AC/DC (1982)

We got into AC/DC right around the height of their popularity, shortly after the release of For Those About to Rock We Salute You, which reached #1 on the U.S. charts in 1982. By we, I'm referring to me, Len, Mark and the rest of our Martin Drive crew, but once again I'll acknowledge that I was a bit of a latecomer. For Those About to Rock was actually a less than inspired effort by the band, but they were still riding high on the strength of its predecessor, 1980's Back in Black.

These were the first two albums of the Brian Johnson era, following the alcohol related death of lead singer Bon Scott in early 1980. Unbelievably, the band was able to replace Scott and release their most successful album within the same calendar year. Despite this, we were always partial to Bon Scott over Johnson. Highway to Hell, Scott's swan song and the band's breakthrough album; Let There Be Rock, my personal favorite, which included the undisputed (in my mind) greatest song in heavy metal history, "Whole Lotta Rosie"; and Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap were an effective case for the strength of their mid to late-70's material, despite the greater popularity of their first two albums of the 80's.

It wouldn't take long before anybody who had a clue would come to agree with us. If For Those About to Rock was more than a slight dropoff from Back in Black, 1983's Flick of the Switch and 1985's Fly on the Wall were a plummet. I don't know if these were the two weakest albums in their history, because I stopped paying attention after that, but they were definitely the two worst to date.

As I write this, while listening to "Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be" from Let There Be Rock, it seems like a good time to return to the Satanism issue. Among the bands I listened to, AC/DC was near the top of the list in terms of the amount of grief they received from the holy rollers [Iron Maiden and Judas Priest certainly were not overlooked either]. Some even thought it was fitting that Bon Scott met his demise following the release of Highway to Hell.

My cousin Lorri had found God (although I don't know where he was hiding) and was worried about me. She gave me a cassette on which an admonishing narrator outlines most, if not all, of the Satanic references in the past decade and a half of rock music. It was awesome! It would have made one of the most informative and entertaining VH1 documentaries in existence. I was absolutely enraptured, that is until my cassette player ate the tape.

I was a bit freaked out. Was this a sign? Despite my arrogant dismissal of these accusations, deep down I had always remained a bit wary, so this incident definitely fostered those concerns. Was there really evil in this music? Obviously, I considered myself too intelligent to be swayed by these influences, but was there some credence to the idea that these "subliminal" messages could affect me in a way that I couldn't even realize? Plus, what was I going to tell Lorri? My final answers to these questions, in order: no, give me a break, you've got to be fucking kidding me, and nothing. I completely ignored this "message", and, to this day, I'm yet to check into the Hotel California.

Among the bands that I listened to during my heavy metal phase, AC/DC is by far the best. In fact, although I have nothing against the heavy metal moniker itself, I have often contended that AC/DC was not really a metal band, but a band with a true knack for pop music that just happened to rock hard.

Blue Oyster Cult (1982)

I'm pretty sure that I became a big fan of Blue Oyster Cult primarily due to Len and Mark's influence, but I know I had been somewhat familiar with them prior to that. Of course, I was well aware of the overplayed rock 'n roll radio (the term classic rock didn't exist then) hits, "Don't Fear the Reaper" and "Burnin' for You". I think WPDH even gave some airplay to "Black Blade", which was always one of my favorites.

But I became briefly obsessed with them around the time of the release of Extra Terrestrial Live, the magnificent two-record set that perfectly captured the scope of their first decade of recording, except for the inclusion of "Dr. Music" and "Roadhouse Blues". I know I throw the term obsessed around pretty loosely, but this time I mean it. Seriously. I dreamed of starting up a radio station called WBOC. "All Blue Oyster Cult, all the time!" would be our catch phrase. I think maybe me and two dudes from Long Island, who saw them play back in the Soft White Underbelly and Stalk-Forrest Group days, would've listened. Who knows, maybe one of them was named Lee Mazzola.

Blue Oyster Cult was somewhat legendary in Poughkeepsie. I really don't know why, except that they played the Civic Center a couple times a year, but their legend catapulted when they gave a shout-out to the City of Sin on E.T.L.. During "Dominance and Submission", recorded at the Civic Center in fact, Eric Bloom proclaims "We like to come up here from New York City about once or twice a year because we know Poughkeepsie is serious about rock and roll".

