Metal Memories
Every song has a story …
Sometimes there’s too many memories to put into words. But for the sake of this column, I can at least cull the list substantially.
From an early age, there are still the most vivid memories wrapped around a musical center. The blasting of a Foreigner album single (“Juke Box Hero”), ad naseum waiting for my father to return home; the rush when I finally got my hands on Quiet Riot’s “Mental Heath” (mostly for the cover); on the cliffs behind this one place I used to live, switching between Motley Crue and AC/DC on my walkman; falling asleep in my uncle’s boat with Warrant on a constant loop on that same walkman.
There are those certain songs that instantly bring you back to a time … with such a force that even the mood and various sensory perceptions still flutter through your mind every time to listen to it. It could have been five or 10 or 15 years ago, it stills seems like yesterday.
New Year’s Eve: 1991. Alone in my room, a teenager with nothing better to do. In my mind, I can still feel the rough wooden edges of my bedroom desk reverberate under my fingers as I blast Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” I had to leave the country prior to the full-length album release, so it was simply my trusty cassette single. And while it was “Enter Sandman” that transversed the bridge between ’91 and ’92, it was the lesser-known cover of “Stone Cold Crazy” that became the first full song to grace my ears in the new year. I’ve tried each year since to note the song that I played in the waning moments of the year soon to go by, but it’s Metallica that sticks in my mind most vividly. Was it really almost 15 years ago?
MTV got its hands on the “hook” from Corrosion of Conformity’s “Clean My Wounds” in the mid-90s. it would be used as a bumper prior to commercial on live telecasts (think VMAs). But I still remember a buddy of mine sitting in the hallways with his trusty black bass, belting it out over and over again as I tried my damnedest to throw in the drum kick. That bass riff became an anthem as I trolled the streets of Tokyo, waiting outside of stores while my buddy tried to shoplift from every music store we came across — my discman drowning out the constant buzz of humanity that was impossible to escape in a city so populated. I never talked to my friend after leaving Japan, but a little walk down memory lane is never far away.
My favorite ear worm (you know, those songs you get stuck in your head for no good reason): well before Godsmack became a nationally-known band, Boston’s 107.3 WAAF was taking a chance and playing a handful of tracks off the band’s independent release. “Stay Away” got rammed into my brain as I drove back to New Hampshire from Boston, and I couldn’t find the album to save my life. It was my best friend that finally picked the album up for me, as he and his future wife took a venture into Boston a few weeks later. And for that , I’m eternally grateful.
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Korn’s “Follow the Leader” in the summer of ’98. I was living in my first apartment … a two-bedroom in downtown Keene, NH. But I knew I wasn’t going to be there long. It was only a sublease — I didn’t even fully furnish the place. the living room was a couple of cushions for chairs, my TV, computer, Playstation and stereo. And the stereo was nearing its end. For some reason, it was picking and choosing what discs it was willing to play (some trouble with the laser). And of course, “Follow the Leader” was one of those hit-or-miss albums. Rather than start up the computer every time I wanted to listen to music (which was all I did while I played NBA98 to fill the space between shifts at work), I ran down to the local used music store for something else.
Jackpot: Machine Head’s first two albums. CDs in superior condition to my taped copies … while I was always more partial to “Burn My Eyes” both seemed to get equal attention that summer … the summer of Machine Head. I still have those discs … which is more than I can say for anything Korn related.
For Halloween, 1998, my best friend and I rented a car to go see Rob Zombie up in Lewiston, Maine. The three-plus hour drive was nothing but back roads and he picked the music: Reel Big Fish’s “Turn the Radio Down.” Driving those back roads was a breeze mid-afternoon, but a completely different story at 2 a.m. Fortunately, I picked up a nice little metal offering from one of the concert’s openers: Fear Factory’s “Obsolete.” Even “Edgecrusher” couldn’t keep us from taking turns falling asleep at the wheel.
The fall of ’99 … driving through downtown Northampton, MA. I can still remember the feel of the autumn chill. I had the windows down and can still remember the smell in the air … it just smelled like fall. And my soundtrack for the venture: Silverchair’s “Neon Ballroom” — specifically: “Emotion Sickness.”
To this day I still love the orchestration permeating the track. And for some reason I must subconsciously consider it fall music because that’s when I always seem to pick the disc up again. Only a couple of seconds of the song are needed and I can still smell the air from that day so long ago.
My introduction to Saves the Day: winter of ’99. The Newbury Comics in Burlington, MA., was spinning “Through Being Cool” on the PA. I picked up the disc that night and “Shoulder to the Wheel” became the song I always listened to as I headed south on Route 91, making my weekly journey from Keene to Sunderland. It kept me awake as I hit the highway at 2 or 3 a.m.
A good friend always complained that “Can’t Slow Down” was a better album. He tried to prove his point one spring evening, blasting it as we drove through downtown Keene. A week later he was dead, which gave that whole album a new meaning for me …
I owned a couple of cars, but never a Bronco … until the winter of 2002. I spied the truck that would be mine on my way home from GnR’s Chinese Democracy Tour stop in Boston. A couple of months later, I was finally picking it up from the dealer. The Bronco was the first car I owned with a CD player and I already had the disc picked out: Drowning Pool’s “Sinner.” I pulled out of the driveway as a resounding chorus of “Let the bodies hit the floor” echoed off the brink facade.
When I’m not thinking back to those days in my first apartment, Machine Head holds another place in my mind’s eye: sitting alone on a chilly spring evening, waiting to review a concert (Juliana Hatfield in Bellows Falls, Vt.). Machine Head’s “Through the Ashes” filled the hours before and after that show.
I’m sure as the months turn into years, more memories will get burned into my mind with the aid of a rocking soundtrack. My trek back and forth across the state of Massachusetts as I moved to my seaside abode last month was filled with Byzantine and Trivium. Will those drives in the UHaul or my Explorer be as vivid as those hours in my cousins basement listening to Biohazard and Pantera? I can’t wait to find out.
We’re getting older everyday, but some memories never seem to fade. While they might seem like the most mundane things to remember, each time I do it brings a smile to my face.
When will we ever go back to normal?
