In December 1993 – I was about to turn 10 years old – I was just beginning to discover who I am. Or at least who I was becoming.
Increasingly, I was becoming music.
Sure, there had always been music. In kindergarten, while the rest of my classmates were singing “Row Row Row Your Boat,” my favorite song was Metallica’s “One.” My brothers got me into Guns n’ Roses, the Doors, and Kiss.
The once-mighty KQRS 92.5 FM in the Twin Cities – one of the first underground FM radio stations in the late ’60s – introduced me to the mammoth world and mythology of classic rock.
But in December 1993, in some sort of magical way, there was an explosion of music that defined and shaped me.
This explosion began my obsession with music.
It prompted me to ask for a guitar for Christmas. It changed the trajectory of my life. I quickly became a ridiculous lover of music – and, eventually, a musician and a songwriter.
The magic of December 1993
Tom Petty’s “Mary Jane’s Last Dance.” Beck’s “Loser.” Cracker’s “Low.” Soul Asylum’s year-old Grave Dancers Union. The hit machine that was Aerosmith’s Get a Grip.
This stuff shook me. When you’re 10, you simply can’t process lines like “Tired of screwing up, tired of going down. Tired of myself, tired of this town.” You just let them come over you and sit back in wonder.
The slide guitar sample and beat of Beck’s “Loser” is still a world unto itself, and the wordplay will mess you up if you think about it. “I’ll be with you girl, like being low – hey hey hey, like being stoned.” Those lyrics, combined with an assaulting guitar riff from Cracker’s Johnny Hickman, stoned me. You never get as stoned as you do when you’re young. No drugs necessary.
On the edge
I didn’t realize it until recently, but no album set the foundation for the sound of my songwriting, and my lyrical direction, more than Soul Asylum’s Grave Dancers Union.
The melancholy feel and relative minor-chord progressions of “Runaway Train” and “New World” unconsciously influenced like five of my songs. I’m still trying to write alternative rock songs as punchy and catchy as “Somebody to Shove” and “Black Gold.”
Admittedly, the least of these, creatively at least, is Aerosmith’s Get a Grip. Its bombastic hits were easier to digest for a 10-year-old, sure, but some of the stuff on there has an edge. Sometimes literally, as in “Living on the Edge,” an existential song that will knock you out if you let it. “Eat the Rich” is also a good bridge to adulthood.
Enter Meat Loaf
After “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” – a song that still puts me in another world when I hear it – Meat Loaf’s Bat out of Hell II: Back into Hell hit me harder than all the rest.
It partially has to do with how big the music is. Once again, when you’re young, when things are completely new, when you don’t have the baggage of knowledge, you realize the magic in things.
More than that, you feel it. The bigness of songs like “Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are” and, of course, “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)” floored me because I had never heard anything like it.
Amazingly, those songs were pop hits. Sure, there were single edits, but these were 10-plus minute songs with heavy subject matter that they played on the radio. Songs like that never get played on the radio.
But Meat Loaf could do it. Every moment in these songs, even the slow parts and the silences, are brimming with life. Like his live performances, Meat Loaf pours his entire self into every moment.
Jim Steinman’s songwriting style fit him so well that it’s almost unbelievable. His songs were made for Meat Loaf, and Meat Loaf was made for his songs. They’re basically one animal.
The sweet spot of over-the-top
Sometimes, over-the-top is just right. Steinman and Meat Loaf hit the sweet spot of over-the-top over and over again.
I remember listening to a top 40 countdown as “Rock n’ Roll Dreams Come Through,” one of the lesser-remembered singles from Bat Out of Hell II, climbed up the charts. What is more “the sweet spot of over-the-top” than these lyrics:
Once upon a time was a back beat
Once upon a time all the chords came to life
And the angels had guitars even before they had wings
If you hold on to a chorus you can get through the night
Quintessential Steinman and Meat.
