Act I: 1970-1979 THE FIRST MOVEMENT
1970: “ABC”- THE JACKSON 5
The Jackson 5+1
The love you save may be your own...
What did you expect, spinning Black Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’ round the clock? Well, I did have both, “Black Sabbath” and “Paranoid” but I’d be lying if I said Sabbath triggers the fondest memories of 1970 for me. I needed escapism in that year. So it was The Jackson 5’s “ABC” album. Though it was the third song on this album, when I heard that opening then and hear it today… “A buh-buh buh buh-buh/ a buh-buh buh buh-buh” the smile can’t be sand blasted off my face. Lord knows there wasn’t much to make me smile that year.
This was the year I got not one, but new best friends, Bobby and music; they’re both with me today all these 56+ years later. The anxiety and problems that come with being the “new kid” in the neighborhood was next level culture shock.
I moved from a small town, tiny apartment, whose “real” world was only filled with a few family friends and family members into a neighborhood that was similar to it’s own state; a psychotic state, but, well you know what I mean. Everyone knew each other, there were multiple clicks on every level, and I didn’t fit into any. Meeting Bobby was a friendship that on the surface wasn’t ever supposed to click, we couldn’t have been anymore different, yet…here we are almost 57+ years later, still best friends.
Our friendship wasn’t built on hanging out and being side by side every single minute of every single day. Our friendship was as different as we were, we spent time together when it counted. Those times were away from school and further away from each other in the neighborhood. We found a killer balance, neither of us had those “friends” in the neighborhood that we wanted to be around all the time. Yeah, we had our little “Stand By Me” friends, the one’s who meant something then, but you knew it wasn’t going to carry on the rest of our lives. We were the “Chris Chambers” and “Gordie Lachance” characters, we lived in the moments of those times with the other kids, but we were going to be permanently intertwined in the false security of forever.
Bobby was really the only friend I let in to the insanity that was my family. For better or worse, he definitely kept me grounded whether I agreed or not. It all started with Saturday trips to the Mall with my Uncle Joe to concerts on our own at barely 9 years of age; our friendship was built on just being different.
Where we were similar was our taste in music, we both loved rock! Of course his Mom and Dad were into the cliched genres of their ethnicities and generation, while my dad was stuck in that same music and entertainment cliché, “lily-white country and mainstream contemporary” and mom, well, she was Motown with a sprinkling of rock. She loved to dance, I inherited her same passion, I just lacked the ability to dance.
So every now and then Bob would turn me on to “Sly” to “P-Funk” to George Benson’s amazing guitar work and one of my all-time favorites, Issac Hayes. A little sidenote, Bob’s dad grew up with George in the Hill District, and they stayed friends to adulthood. When his Bob’s Pop was murdered, Mr. Benson came to the funeral.
When it came to my musical taste, I dabbled in everything. I could spend hours in a record store going through every album no matter who it was.
When it came to the Jackson 5, we were in the target market for that music, but there was something special to them. Yes, even back then it was all about “MICHAEL”. None of us thought he’d become that “Thriller” Michael Jackson, but this kid was next level. The way he sold the songs that at times were generations older than him, they way he glided across the stage in those tv appearances, the way he kept leveling up like an avatar in a video game with every release.
The band “popped” quicker than their “white” counterparts, The Osmonds”. To me, The Osmonds, while peers to the Jackson 5, just seemed more of a bubble-gum boy band. Certainly the Jackson 5 were similarly built, but their music was beyond the bubble-gum. There was no comparing the two bands, they each took the same road it’s just the Jacksons had the right fuel, the right machine and the right driver. Eventually the two lead singers would go on to overshadow their former family band.
This album that should have been a sidenote or an asterisks to what I was listening, yet “ABC” became a staple. Yeah, a lot of cover tunes from the past and current musical climate on this album, but the targeted and designed singles? The were by designed to catch those prepubescent ears, “The Love You Save” and “ABC”; those songs had a life of their own. They also connected with me for whatever reason, maybe it was because I was a little kid stuck in the reality of adult-like crazy shit a kid shouldn’t be.
