening for Black Sabbath] we could tell people liked it, but they looked puzzled. This is ’82, right? And here we are playing “Cry of the Banshee” and “Heavy Metal Maniac” at warp speed.

J o hn R icci 20s. Now that we’re older, I’m going through the same thing. People are like, “Hey, man—can you still hit those high notes?” But I can still do it, and if couldn’t, I wouldn’t go up there and make a fool of myself. Thank God I can still do it—otherwise there wouldn’t be a reunion.

How did the U.S. Metal, Volume II compilation change things for the band?

Johnson: I think that was the pivotal moment in Exciter’s history where all of a sudden people became very aware of our existence. All of a sudden, things started happening for us. We now had worldwide exposure. We were real metal fans ourselves, and we knew what it was like when you heard of a new band out there—you just couldn’t get to the record store fast enough.

People were freaking out over John’s maniacal guitar playing—he was different than any other guitarist out there at the time.

Ricci: When I sent the demo out originally, I had put my home address as the contact. After the U.S. Metal compilation came out, we started getting a lot of fan mail, and it was all delivered to my house. It got to the point where we had to open a PO box because there were was just too much mail to fit in the mailbox. [Laughs] For years and years, we had tons of mail connected with the U.S. Metal compilation and the Heavy Metal Maniac album. The letters just kept coming—mostly European. These fans were really appreciative because it was like a new kind of metal for them. Before Heavy Metal Maniac came out, Mike Varney told us he had pre-sales of like thousands and thousands of copies that were ordered by record stores in the United States because we had all this hype from the compilation. We were pretty blown away by that.

Beehler: We were just excited to have a track on

the compilation. We were these kids up in Canada and here we were on a compilation coming out of California. When that song came out, the underground scene was all tape-trading and handwritten letters. You’d put a message in a bottle and wait for it to get to Europe, you know? [Laughs] It was really cool to get all these letters from people who’d send you a demo from a band that would be huge a year later. When Mike Varney put “World War III” on the U.S. Metal album, we started getting fan mail from all over the world. So, when Heavy Metal Maniac came out, they already knew who we were.

What do you remember about the writing process for Heavy Metal Maniac?

Everything was very thought out. A lot of the songs, like “Stand Up and Fight” and “Heavy Metal Maniac” had other arrangements until we streamlined them. In most cases, I came up with the guitar ideas, and then the three of us worked on the songs together. Dan would sometimes come up with a vocal melody and I would come up with a guitar riff that suited his melody. But the songs on that record weren’t really spontaneous ideas.

Our aim was to open our career, you know? We wanted to write songs for both us and the audience, so we were thinking on both sides. It’s not a selfish album. It was not about, “Let’s play the greatest guitar solo.” We wanted to write good heavy metal songs that would get us noticed.

Ricci:

Dan, you wrote most of the lyrics on the album.

Where did you get your lyrical inspiration?

I was 19 when I wrote those lyrics, and when I look back at them now, it’s like, “What the fuck was I thinking?” At that point, we were very influenced by the New Wave of British Heavy Metal and trying to do the heavi-

Beehler:

52

est lyrics we could. With the song “Iron Dogs,” my brother and I heard [Sabbath’s] “Mob Rules” on the radio before the album came out. We were flipping out because we were huge Sabbath fans.

That night, I had these lyrics in my head about kids crashing a concert and running down the street. I was just so hyped up on “Mob Rules” that it inspired us to write our own song. Songs like “Heavy Metal Maniac” and “Stand Up and Fight” were inspired more by Saxon albums like Wheels of Steel and Strong Arm of the Law. John and I wrote “Black Witch.” That was one of the songs that didn’t have finished lyrics. Musically, it was kind of inspired by slow, heavy Sabbath stuff like “Children of the Sea.” And everyone’s gotta have a song about a witch.

Al, you wrote the lyrics for the songs “Mistress of Evil” and “Cry of the Banshee,” and co-wrote the lyrics for “Rising of the Dead” with Dan. What was the inspiration for those particular songs?