The only beef we had with BOC around this time was that they closed every concert by playing "Roadhouse Blues". Len and I hated that song, and hated The Doors for that matter. On two separate occasions, we walked out of their concerts when they played that song as an encore. Years later, I would change my opinion of The Doors in general and decide that I no longer hated that song. In fact, I think I even grew to like it. This is difficult for me to believe today, as once again I prove to myself that my first impressions were right on. Sorry to all my friends who played numerous Doors covers during the glory days, but "Roadhouse Blues" blows.

My favorite albums were Fire of Unknown Origin and Agents of Fortune, and to a lesser extent, Cultosaurus Erectus. It wasn't until years later that I recognized that their best three album run was the first three, Blue Oyster Cult, Tyranny and Mutation, and Secret Treaties, released from 1972 to 1974. In fact, my first impression of those three albums was that I disliked them. I liked the versions of "Cities on Flame", "Dominance and Submission", "Hot Rails to Hell", and "The Red & The Black" that appeared on Extra Terrestrial Live, but when I purchased Secret Treaties, I was not impressed.

Thus was born the "old switcheroo" scheme at Caldor, a local department store. I would return the album, with receipt, and say it skipped. The returns and exchanges desk was in a completely different part of the store as the records department, so they would tell me to go get another one. I would return, saying they didn't have any more copies of that album, but with another record of the same price in hand, and ask if I could take that instead. Now, it wasn't that much of a stretch to do this with albums that I had recently purchased, but I quickly started pulling this stunt to get rid of albums I no longer wanted, but that were still in passable condition. Eventually, I got so cocky that I started asking for my money back instead. In these instances, of course, I had to be sure to hide the one copy they actually did have somewhere they wouldn't find it, just in case.

This worked every time, I do not lie...although I guess you could say I do steal. One time, they actually sent me to the record department, where they attempted to play the record on their turntable. Unbelievably, the record actually did skip. So, the records department clerk went to find another copy of that same record, and, would you believe it, they didn't have one. They just couldn't foil my plan. I think that particular record was Kilroy Was Here. Thank God I didn't get stuck with that piece of crap.

Incidentally, my previously discussed falling out with Victor Feliciano was due in part to a similarly elaborate scheme, involving petty theft, gone wrong. State troopers were involved, parents were notified, kids were grounded, friendships destroyed. Actually, my friendship with Victor probably meant about as much to me as my desire to own a copy of Kilroy Was Here.

Alright, now I think I've confessed too much. Eventually, my guilt would overcome me and lead me to the confessional, as deep down I was a God-fearing Irish/Italian Catholic. After confessioning my sins, I would never obtain another record without paying for it.

Rush (1981)

There's no doubt in my mind as to who it was who introduced me to the band that holds the distinction of the second longest run as my favorite artist. Of course, that's like owning the second most World Series rings to the Yankees. Incidentally, last year, the Cardinals broke that second place tie (with Oakland) by winning their 10th. That person would, coincidentally, happen to hold the distinction of being my second oldest friend. Sorry Len, but Rob's parents pulled down the driveway in that little red MG convertible to the house next door two years prior to meeting you in kindergarten.

There seems to be a trend here...three bands in a row, and four out of six, who I became a fan of in a year that they released two very good albums (one with new material). In 1981, Rush released both Moving Pictures , which contained the single that I have to admit started it all, "Tom Sawyer", and the live album Exit...Stage Left.

I had been friends with Len for years, but I started hanging out regularly with him, his younger brother Mark, Luis Mejias and Johnny Kranik, after a falling out with Victor Feliciano. To this day, Victor is the one person whom I consider my mortal enemy. There were several almost run-ins during the high school and post-college years. One incident that comes to mind was when several of us crashed Victor's party, and after Beau and I performed the black knight sketch in his living room, Jackie Wilson, a friend of both ours and Victor's, told us we'd probably better leave. I think crashing parties where we didn't belong was the foundation of my friendship with Beau. Another time, we crashed a party thrown by one of Dan Hickey's best friends, did tap hits with a drunken Dan, and then left before anyone remembered that they wanted to kick our asses. This was after the billy club incident. But, obviously, none of this has anything to do with Rush.