I’d already been met with several different traumatic experiences that went unreported; at least to the authorities. Let me just say, those stories are for another time, there we two more different abusers, but 10 years puts some experience and understanding under one’s belt. Let’s just say, I had several “Maggie Mae’s” before I reached the age of 12.
I was thankful for Bobby, and this was our summer becoming brothers…“undercover brothers”, but brothers all the same. Our brotherhood found all the “bad boy” things, easily accessible too. Smoking, some experimental extracurriculars in both drugs and drinking. I’d already been conditioned to keep things buried and quiet, this would be no different. We had a very good teacher. She was an older sibling of one of the “cool” kids who kind of found Bobby and me, “coolers”. You know what a “cooler” is, if not, they’re a person who has some bad juju that were used to cozy up and sit next to a gambler on a huge winning streak. Somehow it was believed that this person could suck the luck out anyone, Bobby and I seemed to make every one cool, a target and uncool.
This girl was smoking hot, way hotter than the younger peers of hers who thought they were equally as hot and as “cool”. This girl for all intents and purposes should have been the leader of those “mean girls”, maybe she was, but not to Bobby and me.
Her and her biker boyfriend schooled us in what “cool” really was. They also told us, “One day you’ll leave this shithole behind. When you do, you’ll see you aren’t what they want you to believe. So don’t buy the shit they’re selling you man.”
That summer, she and her boyfriend would make sure they checked on us. Hell, they were doing it undercover. It wasn’t that they encouraged us partake in all the things we shouldn’t, they warned us of they pitfalls because they knew we’d partake at some point. They didn’t have to tell me, but they did, “Don’t compete and try out cooling anyone. Keep it to yourselves and make friends outside of here. We’ve seen you at concerts, you’ll be fine, you two are acting like yourselves and that is fucking cool.”
They’d actually be the two we’d buy weed from, they knew how to keep it low key, even though everyone knew what they did as a side hustle. They just didn’t know the two nerds were part of their hustle. They taught us what to stay away from too, at least for the time, beer, wine, weed, that was cool, but hard drugs, she told us she’d have her boyfriend break our arms; he grinned with a “fuck around find out” look. So of course we stayed away from the hard stuff…at least till we got into Junior High.
The following summer was our last time seeing either one. I’m sure she didn’t stay with biker guy, but I did find out she passed away not too long ago. She was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. And her “birds and bees” talk with Bobby and I…epic. Not to mention there may have been a little show and tell. Fly free my dear, you were one of a fucking kind.
1971: “STICKY FINGERS”-THE ROLLING STONES
Why ya taste so good?!
The 70s started off shitty and 1971…it was a reality check and the beginning of fucking great times with no boarders. My Pap died the first day of school this year and well, it was a lot for me. My parents felt I was too young to attend his funeral, but I fought them. Even at that young age, I knew if I didn’t have my good-bye to the most important man in my life at that time, it would do more harm than good. My “Pap” was my everything to me. My dad’s parents weren’t well off, hell they were barely above welfare, but my Pap gave me way more than materialistic things, he gave me a fascination and passion for life. Nothing was impossible, everything was possible, for the right reasons and with hard work. These 56 years later, I miss him every day.
As a kid, I didn’t have the Beatles appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show as a point of reference, but I did have all those cousins, girl cousins, a lot of girl cousins and they were all Beatlemania crazed. While I don’t remember the first Ed Sullivan Show appearance of “the greatest rock and roll band”, I do remember their second appearance.
It wasn’t until their second song, “Little Red Rooster” that I felt something. Oh, yeah, this wasn’t The Beatles by the way…I truly was “the greatest rock and roll band” The Rolling Stones. I really didn’t get the dirty boy vibe off of them, hell I wasn’t 5 years old yet, but what I did get…I got the dirty juke joint blues vibe.
My Gram always said I had a much older soul, well, my soul must have gone back to a previous life where I lived the roaring twenties into at least the Great Depression. That music always, I mean the roux that made it, part blues part, part boogie-woogie, making the Delta blues, was always my favorite vibe. The Stones were a white version, like me, and they did it just as great as the bluesmen before them. There was just something wicked and nasty about the Stones and the music they played. Even then I could see myself cutting it up and some bootleg whisky juke-joint with dancing, drinking, and gambling…I’m being 100% serious. I may have been 4-years-old, but it hit me on a level of at least a 9-year old.