Johnson: The inspiration for me was probably sitting on the toilet, believe it or not. My parents always kept a stack of Reader’s Digest books in the bathroom. I recall looking at the multitude of subject titles and one of them was something about a banshee, and another one was something like “Cry of the Wolf,” so I thought, “Cry of the Banshee”! I really related to the way Maiden and Sabbath were writing lyrics based on horror, fiction, mystery and imagination. I still write that way—I get inspired whenever I watch TV or a movie. To me, that’s what heavy metal is based on. When you mix in serious stuff like religion or politics, you take all the fun out of it.

Dan’s brother, Richard “Clint” Beehler, wrote the lyrics for the song “Under Attack,” but he also played a pretty big role in the band in general, didn’t he?

Absolutely. He was in the fuckin’ basement with us, standing in front of us while we recorded, making suggestions. Everywhere we were, he was. He didn’t miss a rehearsal. He was there for every session of the Heavy Metal Maniac record. He already knew the songs from rehearsal, so he’d be sitting on the floor while we were recording going, “That sounds wicked, but remember what you did at rehearsal last week?” We definitely looked to him for the thumbs-up or thumbs-down.

He wrote the lyrics to “Rain of Terror” [from 1992’s Kill After Kill] and a few other songs as well. He was always firing off lyrics. He was like a member of the band, but he wasn’t in the band.

Beehler:

photo by kevin hodapp/frank white photo agency Johnson: If we ever wrote a book, I’m sure that an entire chapter would not be enough to fully explain exactly how Richard was so important in every aspect of what Exciter was and how the band evolved. Besides writing lyrics for a few songs, he came up with the title for Heavy Metal Maniac, as well as suggestions for production. He would always have important input whenever we were writing songs. He would let us know when something was really good or if it sucked, or if it needed something. He was instrumental in the creative process for many of our early songs. It was—and still is—beyond tragic and so devastating to have lost him at such a young age. He was one of the nicest people I’ve ever known.

You recorded the album in August of ’82 in sound engineer John Belrose’s basement. Can you describe the scene for us?

When you’re from Ottawa, Canada— especially in the ’70s and early ’80s—you might as well have been in Siberia. Toronto was the place to be—all the studios were there. We’d recorded the World War III demo at Nimbus 9 in Toronto with an engineer who had worked with Alice

Beehler:

Cooper. But Heavy Metal Maniac was meant to be a demo, and Belrose had been our soundman for years, so we just said, “Fuck it—let’s do it with Belrose in his parents’ basement.”

Ricci: Half of his basement was renovated and the other half was just concrete. There was a door connecting the two parts. So, we set up all our gear in the concrete part just to get that live sound bouncing off the walls. John’s gear was on the finished side, so he ran a snake to connect everything.

Johnson: I remember that it was a pretty big ’60s-style house. It felt like we were in Tony Curtis’ basement—it was really nice, actually.

The basement was unfinished, and there was a dark corner where we’d put the vocal mic, and we recorded it through one of those old Echoplex guitar delays. We got some strange sounds in that basement. Sometimes it was like we would hear voices in the tracks, but they weren’t actually there. John used a 12-string guitar for “Black Witch” that sounded really cool. We had really cheap mics and it was all recorded on eight tracks. All the levels of everything were in the red—that’s probably why it sounds so powerful.

54

What do you remember about the recording process itself?

 Stack attackers

(l-r) Ricci, Beehler and Johnson

We did it on eight tracks with crappy mics that were wired together. But they were so crappy on the drums that they acted as their own noise gates.

We shoved them inside my open-headed toms and they sounded like a fucking cannon. The guitar sounded like a monster, too. But I never really finished the lyrics for some of the songs, and there’re mistakes on the album because we recorded it really quick. I sang it all in one night because we rented a mic and it had to be back the next day.

Ricci: We were playing in E-flat, and I had a hell of a time keeping my guitar in tune. My opinion is that for fast music you have to tune to concert pitch or it sounds too sloppy. But we used that tuning because back then Dan was still learning to sing and he couldn’t hit some of the high notes. By the second album, his voice got stronger, so I suggested that we tune back up to concert pitch. We did, and we’ve been playing in concert pitch ever since.

Beehler:

 The best part of waking up

Beehler (l) and Ricci work up an appetite

in San Francisco, it sounded 10 times heavier.