"Tom Sawyer" had caught my ear before Len played Moving Pictures and Exit...Stage Left for me, but those albums reeled me in. I don't recall if Len already owned 1980's Permanent Waves as well, but I know we immersed ourselves in their entire prior history after that. 2112 was a no-brainer, but my purchase of their first live album, All the World's the Stage, turned us on to their first three studio albums.

We were enamored with the supposed lyrical depth of their concept albums, although we were well aware that Hemispheres and 2112 were really just concept album sides. We nicknamed Len's car "Red Barchetta" after the song on Moving Pictures. We even named Dungeons & Dragons characters after our beloved Neil Peart, Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson...God, it's painful to admit that. Most importantly, though, we scoffed at anyone who dared claim that anyone but Mr. Peart was the greatest drummer in rock and, predictably, we quoted Neil in our senior yearbook.

Signals came out in 1982, and in 1983 we saw Rush at Radio City Music Hall. We were blown away, but we did observe that Geddy's vocal range was not what it was when he was belting out "Temples of Syrinx" back in 1976. I liked 1984's Grace Under Pressure even better than Signals. Some might call me crazy for saying that, but I still do. By the time Power Windows came out, we were already off for our freshman years in college. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't hanging out with Len on a regular basis anymore, or maybe it was because Power Windows kind of sucked, but I started to lose interest in new Rush material after that.

I know Len stuck it out with them for a little while longer, and even claims that Roll the Bones is a really good album, but I honestly have not listened to a single post-Power Windows album in its entirety. I intend to break that trend this year, when on May 1, Rush releases their 18th studio album, Snakes & Arrows. I'm not sure just what to expect, but I'm checking it out, maybe just for old time's sake.

Cheap Trick (1979)

I remember the day almost as if it was yesterday. Rob and I were walking through the neighborhood on our way to the Ciccones' house, which was basically where all of the kids from the three adjacent streets where we lived would congregate. Our neighborhood was frequently referred to as Bart Drive, even though that was only one of the three streets. Rob's family lived at the head of Bart Drive, while my family lived next door, at the head of Simone Drive. The Ciccones, a Catholic family with seven children ranging in age from four years older to seven or eight years younger than I, lived on Martin Drive. Needless to say, their father held down three jobs and was never around, while their mother's full-time job was keeping track of them. She handled this assignment fairly well, and she essentially embraced her role as matriarch of the neighborhood.

One time Mrs. Ciccone heard a rumor that I was involved in defacing the fort in one of her neighbors' back yards. She recounted the story to me of how she vehemently defended me saying, "he's such a nice kid, there's no way he would do such a thing". I think it was her way of laying a guilt trip on me, as I was guilty as charged. It was one of those typically childish acts of tormenting the family that we all disliked.

Rob and I were on our way to hang out at the Ciccones' when we ran into Mike, the second oldest of the seven children, two years my senior and one year older than Rob. Mike said to us, "I hope you like Cheap Trick", because At Budakon was blaring from his bedroom window into the front yard. 1979 was a turning point for Cheap Trick, as the live version of "I Want You to Want Me" would launch their initial stardom. That same year, they released Dream Police, which in hindsight wasn't their best album, but it was my favorite back then, despite the fact that the opening to the title track sounded eerily similar to their other big hit, "Surrender".

The person that I really remember bonding with over Cheap Trick was my sister, Denise. In prior years, Denise and I had spent countless hours in our living room, playing 45s on our parents' old-fashioned cabinet style record player, with built-in speakers. We didn't always agree on the songs, but we always managed to piece together a steady rotation of hits from the 70's. We even killed the b-sides to some of them. I still remember that the flip side of Player's "Baby Come Back" was "Love is Where You Find It", and that Billy Joel's ode to his bad boy side, "You May Be Right", was backed with "Get it Right the First Time". This, of course, is not to mention the Barry Manilow double single of "Mandy" and "It's a Miracle".