The first Stones album I asked for was “Their Satanic Majesties Request”, it was also the first album denied by my mom. Why? “Satanic” should have been the first hint. No, my Mom wasn’t a “holy roller”, hell, she wasn’t even a church goer, outside of Christmas, but she didn’t fuck around with the devil either. So the first Stones album I got was “Beggars Banquet” , a simple cover with zero hint to the dark side; with that, my favorite band was mainlined right into my veins and became part of my DNA. In 1971, “Sticky Fingers” was now my favorite, replacing (for a moment) my #1, “Let It Bleed”.
That album, through sheer coincidence, this seemed to be a snotty nod to The Beatles “Let It Be”. “Bleed” was released first, but did the Stones know that the fab 4 were going to nod off with “Let it Be”? I don’t believe in coincidences, not like that, so I’m gonna say, someone tipped the Stones off.
But onto my pick, “Sticky Fingers”. Obviously, I knew who the Stones were quite well by this time. And when I saw the cover in a little record shop on 5th Avenue, “down street” as we used to refer to the 2-block business district of Coraopolis. Again, a record I wasn’t permitted to buy due to being “underage”; who knows what silly reasons for that were. When I asked my mom if she’d buy it for me, she shut me down. Well, come June 27, 1971, I opened that as one of my birthday gifts from my parents. A couple other albums I got that day from relatives, The Partridge Family’s “Up To Date”, Alice Cooper’s “Love It To Death”, and Carole King’s “Tapestry”. Each and every one of those got spun an insanely amount; I still play them to this day. Yes, even the Partridge Family. But “Sticky Fingers”??
This was another greatest hits collection to me, from side one, track 1 of “Brown Sugar” and that “it’s all about the fucking” theme. Yeah, I was a schoolboy and, even I knew I liked it. “Sway” with the guitar opening giving a little nod to their previous album “Let it Bleed”, on the whole, way underrated. Then the 1-2 of “Wild Horses” and “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” come on son! Closing out with the blues balls tip o’ the hat to some good Memphis Blues with “You Gotta Move. Next…
Flip it, spin it, side 2. “Bitch”, carrying that heavy old school blues still and “Brown Sugar” aggressiveness. Then, “I’ve Got the Blues” , “Sister Morphine”, ”Dead Flowers” and the ballad ”Moonlight Mile”; all killer no filler in my book. Though it’s not my favorite Stones album, it was my favorite album of 1971 easily. Those next several Stones releases didn’t let up. Fuck Paul McCartney calling them ““a blues cover band.” If they are, they’re the best. As for the “greatest hits” album, while a close first, “Let it Bleed” is the one.
1972: “SCHOOL’S OUT”-ALICE COOPER
Well, we got no choice
All the girls and boys..
Over the years my tastes would change, plenty of albums I revisited from 1972 could easily move this Alice album to at least 15th place. “Vol. 4”, “Ziggy”, “Harvest”, “Exile”, “Honky Chateau”, “Transformer”, “Electric Warrior”, etc., etc., etc. There were/are so many choices I forgot from 1972.
’72 was like a nuclear bomb blowing up the shit world I got by proxie, not only when it came to the music, that explosive all around. Dare I say Top 3 years for rock and roll? Too bad, I just did, but 1972 was the birth of Bobby’s and my concert escapes. We’d been to a good number of concerts by then, but this year was next fucking level. Traffic, James Gang, David fucking Cassidy, Black Sabbath, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash WITH Carl Perkins, Faces, The Jackson 5, The Stones with Stevie Wonder and Martha & the Vandellas…Deep Purple and more. It was if my Uncle Joe wanted to break out as much as Bobby and I. But this year we got to see ALICE FUCKING COOPER. We were disappointed not one, but twice. First Civic Arena show moved to the Stadium, then the Stadium shows postponed to good old “Aunt Agnes”, the hurricane. But then…when he showed up, it was fucking spectacular. That day saw us befriend a couple of elder teenagers who showed us the “real” ropes of concert going experiences…weed, wine, and rushing the field. I’ve written of that in the past and well, this isn’t a concert review…school is now in…
“School’s Out”, might not be considered Alice’s greatest album, but for where I stood, it wasclose enough. The school desk album cover looked like something seven classmates and I in 2nd grade got accused of doing similar to one. They couldn’t pick any of us, to this day, I know it wasn’t me, but I’m still not sure who the hell it was. But back to it…
The packaging was half the experience, you couldn’t even hold the record without realizing something different was happening. The original LP sleeve was literally a cardboard school desk that folded open. Some copies even included a pair of paper panties tucked inside; I still have the original pair. And before you ask, no, I never wore them; only because they were paper and I wanted them preserved. The idea was outrageous, juvenile, and brilliant. Alice understood something many artists hadn’t yet; rock records could be an experience, not just music. In the early ’70s, that kind of theatricality felt revolutionary; today it’s called branding.