I was beyond hesitant—I was shocked and disappointed. I was adamant that we would not do this. There was no way in the world I wanted that put out on vinyl. Even as a demo, I thought it was not very good. Thinking back, I have no idea why we would record an entire album’s worth of material just for a demo, but we did, and when we started sending it out to record companies, it was just too easy and tempting for them to not dish out the money to re-record it, but rather put it out as-is. It was certainly not a professionally produced record, that’s for sure. I couldn’t hear my bass on most of the songs—it was way too trebly and not enough bottom-end. I thought it sounded very tinny. I wanted Exciter to be like our heroes Iron Maiden and Judas Priest with the big record deals and the big productions. In the end, it is what it is, and there is something about the crudeness, the primitive sounds that make up the album that the fans really love. To this day it’s the number-one favorite of the fans, and I have to admit it’s very unique. I think that most heavy metal fans prefer raw recordings rather than overly produced ones.

Johnson:

Looking at the board, all the needles were just pinned in the red, which is a huge studio taboo. Everything was louder than everything else, like the Motörhead saying. We blew out so many speakers recording that album, but Belrose would just laugh. I remember there was a big piece of plywood right behind the drum kit, and I think it caused a weird ambience thing.

For [album intro] “The Holocaust,” we took this Echoplex machine and all kinds of weird shit started coming through the microphone. At the beginning of “The Holocaust,” you can hear all these voices in there. I had recorded some stuff with my voice, but Belrose erased it, so I have no idea where the hell those voices came from. Some weird shit was going on with that machine. That song has some eerie shit in it.

Johnson: Belrose blew the monitor speakers up, so I brought my own speakers from my home system in, and he blew those as well. I think the whole thing was recorded pretty fast because we had rehearsed it so much. The thing I hate the most about recording is that they always insist on putting the bass through a direct box, and it always sounds like garbage. I’m pretty sure that the bass on Heavy Metal Maniac was recorded direct only and not through an amp. I hate the sound of my bass on that album.

Ricci: The album is actually a little bit faster than how we played it live. I mean, we play fast, but Belrose sped up the tape without changing the key. I don’t know how he did that with the old analog gear.

Beehler: We had two guitar tracks, and before we left, we told Belrose to use the one we liked Beehler:

when he was mixing. But he ended up using the other one, which is the one you hear on the album today—which was the right call. Then he mixed it without us there and sent cassettes out into the underground, which caused a shitstorm.

On the demo tape, we wrote that it was recorded in “The Dungeon” because it was like, “Hey, man—we can’t tell people we recorded this in the basement!”

How long did it take?

We had day jobs, so it was spread out over a few weeks, on and off. We were so wellrehearsed that it went fast, but we were also playing loose because you have in your mind that it’s just a demo. We were first- and second-take people. I did all the vocals in one night. I think Belrose took maybe a day to mix it.

Beehler:

Varney was wary of some of the lyrics, so he added his own personal touch to keep Satan away…

Mike Varney is very religious. The Satanic thing was just starting to come out back then with Slayer and Venom and bands like that. He was sort of worried about that, and he didn’t take a liking to those kinds of lyrics.

There was never a lyric sheet with Heavy Metal Maniac because I didn’t even finish some of the songs, but we sent the lyrics to Mike. So, one day I get a call from him and he goes, “I can’t release the album. It’s too evil, man.” And I was like, “Aw, Mike! Come on! It’s not evil. It’s all fucking fantasy, buddy. It’s like Iron Maiden.”

But he said, “No, something bad’s gonna happen.

I have an uneasy feeling releasing this. It’s Satanic.” And I’m going, “Mike, I’m Catholic! I went to church every fuckin’ Sunday! They’re just words, man!”

Beehler:

The album was intended to be a demo until Mike Varney heard it and said he wanted to put it out on Shrapnel Records as-is. Were you hesitant about that?

After Belrose mixed it, we sent the tape out to a bunch of people and we figured we had a demo that could get us signed. But then Mike Varney called and goes, “I’m pressing the demo.”

We go, “What?” We explained to him about all the mistakes and how the lyrics weren’t finished, but he said, “Look, I know you’re singing out of key in some places, but who cares? I’ve got advance orders for 10,000 units!” We were flabbergasted.