Cheap Trick, though, was the first band where our tastes really connected. Denise took me to see them at the Mid-Hudson Civic Center in Poughkeepsie in 1980. It was the Dream Police tour, and it was my first concert ever. Thinking about this, I realize that she was only 15 in 1980, so considering she couldn't drive, it might not be accurate to say she took me. I'm sure our father drove us there and picked us up, but he and Mom wouldn't have let me go by myself, that's for certain. Years later, I believe it was 1998, Cheap Trick would play a three-night stand at the Paradise Rock Club in Boston. The theme for the shows was that each night they played, in its entirety, one of their first three studio albums. Denise drove up to Boston to go to one of those shows with me, and it felt a little like old times.

Cheap Trick really tailed off after Dream Police. I don't believe they produced another strong album, although there were a couple decent ones, until last year's Rockford. Still, their first four albums were tremendous, and there are few, if any, artists that I look back on as fondly as I do this quartet from Rockford, Illinois.

E.L.O. (1979)

Another band that I'm not really sure about the circumstances by which I was turned on to them is Electric Light Orchestra. There was a time when I actually thought that ELO and ELP were the same band. They're not. I know Rob owned a copy of Out of the Blue, but I really think it all started when I took a chance and picked up ELO's Greatest Hits, possibly the best single record intro to an artist that I can recall. Who cares that it ignores their first two albums? Roy Wood? Should it have included their "stirring" classical rock rendition of "Roll Over Beethoven"? I don't think so. This album captures the essence of ELO in the mid-to-late 70's, that is the best thing to happen to pop/rock since The Beatles. Actually, I think they're better than The Beatles. In fact, Jeff Lynne is probably the best songwriter in the whole world, and I'll stand on Paul McCartney's coffee table in my Dr. Maarten's and say so. Okay, maybe I'm taking that a bit far...how about on Billy Campbell's coffee table?

Seriously, though, it feels sacrilegious to make comparisons to The Beatles. It's not that they're my favorite band, but they occupy such an important place in music history that it just doesn't seem right. Therefore, anytime I make a definitive claim about this artist or that artist, you can basically add the phrase, "not including The Beatles", to the end of that statement. That is, of course, except if such statement is in reference to Neil Young. But I digress...ELO is my favorite band today from among those that I idolized as an adolescent.

After ELO's Greatest Hits, my next purchase was their studio release of that same year, Discovery. Despite the existence of their big radio hit, "Don't Bring Me Down", and the lesser hit, "Shine a Little Love", my favorite songs were "Need Her Love" and "The Diary of Horace Wimp". I fell in love with the subtly bluesy guitar intro and cheesy romanticism of the former, and I think I identified with the latter's title character, the ultimate bumbling romantic fool. I know, I know...I was only 12 and didn't have any experiences of my own to relate to Horace's predicament. This just proves how much foresight I had, even at such a ripe young age.

As far as digging into the ELO back catalog was concerned, my explorations would only take me to the mid-70's releases Face the Music and my personal favorite, A New World Record, in addition to the aforementioned Out of the Blue. It wouldn't be until a few years ago that I would discover the beauty of the album that many consider their magnum opus, Eldorado.

Incidentally, the album Face the Music would contain one of the most blatant jabs at the religious right, who claimed that subliminal messages contained in the music of many rock bands, including ELO, promoted Satanism. The instrumental song, "Fire on High", features a moment where a strange voice chants in an obviously intentionally garbled manner. When played backwards, the voice clearly states, "The music is reversible, but time is not, turn back! Turn back! Turn back!" A couple years later, I would become utterly fascinated with the controversy surrounding Satanic messages in many of the bands I was a fan of, greatly influenced by the misguided, but well-meaning, warnings of my born again cousin Lorri...more on that subject later.

Beyond Discovery, I would only purchase 1981's Time before losing interest for a while. While a pretty inconsistent effort, Time had its moments, but my tastes were moving in a heavier direction and distanced themselves from ELO until a late 90's/early 00's renaissance of sorts. Flashback, the 3-cd box set released in 2000, would prove to be an excellent jumping-back point. It helped me discover the earlier material that I had overlooked, and even to appreciate some of their finer moments from 80's releases Secret Messages and Balance of Power.