What makes the album truly great, though, is the band behind it. The original Alice Cooper lineup was far more than shock theatrics; they were a tight, creative rock machine. Glen Buxton’s dirty garage-rock guitar riffs, Michael Bruce’s songwriting backbone, Dennis Dunaway’s dark, slithering bass lines, and Neal Smith’s pounding drums gave the record a swagger that felt dangerous and unpredictable. Tracks like “Public Animal #9,” “Gutter Cat vs. The Jets,” and the smoky jazz detour “Blue Turk” prove this wasn’t just a novelty shock act; it was a band that could twist rock, theater, and attitude into something uniquely their own.
It’s the combination of attitude, songwriting, and spectacle that make “School’s Out” stands above the rest of the year for me. Plenty of albums from 1971 are classics, but few capture the pure spirit of rock and roll rebellion the way this one does. Drop the needle on that opening riff and suddenly you’re a hyperactive kid again, the doors are wide open, and the whole world feels like summer vacation. Not to mention, the streetlights are burnt out and they ain’t ever coming back on…cause, school’s out…forever!
1973: “GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD” – ELTON JOHN
Forget us we'll have gone very soon/
Just forget we ever slept in your rooms/
And we'll leave the smell of the sea in your beds/
Where love's just a job and nothing is said
Sweet Painted Lady
Again, with the passing of time, favorites change, but with “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” the album still holds a place dear to my heart here in 2026. Of course, when people talk about the greatest albums of 1973, the conversation usually starts with “The Dark Side of the Moon” or “Houses of the Holy”, fair enough (though I found “Houses” mediocre at best. Those records are monumental, but the album that completely owned that year for me was “GYBR” by Elton.
It’s not just a great album; it’s an overwhelming one. A sprawling double LP packed with massive hits, deep emotional cuts, glam-rock swagger, and piano-driven rock that sounds both timeless and larger than life. From the moment the title track opens, you can feel that this isn’t just another record, t’s a full musical world.
What makes the album truly special is its ridiculous range. One minute you’ve got the cinematic nostalgia of the title track, next you’re blasting the glam-fueled chaos of “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting.” Then Elton turns around and delivers heartbreak with “Candle in the Wind,” storytelling with “Bennie and the Jets,” and quiet beauty with “Harmony.” The secret weapon behind all of it is the legendary songwriting partnership between Elton and Bernie Taupin. Taupin’s lyrics give the songs character and narrative, while Elton’s melodies and piano arrangements transform them into stadium-sized moments that somehow still feel personal.
For me, it’s why it stands above everything else that year. Plenty of albums in 1973 were groundbreaking, but now with the passing of time, very few felt this complete. It’s the kind of record where the hits alone would justify its reputation, yet the deeper cuts are just as strong. Drop the needle anywhere on the album and you’re reminded why Elton John dominated the decade. It’s ambitious, theatrical, emotional, and wildly entertaining. It’s the exact kind of album that proves rock music can be both epicandintimate at the same time. In a year packed with classics, this is the one that never left my turntable….ever. And I said “Farewell” to the Yellow Brick Road, six times on Elton’s final go-rounds: yes, that’s plural, since he stopped here alone on the “Farewell” tour in 2018, 2019, and 2022.
1974: “KISS” – KISS
It’s cold gin time again!