Like, holy shit, you know? This was a demo. But it had this monstrous sound, so the demo ended up being the album. And after Mike got it mastered

Beehler:

56

So, we were fucking freaking because we thought the deal was off. But then he calls us back and goes, “Okay, it’s back on. I’m gonna release it.” What he did was, if you have an original pressing, there’s about three-quarters of an inch of nothing between the sticker in center of the record and the place where the grooves start, and sometimes there’s little [matrix] numbers scratched in there. So, he had “In God we trust” engraved in that spot. And they’re engraved by hand, those fuckin’ things—at least I think they are. Maybe they had a machine, but they all look different to me. So, there was probably some little old lady at the pressing plant engraving that in there. But that was Mike’s way of warding off evil.

Exciter opened for Black Sabbath in Ottawa around this time. What do you remember about the show?

I was friends with a local promoter who did all the big arena shows here, so I’d go to his office and say, “If you ever have a situation where the opening band cancels out and it’s a metal show, please call us. We’re local and can get over there and in no time.” And he’d say, “Sure, sure—I’ll keep you in mind.” This went on for a number of years. [Laughs] But right after we finished the album, Black Sabbath was booked to play this outdoor stadium on a Thursday. It was raining heavily that night, and the opening band was supposed to be Johnny Van Zant’s band. The show was rained out, but Johnny Van Zant’s band couldn’t make the rain date on Friday. So, on Thursday afternoon, I get a phone call from the promoter. He says, “John, are you sitting down?” I knew the Sabbath show had been rained out because we had front-row seats. We were gonna be there. He said, “Can you guys open for Sabbath? I’ll give you $200 and a case of beer. And your dressing room will be right beside Sabbath’s. You can meet the guys and hang out with them.” I said, “Just tell us what time you want us to be there.”

Beehler: We were just finishing Heavy Metal Maniac, so we packed up our gear, took it to the Sabbath gig and played the whole album for 10,000 people. It was like, “Holy fuck, we’re opening for Sabbath!” It was the Live Evil tour, with Dio singing. I remember standing behind Vinny Appice, who is just an amazing influence on me.

We talked to Tony Iommi and Dio and Geezer Ricci:

To this day, I see stuff like, “Who’s your favorite ’80s thrash/ speed metal band?” and it lists like 100 bands, including obscure crap bands I’ve never heard of, and we’re not even on the list.

Al Jo hnso n Butler. They were all totally cool—no egos. Your jaw drops and you just don’t know what to say.

We were pretty young, so it was amazing for us.

Our minds were just blown.

Johnson: I remember the mad scramble to get our gear out of the basement and over to our local football stadium for the show. There were thousands of people—I seem to recall it being around 8,000 or so. I actually preferred Sabbath with Dio just because he was one of my favorite singers and Geezer Butler was a huge influence on me. To me, the combination of those four musicians was a perfect metal band. Meeting them in person goes down as one of the most memorable moments of my life.

Ricci: Ronnie James Dio was very talkative. He was just yapping away. Vinny Appice was very talkative, too. We pulled the show off and it went really, really well. We could tell people liked it, but they looked puzzled. [Laughs] This is ’82, right?

And here we are playing “Cry of the Banshee” and “Heavy Metal Maniac” at warp speed.

The Heavy Metal Maniac album cover is one of the most memorable of the era, and the concept is credited to a guy named “Andy B.” What do you remember about its creation?

Yeah, Andy Brown is the guy’s name. He’s a graphic artist. I met him in college in the ’70s.

I was in a cover band at the time, and we played the pub right near the college. After one weekend show, I picked up the school newspaper the following Monday and someone had drawn a really cool caricature of me onstage. My friend Donna had written the article, so I asked her who drew it. She introduced me to Andy, and we became

Ricci:

58

really good friends. When it came time to do the album, I told him I needed someone to draw a logo for the band. But he also came up with the concept for the album cover.

Beehler: For the cover photo, we had a nice fresh roast beef all bloody from the butcher, and stuck it through one of John’s Marshall speaker cabinets with theater blood and guts smeared all over it, so there was tons of color. That’s me cutting the speaker open with a switchblade, so it looks like guts are hanging out of the cabinet.