Another single from Bat out of Hell II, “Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are,” is, somehow, Meat Loaf on steroids. Emotive, piano-led verses give way to heavy sections where wild electric guitars and a choir perfectly combine. The lyrics fluctuate between intense and melodramatic in that typically glorious Steinman way:
And when the sun descended and the night arose
I heard my father cursing, every one he knows
He was dangerous and drunk and defeated
And corroded by failure and envy and hate
There were endless winters and the dreams would freeze
Nowhere to hide and no leaves on the trees
And my father’s eyes were blank as he hit me
again and again and again
The song that hit me most as a 10-year-old, though, was “Life is a Lemon (and I Want My Money Back).” Along with “Mary Jane’s Last Dance,” it was my introduction to the emotions and disappointments of the world that I was growing in to:
And all the morons
And all the stooges with their coins
They’re the ones who make the rules
It’s not a game, it’s just a rout
There’s desperation
There’s desperation in the air
It leaves a stain on all your clothes
And no detergent gets it out
The magic of 1993 (reprise)
If you’re lucky, there are times in your life that feel magical. Times that formed and informed the rest of your life. Explosive times that laid the groundwork for who you are. Times that you can feel every time you think of them.
December 1993 was that for me. I was young and innocent enough to be truly happy. It didn’t hurt that I had a great family life too, I suppose, but it was the music – at this moment, at least – that shaped me into the person I am, as a musician, a songwriter, a writer – a person.
As strange as it sounds, I owe a lot of that to Meat Loaf.
Family ties
Meat Loaf never stopped being a part of important moments of my life.
Firstly, my love for Meat Loaf connected me to my entire family, especially my sister and my dad. I still have my dad’s original vinyl copy of Bat Out of Hell.
My sister, who is five years older than me, discovered Bat Out of Hell II with me. There’s something special about discovering music with siblings. The bond it creates becomes a part of you. She was the first person to tell me about Meat Loaf’s death.
Don’t call it a comeback
In 2006, Meat Loaf released Bat Out of Hell III: The Monster is Loose, an album that was way better than it should have been.
Brian May delivers some Queen-sounding guitar on the huge, Steinmen-penned “Bad for Good.” On “The Monster is Loose,” Marilyn Manson guitarist John 5 brings Meat Loaf into the 21st century with surprisingly interesting results. It’s heavy and modern but doesn’t lose the Meat Loaf vibe.
One warm spring day in early 2007 – in Wisconsin, mind you, where a warm spring day after the long cold lonely winter is basically heaven – I remember walking into the cafeteria of the college I attended, on my way to meet with one of my very best friends, absolutely blasting epic fist-pumper “Blind as a Bat.” I can see and feel everything about that moment every time I think about it.
Don’t be sad …
Meat Loaf has made his way into memorable moments like that throughout my life. A few years later, I did a karaoke duet of “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad” with the girl I was dating at the time. My second serious girlfriend, we were always on the brink of breaking up, so the song was fitting.
Meat Loaf was one of the few things we could agree on. It was one of our last good memories, and, for some reason, I still cherish it.
The last hurrah
Finally, and fittingly, just two weeks ago I was at a terrible bar. The one silver lining was that they had a juke box. I always play Meat Loaf on those things, usually “I’d Do Anything for Love,” mostly because I love the song, but partially because it’s 10 minutes of not having to listen to other people’s shitty music.
This time, though, I played “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” My roommate, who I’ve only known for a short time but is quickly becoming one of my best friends, gushed about how much he loved Meat Loaf. On the ride home, we blasted the Bat Out of Hell album, washing the taste of the awful bar out of our mouths.
And, for that, you know, I thank you
Miraculously and weirdly, Meat Loaf has somehow always been a part of my life, often at pivotal moments. From blowing my 10-year-old mind to helping me bond with friends and family over decades, his charming, over-the-top songs and personality have had a uniquely important impact on my life.
I’ll miss you, Meat Loaf. God bless you.
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