One Foot In The Gutter, One Fist In The Gold

It’s funny how the little things trigger the bigger things.  Recently, I was kind of not feeling my usual Pandora station, so I decided to try a new one.  I’ve had two for a long time…one based on a lot of my favorite artists, and one devoted strictly to blues.  And I’m talking Robert Johnson-era.   Man, that’s some good listening…but I have to be in the mood for it, and it doesn’t go well when I’m playing action-type games on my PC.  Blasting on Malta while listening to ‘Dust My Broom’ or ‘Drunken Hearted Man’?  Um, no.

My other station started out by me just adding my fav artists….Faith No More, Apocalyptica, Tool, Sevendust, E. S. Posthumus, The Crystal Method, etc.   Somehow, over time, it’s gotten kind of mellow and electronic-y with each song I like/dislike.  It’s usually not a problem, but I was in the mood for something to get my blood pumping.  So I started a new station, and as an experiment, only added Machine Head as an artist.  If you don’t know them, no biggie.  They do metal.  The kind of metal that makes just wanna jump up and punch someone in the face.

I gave my new station a listen for a couple days.  I was surprised to rediscover artists I used to listen to like Slayer, Sepultura, Testament, etc.  And it took me back to something that was a part of my teenage years.  Something I shared with very few people, and something that gave me an outlet for some of my pain and confusion.  I speak, of course, of The Headbangers’ Ball.

Yes, I know I’m dating myself.  Yes, I know at least one of you are rolling your eyes.  You know what?

Kiss my ass.

Stow your judgments if you have them, and take a trip back down memory lane with me.  It’s a long trek; we’re heading to a hot, muggy summer some twenty-one years ago.  For some unimaginable reason, George H.W. Bush was in office, TV had very little to do with reality, Lady Gaga was five goddamn years old, and I’d just barely survived freshmen year of high school. 

For me to say it had been brutal would be a giant understatement, but at least it was summer.  I’d have to work in the blistering heat picking and sorting Cuban peppers on my neighbor’s farm (protip: DO NOT RUB YOUR EYES AFTER PICKING PEPPERS) but it was still better than freshman year at the private, all-boys Catholic high school my parents had chosen for me. 

Here’s how my typical summer day went down:

I’d wake up around 6am, throw on some clothes, suck down a bowl of cereal and walk to my neighbors’ farm.  I’d work there until about 4:30pm, go home, eat dinner, and stay out of the way.  Trust me, the less my mom and stepfather were aware of me, the better.  Mostly I’d channel surf in the other room on our illegal-ass cable.  One day in late August, I landed on MTV, and saw the video for Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’. 

It’s hard to explain what mental alchemy took place in my head as I watched it.  It was like someone took some of the anger, the hurt, and the frustration I felt, and gave it audible form.  Yeah, I know, it’s just ‘Enter Sandman’.  But to the uninitiated like me, it was raw aggression.  I was mesmerized. 

From that moment on, I couldn’t get enough.  My mother was a bit exasperated at my choice of music.  Before he ran away from home, my brother had been a stereotypical metalhead kid, and he was obnoxious about it.  However, since I didn’t play it loud enough to disturb anyone, she let it pass.  To press the issue would involve….well, getting involved, and that wasn’t her parenting ‘style’. 

Once sophomore year kicked off, I had a new accessory: A brand-new Walkman cassette player, which I bought with my own money.  It usually contained Metallica’s ‘Master of Puppets’ album, which to this day I view as one of the very best albums ever made.  I’ve gone through FIVE COPIES of that album in my life.  I’m serious.  I’d play the tape until it broke, buy another copy, rinse and repeat.

I kept hearing about this show on Saturday night called Headbangers’ Ball.  (At least, I’m pretty sure it was Saturday night?  Anyone out there who can confirm/deny?)  On the weekend, I got to stay up late as I wanted so long as I didn’t wake my parents or leave the house at night.  As if I could; I had no friends with a car, and my nearest friend lived like fifteen miles away.  Where was I gonna go? 

Anyway, I remember tuning into HB for the first time in ‘92.  The intro music alone was enough to make me go ‘holy crap!’  As soon as it hit, I knew that shit just got real.  

I forget who Riki Rachtman’s guest was, but I got treated to such gems as Slayer’s ‘War Ensemble’ and Testament’s ‘Electric Crown’.  I smile now even thinking about it. 

I was hooked.  If I slept over at a friend’s house on Saturday night, I made sure to set the VCR to tape it.  Otherwise, I was RIVETED to MTV each and every week.  The music, the artists, and those trippy damn videos…it was one of the few things growing up that I could identify with.

That music stayed with me ever since.  I toned it down a bit when I moved down here to FL, but metal is still a big part of my identity.  I’ve watched clips of the show recently, and it’s bittersweet how much of it I remember.  The show was, by turns, goofy and lighthearted, somber and dark, raw and menacing.  Supposedly, MTV (2) tried to bring it back, but with not much success.  I think it’s actually just a web show now.

It doesn’t matter.  MTV will never be that cool again, and HB will never be what it once was.  While that’s sad, it’s inevitable, and I prefer to be grateful that it was there when I needed it, and that I got to experience it.  So….say it with me if you know how it goes:

“Remember to keep one foot in the gutter, and one fist in the gold.  Bye!”