The Old Metalhead
Ah, Thursdays. I like ‘em when they happen to be the last working day of the week. Mary and I are off on our travels tomorrow.
One of the items I’m packing is my headphones. And no, not so I can listen to Radio 4, Perry Como or Bing Crosby. I might be 61, but I’m still a youngster when it comes to music.
But before I get to that, I have a great musical legacy. I don’t mean I come from a family of musicians, I mean, the 70s and 80s were my musical beginnings.
So, the Sex Pistols, Sham 69, Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Damned, The Stranglers, the Cure … That’s a playlist, right? The Clash, to name another one. And I saw them all in concert. Live, real singing and playing. No autocues, backing tapes or anything.
The punks fizzled out so I had to look for something else. Hello, riffing guitars, bass lines to break your sternum and furious drumming.
Heavy metal. I fell in love with it back then (1983) and have been ever since. But not the mainstream bands. I found myself swinging deeper and darker. Death and black metal. Oh yes, let me see those horns …
The other day, I ended up in a conversation with a couple of younger colleagues.
Let’s call my colleagues Dave and Rob. Both young men, and they both happened to mention they were chasing Oasis tickets.
“Would you go and see them, Andy?” Asked Dave.
“Er, no, mate, not Andy’s era,” said Rob before I could utter a word.
“Oh yeah,” Dave nodded like Rob had stated the plain truth.
“Dunno about the era, but they’re not my cup of tea,” I said.
“Ah, yeah, you like the old-timers’ stuff, I suppose,” said Dave.
I checked. He wasn’t taking the piss either. I decided to have some fun.
“Yeah, proper old-timer, me, lads.”
They both nodded, wisely and grinned at each other. “Yeah, you probably like the stuff me dad likes,” said Rob.
“Maybe even your Grandad,” I said.
That had them both nodding like eager spaniels. “Have you seen Oasis before?” I asked.
“No, but I’ve seen quite a few bands like them. I reckon they’ll be well loud,” said Dave.
“Loud?”
“Yeah, the old stuff you like wouldn’t be that loud. Not like Oasis.”
“Ah, maybe.”
“No maybe about it mate. They have amps and all that,” said Rob.
“Oh, yeah. Amps.”
“Yeah, you know, what they plug their guitars into,” Dave explained.
I nodded, suggesting he’d furnished me with essential knowledge.
“So, the big question, Andy, who’s your favourite band right now?”
They both grinned.
“Ah, that’d be Winterfylleth, easy,” I replied.
“Who?” Asked Dave.
“Never heard of ‘em,” said Rob.
“Yeah, they are a black metal band from Manchester.”
They both fell silent. They stared at each other, then at me.
“You’re making that up,” said Dave.
“Nope, liked ‘em for a long time,” I replied.
Rob meanwhile, was Googling urgently. “Bloody hell, they’re real!” He said.
“I like some heavy stuff,” said Rob.
“Oh yeah, like?”
“Er, that Metallica they’re heavy ain’t they?”
“Yep, they are, if you like sing-along tunes,” I replied.
They both looked at each other. “But Andy,” Rob was staring at me,” how can you like that music? You’re old.”
There it was. I took no offence at all. In fact, I roared with laughter. Because in many ways, Rob was right. Maybe I’ve never grown up. I still find fart jokes funny, for instance.
Or, it could simply be, that I know music that is intended to be played, music that has feeling, rather than the computerised shite kids are listening to these days.
Right, I’ll go and put my slippers on — the ones with skulls on them. And I’ll listen to some calming lounge music . . . \m/