I don’t even know how an elementary school kid to a Junior High School teen could walk past this album and not pick it up, then buy it. Curiosity alone. Sure curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back; this album proved it for me.
Some albums walk into your life politely, some albums knock, and then there’s KISS. This album kicked the door off the fucking hinges, then stormed into my room, and announced itself like it owned the place. This wasn’t just a record; this was a hostile takeover.
1974 was already a circus of giants; Zeppelin, Sabbath, Floyd, with every critic polishing their monocle while pretending they understood “art.” Then Kiss shows up like four street‑raised lunatics who didn’t give a damn about art, approval, or the sacred opinions of men in corduroy jackets. They came to take something.
The moment “Strutter” hit, it wasn’t a song , it was a walk of absolute cosmic confidence. It strutted because it could. It strutted because it had to. It strutted because Kiss wasn’t here to ask if you were ready, they were here and it was already over, then the album got dangerous.
“Deuce” didn’t just prowl, it lunged. The riff felt like it had been sharpened on a fire escape and fed raw meat. “Cold Gin” swaggered in like the patron saint of bad decisions, the kind of song that hands you a bottle and says, “Trust me, you’ll thank me later”. “Black Diamond” didn’t close the album; it burned everything behind. This was a finale so massive it felt like the band was daring the world to try and follow them.
This wasn’t a band playing music, they were a band fighting for oxygen. You can hear the hunger; you can hear the absolute refusal of ever being ignored. That’s why this album didn’t just become my favorite of 1974, it became the moment my rock and roll life split into Before and After. This was the moment I stopped being a casual listener and became a lifelong, loud‑and‑proud, unapologetic KISStard; a proud member of The KISS ARMY! This was the moment when rock and roll stopped being something I listened to and became something I belonged to.
Other albums this year were brilliant, plenty of them became legendary. But none of them claimed me the way Kiss did, not just the album, but the band itself.
It’s very rare, that something that an album and a band are so ferocious that they reach into your chest, grab your heart, and say, “You’re with us now.” KISS did exactly that.
1975: “A NIGHT AT THE OPERA” – QUEEN
Oh, mamma mia, mamma mia
So you think you can stone me
and spit in my eye?
So you think you can
love me and leave me to die?
I was already a Queen fan by the time “Night” was upon us. Thanks to my Uncle and our weekly Mall treks, I had picked up Queen, Queen II, and Sheer Heart Attack at NRM at Beaver Valley Mall in 1973 and 1974 respectively. There was just something different about the band; the androgyny thing had already been done, but the music, it was just different to me.
I know it was a female cousin who first turned me on to them because she did the same for me with Bowie and Rod Stewart because she saw me as different. Looking back, maybe she thought I was gay? I mean, I was clueless with the sexuality of those artists at the time. It was nothing to be called a ‘fag’ when being bullied and with my love for those artists that were playing the androgyny card or actually gay; I had zero clue, but the taunt definitely tracked. In retrospect, it kinda makes sense getting goofed on. The odd part is it never bothered me, to me there were a lot worse things; like being a fucking bully.
I just connected with Queen, they were more than a rock band to me. Their music hit a couple different genres. Maybe it was their fuck-all attitude that hooked me, after all, I loved rock, but I loved music you could dance to as well. Not to mention those previous albums were a mixture of rock, guitar rock, prog rock, obviously glam rock, it was the perfect cocktail.
In all honesty, I don’t think I even heard ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ until I played it that day. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or fucking proud that first time. Not to mention, it was the next to last song I heard on the album.
‘Death on Two Legs (Dedicated to…)’ almost sounded Sabbath at first, then took a cynical Beatles feel to it. Ok Queen, you have my attention I thought. With the ragtime piano intro to ‘Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon” had me baffled. ‘I’m In Love With My Car’, as dumb as that title sounded, it was kind of badass. But I kept thinking how oddly this album seemed like John and Paul wrote and arranged these songs. Then, ‘You’re My Best Friend’…wow, the beauty of Freddie’s voice. The song then sounded a bit 10 C.C.-ish, who had a hit song earlier that year. The album finished out and I was just confused at that point, was it a “concept” album, was it just a huge production, was it, well, what was this thing.