We took the photo at our old rehearsal hall, but the stupid photographer shot it in black and white. Meanwhile, Varney is yelling at us that he needs the cover. There was no time to reshoot it, so somebody tried to color tint the negative, but it looked like shit. So, we ended up doing the red print over the black-and-white roast beef so it would look like blood, but it ended up looking like a Spinal Tap thing. Somehow, it became like a Nike logo for us. I think Andy still has that switchblade, too.

If the Internet is to be believed, Heavy Metal Maniac was released about five weeks before Metallica’s debut and nearly six months before Slayer’s debut. Do you feel like Exciter doesn’t get enough credit for being one of the bands that kicked off thrash/speed metal?

Yeah, definitely. We were out before a lot of people, but we’ve always been left out of the documentaries and the family trees—maybe because we broke up in ’85 and no one took it seriously after that. Or maybe because we were from Canada and didn’t do the cool tours that everyone else did. We weren’t from a cool place like San Francisco. Being from small-town Canada really hurt us. When tours were being put together in the States, we’d have to get on a plane and cross a border, so it was easier to grab Anthrax or Megadeth, you know? It was a hassle to get Exciter, I think, so we missed out on a lot of shit that way. I thought we were just going to get bigger after [1985’s] Long Live the Loud, but it just turned into a shit circus after that record, so I think people stopped taking us seriously.

Ricci: Well, besides our credit on Wikipedia as one of the pioneers of speed metal or thrash, we were always overlooked. We never had the industry support like Metallica or Slayer. The fans around the world were very supportive, but the industry took a pass on us, so we missed our opportunity Beehler:

TOUR 2016

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Taking the boogie-doom on the road, circa ‘93

We never had the industry support like Metallica or Slayer. The fans around the world were very supportive, but the industry took a pass on us, so we missed our opportunity to get a higher profile.

J o hn R icci to get a higher profile. Yes, we travel all over the world. Yes, we have adoring fans. And yes, we draw high attendance at the shows. But the powerful people in the industry never had any interest in us.

Johnson: To this day, I see stuff like, “Who’s your favorite ’80s thrash/speed metal band?” and it lists like 100 bands, including obscure crap bands I’ve never heard of, and we’re not even on the list. As for why we never got the credit, first of all it’s because we’re Canadian—and the world thinks of Canada as just one big pile of snow.

Secondly, we’re from Ottawa, and if you mention any Canadian metal bands in a conversation, it’s only the ones from Toronto that get any recognition whatsoever.

 Rising of the Dead

The still profilic original lineup, circa today

Thirty-plus years after its release, is there anything you’d change about the record?

Nothing. [Laughs] It still stands up today.

I still get the same tingly feeling when I hear it because it reminds me of when we recorded the songs.

Beehler: I wouldn’t change anything. Even though we never meant it to be an album, the demo recording is probably 80 percent of the appeal. We got over it pretty quick back then. We didn’t go through life going, “Fuck, I wish we could redo that.” It was a monster and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Johnson: [Laughs] Everything! And yet nothing.

Maybe it’s a classic that shouldn’t be changed.

I know a lot of fans would agree with that. But seriously, I still really hate my bass sound on that album—direct recording sucks! There has never been anything I’ve ever done as a musician that I wouldn’t want to go back and change. There’s always something. A Ricci:

What’s your favorite song on the album?

They’re all good, but I’m gonna say “Cry of the Banshee” because I like songs that are fast from start to finish with no breaks. It’s very, very intense, and Dan does all those high screams. It’s the essence of metal.

Beehler: I would say “Iron Dogs” is probably my favorite. Not because John and I wrote it, but because I remember how I felt when I wrote it.

And I love playing it live. I like “Black Witch” and “Cry of the Banshee,” too.

Johnson: I don’t think that I have one. I’m pretty proud of “Rising of the Dead,” but I really love playing “Iron Dogs” live. I never particularly liked the faster ending part of that song, but I really do love playing it to the fans.

Ricci:

60

photo by Lori Hoddinott (capitalphotos.ca)

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