|November 12, 2015 | Uncategorized
They’re going to drop like flies now, the really great ones I grew up with. Especially those who burned so brightly – the various fabulous, colorful, undeniable-song-making rock stars who were born in the 1940’s and 50’s, who were worshipped by, well, we’re talking about the first Motörhead lineup, the original trio, so, boys, mostly, born in the 1960s (us).. so, “You have burned so very brightly, Roy Batty”, or the live version of Both Ends Burning by Roxy Music, or whatever. (they fucking drank like fish every night, and they snorted cheap speed, and that’s why they’re dying, and, have you heard No remorse? And, unless Forest Hills, Queens is some sort of diabolical radium superfund site [and it may well be], why are most of the Ramones dead, while most of the much, much older Rolling Stones are still alive?)
But, so, I was a punk rocker. And there were zero other punk rockers in my high school, but there was this kid Corky, a metal fan. We had a hilariously antagonistic relationship at first – built into this budding friendship was the fact that nobody else would have either of us, and nobody else in the whole place cared one bit for aggressive music. We ribbed each other. He had home room one period before me, and would draw elaborate Ozzy and Black Sabbath pieces on his desk, which I would proceed to sit at, erase “Sabbath”, draw “Flag”, repeat, repeat, etc.
I had heard the metal I was allowed to like at that point (seen pictures of British punks with Motörhead shirts), but had not gone so far as to purchase the actual music (like, on vinyl import LPs) yet. We started to trade-lend records to each other (shit, Corky, thanks for not scratching my Minor Threat 7″s, the fucking things are worth thousands of dollars now), me receiving all kinds of fantastic new knowledge, Venom’s Black Metal, Exodus’s Bonded By Blood — and one day, he shows up to school, and presents me with No Sleep ‘Til Hammersmith and Ace Of Spades, Bronze Records import albums with the shiny British covers, and says, “Here, I found these in the trash, you can have them.”
Certainly, the studio version of Ace Of Spades is the immortal track, but my jam, in them days, was the live version of The Hammer. I got into metal, and Corky became a punk, and then a skinhead, and then the leader of the Chicago SHARP skins, I kid you not. Years later, Philthy and I had the same storage space in L.A., and he used to drive in there in a goddamn pink Cadillac. I kid you not. Man, rock stars.