Side Two…
‘The Prophet’s Song’ was like some operatic 8-minute epic that I almost re-played because I loved it, but at that point, this album was close to a literal “smash” to pieces or my new mainstay. So with, ‘Love of My Life’ this is where Freddie’s vocals strayed me to lean into the mainstay; beautiful. ‘Good Company’ another Lennon/McCartney sounding song, but different. Like everyone else with ears, “Bohemian Rhapsody” was the fucking knife that went through my skull. I broke all of my rules, I played this song for hours…it was everything. And I can say without lying, I did the “Wayne’s World” thing the first time I heard it without even thinking. Didn’t everyone? Then the album closed out like a concert with the instrumental “God Save the Queen”. This album was just so all over the place, yet somehow I just connected with it. But 1975 gave me so many new great musical memories, Nugent, Springsteen, Rainbow, Angel, Rush, AC/DC, UFO…Queen just grabbed my attention and made me wonder, “What the hell is this?”
I have to admit, “KISS ALIVE” was tied for my favorite this year, but I broke my own rule, Freddie was a God amongst God’s vocally to me over the years. Not that I didn’t love the album, but “KISS ALIVE” probably got the most spins that year and all these years later.
1976: “FRAMPTON COMES ALIVE” – PETER FRAMPTON
Do you feel like I do…
For 1976, it wasn’t even close, ‘Frampton Comes Alive’ was easily the most spun and loved for me; they issued the album to every 13-20 year old or so it seemed.
No sooner did my dear, much cooler cousin, Susan play this double live delight, we went to K-mart right after, I bought it and played it easily several times a day…and it was released in January! Not only is this the sound of summer ’76, but it’s also the sound of summertime to me.
I got ‘Frampton’s Camel’, along with his first release, ‘Wind of Change’, in 1973 from my Kansas City, MO cousins for Christmas in 1973. I’d love to say I heard the heaven’s open upon dropping the needle on either one, but that would be a lie. ‘Wind’, Jumpin’ Jack’, ‘Plain Shame’ and ‘The Lodger’ were nice on that first album, but nothing prepared me for the first of my Holy Trinity.
Out of the blue for no reason, I didn’t ask, I didn’t have a clue, I didn’t even want it. Somehow, that Easter, though we were too old for the Easter Bunny, my mom still loved making us Easter basket’s and this double-live LP was the showcase. My response, that I kept to myself verbally, but the look on my face? Yeah, Mom knew, how did I know; “I thought you liked Peter Frampton.” I mustered up as much sincerity and appreciation as I could with, “I do…I didn’t even know he released this”; she wasn’t buying. But after I stuffed a shit ton of candy in my face, I walked with the album to my bedroom. I knew if I didn’t crank it up, she’d absolutely know I was lying.
The needle dropped, with the volume the crowd noise was earsplitting then…”If there was ever a musician who was an honorary member of San Francisco society, Mr. Peter Frampton" and that was all she wrote. The songs that I was familiar with sounded and felt completely different. His guitar not only grooved and shined, it spoke, literally.
Because I’m not going to breakdown the greatness that this album is and why it’s in my holy trinity, that August, my mom approved me going to see Frampton, The Beach Boys, and Gary Wright, without “adult” supervision. I said adult in finger quotes in case that didn’t come through because it was my cousin Patti and her future husband Bill, with my cousin Susan and her friend; all older than me. Funny thing was, they thought this was my first concert, hell, they thought it was a lot of firsts that day. They were very aware of me, especially when Susan’s guy friend pulled out a joint. Susan leaned over me and whispered to Patti, looking for an OK and was met with a “kinda” approving shrug. They blazed up and didn’t know whether to pass it to me or not; I just took it. I took a heavy hit and that shit was weak, I smirked. We each had a couple more tokes and what I thought was bunk, was actually a slow burn. Not sure how many songs Gary Wright played, but it kicked in on “Dream Weaver” like it should have.
