Metalfest

I don't need FaceBook to remember me today's date. I always wake up on August 29th knowing exactly what day it is.

And today happens to be the 40th anniversary of August 29, 1982-- a day that changed my life forever.

The event was a heavy metal jamboree at a roller rink in Bellevue called Lake Hills Arena. I'd just graduated from high school and had been to plenty of arena hard rock shows. But the concept of local music was an entirely unfamiliar one to me. I'd read about Culprit in The Rocket and saw they were playing with 8 other bands starting at noon on Saturday. So I put on my leather jacket-- even though it was August-- and pointed my '71 Impala in the direction of Bellevue.

I didn't know anyone. My metalgeek buddy Andy was supposed to come with me, but in the end buckled to the pressure of having dinner with his parents, it being his 18th birthday (remind me to phone Andy later). So I went alone. I didn't 'meet' anyone that day, but this was the first time I saw a lot of dudes who would become close friends later. They all seemed to know each other, and I was a little intimidated by their killer studded belts and spiked wrist bands-- not because I was afraid of studs & spikes, rather because I didn't have any of my own. These guys had a considerable headstart on me. Hartman, James, Layton.

By the time Bad Brad Sinsel and TKO came on after midnight, my mind (not to mention my ears) were in rubble. I'd had no idea it could be like this. At the arena shows I'd been to, there'd been a huge stage with barricades. Way up on top of the stage were the British rock stars and then down on the concrete floor in a pool of sweat & bile were we fans. But at the roller rink, there was no such divide between the performers and the audience. I distinctly remember arriving at the the dizzying realization that these kids were all from the same tribe-- that the dudes in the crowd were only the dudes in the next band. They were all just taking turns being the rock star. I had not previously understood this to be a possibility.

The first guy I observed grinning and winking at his friends in the crowd was Glen Logan from Overlord. In that tattered Levi's jacket and the Capezios, whirling around hockin' loogies and bangin' on that trashed V, I thought he was the coolest. So many cats impressed me deeply that day. Van Leiw. Matt McCourt. The Friels. Scott Earl and the Germ.

It didn't take me too long to get my turn on the stage. But I'm not sure that ever would've happened had it not been for Metalfest II. I always liked having the mic in my hand, but never got tired of being in the crowd either.

Long Live Crotchroads! Forty years...