Upon receiving this book as a gift from a rather thoughtful fan, I was skeptical about a written account of the time period of metal as it was once known, largely because I’ve read countless articles, essays, and interviews by hack music journalists, businesspeople, angry parents, religious nuts, anti-metal hipsters, came-too-lates and every other outsider claiming expert knowledge in one hand while gripping a backstabbing knife in the other. In the post-80s era, bashing metal became a mindlessly trendy activity (a position often copied from the bands that came after — notably, Pearl Jam). So, it was refreshing to see author David Konow avoid the popularity game and approach the subject as it really was — fun, tragedy, fame, drugs, fortune, swindle, celebration, and more. And unapologetically so.

From the rise of Black Sabbath to the final terrestrial broadcast of KNAC, Konow not only provides a wellspring of minutiae concerning band trivia, he makes an incredibly sensible move that puts this book above many of its failed imitators — he actually interviews scores of individuals who were truly part of the metal scene of the time: musicians, club owners, record industry folks, fans, roadies, groupies, producers, you name it. In fact, there is so much detail and insider information in these pages (including a few facts even I didn’t know, and that’s saying a lot), the result is a truly transportive effect on the reader who was also there — the sweat, fights, hairspray, booze, leather, sex, and all of the trappings worthy of a musical Babylon are contained within. And, so is the aftermath.

Like one would expect (or personally knew), this story takes a sharp turn from unchecked excess to scorched earth very quickly in the early-90s. Konow is also pretty fair in his assessment of just what seemed to happen virtually overnight with metal’s removal from the limelight — the well-marketed rise of grunge, the over-exposure of “pop” metal on radio and MTV taking the entire scene down with it, the internal conflicts and resulting self-destruction of many metal musicians, and the abandonment of the music industry towards metal’s fallen heroes. Even Beavis and Butthead are dragged into the fray as possible agents of hastening the transition away from metal’s popularity. (A lot of 20-somethings don’t like that probable childhood indoctrination pointed out to them, by the way.) Konow’s point is that all of these factors contributed to varying degrees and that it was not simply grunge killing metal. Whatever you may believe put the final nail in the coffin, the last chapter of this book might be hard to get through for some vintage metal fans. It certainly does not hold back in its pathos.

As metal subsided and, to some degree, merely went back underground, a host of metal personalities did their backpeddling best to distance themselves from their obvious former association, and all of this is in the book as well. I’m eternally amused by the still-insistent prattle from former MTV’s Headbanger’s Ball host, Riki Rachtman that he was “never a metal guy.” How does one get away from, at least at one point in time, being in metal bands, co-owning one of the biggest metal clubs in Hollywood, hosting MTV’s metal show, sporting tons of metal-influenced tattoos, and bedecked in gravity-defying hair, bracelets, earrings, etc? Oh, yeah, and all of that gushing about metal in the 1988 film, “The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years.” You were metal, Rik. Try coming to grips with it.

Sure, the quality of writing is a bit undeveloped, and Konow will certainly win no prizes for all of the choppy sentences and quasi-effective transitions, but the deluge of historical information, first-hand accounts, and assorted tidbits in the book are well worth the price of admission. At the very least, it might prove educational for all of those modern youngsters delving into metal “kitsch” by wearing vintage metal t-shirts, but having no idea what any of it was really about. If I was your father, I’d tell you to go to your room and read this book. And put on some Twisted Sister while you’re at it — play it loud, mutha!

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I’ve been on a bit of a summer reading bender. Call it my avoidance of summer heat/crowds/noise, or simply because I’ve been slacking lately in something I really enjoy doing. So, by extension, I’ve created this new blog topic and will be posting reviews of books here for your perusal — which will provide additional motivation for me to get to the current pile of tomes commanding my attention. Though, some reviews will make it here quicker than others. I will be saving some to debut in Not Like Most, then after their respective issue has been in circulation for awhile, I’ll then dump the reviews here. And speaking of which, I’ll start with one of those. The following review is from NLM#11 (2001) — one that garnered a rather sour response from its author during a European radio interview. Yes, I was singled out and quoted, even. How nice for me. So…

Lucifer Rising: Sin, Devil Worship & Rock ‘n Roll
by Gavin Baddeley
1999 / Plexus

Baddeley offers up his well-researched and largely well-written account on the history of Satanism, from its ancient roots to modern-day figures and aspects both of note and of little regard. Because of such, I’m of two minds about this book. In its beginning, there is a pleasing amount of succinct and unambiguous knowledge pertaining to what has led up to modern Satanism, traversing religious, literary, and political influences through approximately one-third of the book. In Part II, Baddeley delves deep into Satanism’s appeal, in either a direct or oblique sense, to popular 20th century musicial acts (primarily, heavy metal), for better or worse. In the final Part, the author examines people and musical personalities of modern-day who either are associated with Satanism (such as Anton LaVey, King Diamond, Boyd Rice, Carl Abrahamsson, Thomas Thorn, Vincent Crowley, Blanche Barton, Michael Moynihan, Peter Gilmore, Diabolos Rex, and Coop) or just merely think they are (like the amass of individuals I refuse to dignify by naming). Here’s where I part ways with the author, and justifiably so.

The fact of the matter is that this book wastes far too much page space by affording a voice to those who have nothing to do with Satanism (except maybe to slam it), and, hence, lends credence to shit-disturbers, whiners, the mentally-ill, and an assortment of CoS coattail-riders. Baddeley does counter some of this nonsense in his commentary, but to what ends? It stills stands that these individuals were given press under the umbrella of Satanism when it ‘s so glaringly undeserved.

Likewise, I simply cannot accept this book as an accurate picture of Satanism in and of itself. Its implied message is that almost all of those mentioned are Satanists, which is grossly misleading to those not in-the-know and may inevitably drag some of our media representatives once again into pointless non-issues of the past. As a result, the uninitiated are led to believe that practically anything that calls itself Satanism is Satanism.

Ultimately, this leads me to the question of whether or not I would suggest this book to someone wanting to know what Satanism is. As a whole, I would not. There is too much diversion and dross in it to qualify. To its credit, there is some great information contained in this book, but it’s interspersed with so much off-the-track and often irrelevant nonsense from certain interviewees that it is a mixed-bag at best.

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The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil
by Dr. Paul Carus
Orig. 1900 / Gramercy

Before one reads this book, it would be good to remember that this was written in 1900. This means a few things: 1) the Church of Satan did not exist (which is to say that some of us might disagree with the author’s assertion that the 13th Century was “the Devil’s prime”), 2) the average reader of this time probably had a working knowledge of basic Greek and Latin, from which terms in this book abound (with some translated), and 3) many of the author’s “points,” which he means to malign, are from a modern Satanic perspective quite agreeable.

With that, this history of our Main Man is exhaustively researched, though do expect the author’s rather tolerant attitude towards Christianity in parts (though he also admits extensively to Christianity’s theft of other religions and mythologies), and his occasional lip service to subjectivity in other parts. Carus goes back and forth on his stance with Satan often, so that may seem rather distracting. Carus also views ethics and “religion” as indivisible, peppering much of his chapters with mindless absolutes. On a lighter note, however, the book contains a wealth of graphic depictions of Satan in many of His forms and, if the readers manages to get through the sluggish first 1/3 of the text, far more interesting information reveals itself. I’ve read other books on the same subject, and this one does cover a bit more ground than most. Author’s bias aside, it’s an informative and enjoyable read.

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