Bill, who’ve I’ve always referred to as my cousin and as family no matter that their marriage ended or not; took me to the merch booth and I picked up two t-shirts. Both shirts in comparison to today or even in the close future…SUCKED. I still picked up a yellow wife-beater and a blue Frampton shirt, both had the same horrible cartoonish ‘Comes Alive” gatefold picture (I still have the blue one). After I paid, Bill and I walked passed the beer stand, so I shot my shot. I asked him if he’d buy one for me and I’d keep it our secret, it worked. I pounded it, burped and asked for one more. I think he got a kick out of fast consumption and one last round. I savored that one, after all, this was the “soberest” show I attended to this point, my partner in crime Bob, wasn’t with me.
If any of those cousins (or John, the unnamed friend of Susan’s) are reading this…now you know the truth hahahaha. Your first clue should have been when you guys coughed like you had emphysema and I just grinned?
1977: “BAT OUT OF HELL” – MEAT LOAF w JIM STEINMAN
I’m not gonna flex with “all the cool” fucking music I got that year — I’m just gonna admit it: this is #2 of the Holy Trinity.
I first saw Meat Loaf in “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”, courtesy of a couple kids we’d met at a concert in ’76 (Neil Diamond… don’t judge). We hung out with them at the show, shared some party favors, and they told us we should come see this wild movie “RHPS” on Saturday. Cool, we made a date. Now Bobby and I had to come up with a plan.
It was October, it was at midnight, and we needed my Uncle Joe. Of course he was up for it.
I’d love to say I totally loved the movie, but it was a bit much on my teenage brain. Still, it was already an “immersive” experience. And it was “Eddie”, this leather‑jacketed, motorcycle‑smashing, big‑voiced maniac who gave this chubby, “cool-wannabe” hope.
Then when Bat Out of Hell dropped, I was on it instantly.
Do I really need to offer an opinion on what is basically a full‑on “Greatest Hits” rock opera? Forty‑six minutes of pure nirvana. This album alone should have Meat and Steinman in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Those later Meat Loaf albums everyone wrote off? I didn’t. There’s some seriously underrated music on those vinyl slabs.
Then 16 years later, lightning struck twice; “ Bat Out of Hell II: Back Into Hell”. And in 2006, “Bat Out of Hell III: The Monster Is Loose”; one radio hit, sure, but for us Meat Loaf fans, it still rocked. Steinman didn’t produce that one, so the juju was off from the start, but the heart was still there.
Back to “Bat Out of Hell”; what girl didn’t swoon over “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad”? What boy didn’t live “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”? What idiot would pass this album over and not acknowledge the greatness? And let’s be honest, what pudgy young male didn’t root for the “big boy” to win all the chicks? Not me.
Meat gave this fat boy…hope. When I finally had the opportunity to meet him, I told him what how he touched me. Now keep in mind, my “meeting” was from disrupting his show with me shouting out “WELL…I’D DO…. THAAAAAAT” at a very quiet part of the song he was dragging out. His security personnel were kind enough to let me know that “MEAT” wanted to meet me after the show. He first joked that he was gonna kick my ass, then slapped my back (yeah he was fucking powerful, maybe he wasn’t joking) and laughed. We talked and I told him what an inspiration both emotionally and psychologically he was to me. I got the biggest, sweatiest fucking hug with a big kiss on my cheek.
1978: “VAN HALEN” – VAN HALEN
Nobody rules these streets at night but me…the atomic punk!
Seriously? You didn’t think this wouldn’t be the final piece of the holy trinity? After seeing and experiencing this band opening for Journey and a Hagar‑less Montrose at The Leona Theater… you couldn’t UNSEE the greatness. Van Halen hit that stage like they were already headlining the planet. It’s almost comical it took them only a year to get to arenas; they were already playing like they were the headliners; VH were destined to own those arenas.
I was onboard (with Bobby) from the opening blast of “On Fire” to the set‑closing “You Really Got Me” that March. The album was out, but on March 13th I got it. There was no band at that time putting on a spectacle that assaulted the eyes, ears, and the hands of every air‑guitarist in the building. They were a sensory mugging, and we loved every second of it.
Again, basically a “Greatest Hits I,” front to back. In the OG Roth era, their weakest album to me was probably their best‑selling one, “1984”. I know, I know, I’m nuts.
Everyone will say “Diver Down” was by far the weakest, but that was THE most anticipated VH release to that point. They teased us with “Pretty Woman,” they were supposed to take a break, and I can’t tell you how long I harassed my “little brunette girl” at Doctor Doyle’s every week until it finally dropped. “Diver Down” gets shit for the covers, but if you saw them live on that tour, it was the perfect antidote to a shoddy record‑label flex. Blame the lackluster reception and critical review on the suits at the label for putting something out that should have simmered till it was boiling over.
VH were fucking beasts. You may have heard the stories, I was there from day fucking one and never felt cheated. “VAN HALEN” is THE greatest debut album of my music‑listening life; “Appetite’” is a pubic hair shy. “Runnin’ With the Devil” to the loudest, most abusive set opener, “On Fire,” is a masterclass in Rock Music 101. Contrary to popular belief, each member brought their own “Eddie‑like” virtuosity. Roth’s flamboyance and shrieks, Mike’s backing vocals (and that smile), Alex’s thundering Bonham‑on‑espresso drums, and of course, the greatest guitarist of his time — Edward FUCKING Van Halen.
I hate being that guy, but I’m going to be that guy anyway. To get the full effect of how amazing this band was, what the songs meant, and what they felt like…if you didn’t see them in this era, you missed it. Diamond Dave may not have been the greatest singer in a stadium full of singers, but the energy, the dynamic, the aggressiveness, the electricity… it was second to none and can’t be compared. These guys were the definition of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
End of story.
1979: “OFF THE WALL” – MICHAEL JACKSON
You got to feel that heat
And we can ride the boogie
Share that beat of love
I wanna rock with you…all night
Dance you into day
I wanna rock with you…all night
We're gonna rock the night away
I absolutely loved the groove of this whole album. And yeah, I know the competition that year was stacked like a record‑store endcap on payday. “The Wall” swallowed the world whole, “London Calling” detonated the punk blueprint, “Breakfast in America” sold four million copies to people who thought they were deep, ”Damn the Torpedoes” and “Dream Police” were blasting out of every Camaro and Trans Am in America. All of those albums in my collection, spun hard and spinning today. And that’s before you even get to the left‑lane killers: Talking Heads, Joy Division, The B‑52’s, Joe Jackson, PiL, Motörhead, Buzzcocks, The Damned, The Police, AC/DC revving the engine, Gary Numan, Prince; the whole damn wave of weird, brilliant, genre‑breaking stuff. Each lived and live on my shelves. But none, not one of those sacred‑cow classics was the album I reached for when I needed something real. That honor belonged to Michael.
“Off the Wall” was the one that got inside my bloodstream. This was the year we were sneaking into nightclubs like we had diplomatic immunity. Bobby and I were running our dual-away-from-home lives like we were starring in our own undercover series. I wasn’t having a “Summer of George”, I was having the “Year of Lou”, and “Off the Wall” was the soundtrack that made the whole thing feel inevitable.
“Don’t Stop…,” “Off the Wall,” and “Workin’…” pushed me forward like a tailwind.
“Rock with You” smoothed out the edges. “She’s Out of My Life” cracked open the emotional vault I pretended didn’t exist. And “Burn This Disco Out” fed the part of me that always loved dance floors more than I ever admitted.
While “Thriller” became the global juggernaut, “Off the Wall” was my musical lithium. Whatever emotion was firing through my system; anger, confusion, lust, hope, fear, swagger , this album had a track calibrated for it. The other records that year were great, but they were single‑issue specialists, while “Off the Wall” was the full pharmacy.
Growing up in that era felt like walking into a bar fight half the time: unpredictable, loud, and one wrong move from chaos. “Off the Wall” kept me upright, steadied my hands, cleared my head, and made me throw my arms up and dance like the world wasn’t trying to knock me off balance. This wasn’t just an album, it was the groove that kept me human.
This decade was the perfect beast in which to take the part I wasn’t born with and gave me new life. It also prepared me for the life changing decade lying ahead.
Now the curtain drops on the ‘70’s. There was so much music to build my arsenal I became a weapon of destruction. It gave me the foundation and path to adulthood, the 80’s, man I thought I partied in the 70’s, the 80’s was the decade of a perpetual “New Year’s Eve” party.
