The “nine albums that made me” trend has largely died down and we missed the boat, given that our bandwidth is constrained by however many megabytes of data we have left on our shared cell phone plan. Our delayed response granted us the time to reach the following conclusion. The pathways to metal are lit by the usual suspect albums. You can name most of them without thinking. A list of the nine albums that introduced us to metal and formed our tastes would read as unsurprising. However, these records come after first contact with heavy metal. Whether that be an overheard Tony Iommi riff gripping you for the first time or “Freak on a Leash,” all that matters is the initial indication that there’s more to music than what constitutes pleasantry. These haphazard occurrences come via the song rather than the LP, and today, we honor those morsels that broached the devil and got us individually hooked on extreme music.
–Colin Dempsey
…
“Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” – Metallica
Metal was one of the last genres I explored as a teenager. That changed when I watched Paradise Lost, a documentary about the West Memphis Three. I was captivated by these misunderstood teenagers whose interest in metal and the occult made them targets for prejudice and injustice. I recognized myself in their alienation, and their story haunted me. Metallica’s “Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” became inseparable from their ordeal through its use in the documentary series. Inspired by One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the song explores the psychological torment of confinement and the desperation of being denied freedom. Its delicate, melancholic opening gives way to distortion as Hetfield’s vocals become raw with emotion. By the end, resignation has turned to fury. Hearing those desperate pleas alongside the story of three young men whose convictions were later overturned revealed an emotional vulnerability I hadn’t imagined metal could possess, and inspired me to explore the genre further.
–Lily O’Delia
…
“Nothing to Say” – Angra
At age eleven I realized I was into metal. I already had my fair share of proto-metal bands like Uriah Heep and Rush via my family, and grunge was everywhere as were Iron Maiden and Metallica. Being this young, though, heavy music is a giant playground with signs you can’t properly read.
Then, I discovered Angra’s “Nothing to Say” while still unable to read the signs. Hell, I didn’t even register the boldness of using Brazilian rhythms like xaxado and maracatu in heavy metal alongside the triangle and the repinique. After all, fish don’t know what water is. I was instantly hooked by André Matos’s vocals, the power of the songwriting and skill of the band.
Later, I learned that style was called progressive power metal. By trying to understand what made Angra different from Metallica and Nirvana, the playground signs became more readable. And it all started with syncopated basslines!
–Bruno Moraes
…
“Better Unborn” – Amorphis
I chuckled when I read the premise for this article, as my metal origin story leads itself to my pseudonym very nicely. Years ago, the first thing I did after securing the keys to a used 90’s Pontiac Bonneville was volunteer at KAOS, a college radio station in Olympia, WA. I was assigned a primo Sunday morning slot for a show called The Classic Hick, and spent most of my time organizing the record library and making ample use of the CD burner. I used the opportunity to throw on anything while in the library backroom, mostly based on the album art. I came across an eye-catching jacket from Relapse, popped it in while organizing, and thought the player was broken for a few seconds. Then, a faint keyboard entered with some subtle sitar chords, and I heard growls for the first time in the context of music.
This year marks the 30th anniversary of Amorphis’ Elegy, and the first 30 seconds of “Better Unborn” defined what would end up being a deep appreciation for metal. I would have never imagined this random song in high school would be from a band still kicking around today, and though it’s ironically an album that ushered their exit from death metal, it was my first exposure to the genre.
–KAOS_agent
…
“Instruments of Destruction” – N.R.G.
While I appreciate the entire hyper-produced soundtrack, I have to give it to N.R.G.’s “Instruments of Destruction” for being the theme to the dastardly Megatron’s marketing approved spree killing that both traumatized and enamored me with my mom’s VHS copy of The Transformers: The Movie. You got Orson Wells, Scatman Crothers, and the guy from Hart to Hart all voicing giant robots who quote Shakespeare while engaging in a mishmash of 1980s fisticuffs a la Star Wars and Mad Max. How could the soundtrack not be metal? “Instruments of Destruction” became the Hasbro/Marvel/Toei-approved anthem to robotic massacre. The tune is a little evil, a little faux-Dio, a little cheesy, but perfect for smashing toys together. It is not exactly a song of a better future, but a more unabashedly sincere future of big robots and guitars.
–William Pauper
…
“The Transformers (Theme)” – Lion
Recently, the answer to a question—“Why am I a metalhead?”—finally hit me during a run while I was listening to “The Transformers (Theme)” by Lion. The answer: “Because all my favorite childhood TV shows—X-Men, ThunderCats, Power Rangers, SWAT Kats, etc.—have pretty bitchin’ hard rock and metal theme songs.” But the most influential of ’em all was The Transformers theme. The metalhead seed may have first been planted because of the show’s theme song, but it became fully formed the first time I saw the opening credits of the accompanying movie from 1986, and a whole universe opened up. Naturally, it was my favorite movie as a kid. Indeed, my mom musta rented it 50 times from Blockbuster. Why we never just bought the goddamn thing—well, I’m still waitin’ on that answer.
–Steve Lampiris
…
“Living Hell” – Ceremony
My adolescent music palate was crafted by my father’s and brother’s entrées; a last.fm scrobble list of classic rock and metal bands that either make me cringe or still hold up. I was a mascot of music I hadn’t discovered. Ceremony changed that. Hardcore intrigued me, but Ross Farrar’s Krusty the Clown vocal tone was initially hard to handle on Rohnert Park. I needed a smaller pill. “Living Hell” was too fast for song structure: it was medication for a kid on 365-day sugar highs. Jagged guitar tones and garbage can snares fought for 12 seconds, thrown into seven punishing stomps punctuated by Ross’ tantrum of “FUCK!”s. Seven knives carving a heart from my eardrum. I no longer needed to eat every dish served to me; I grabbed my own plates and smashed them. I found music I was confident I liked. I fell in love with the powerviolence gateway drug of the 21st century.
–Aidan Sibley
…
“Into the Void” – Black Sabbath
I was sleepwalking through a flea market in the old Eastland Mall. Freshly single, miserable, moving aimlessly about until I stumbled upon a random stack of CDs. There it was–a sleeveless copy of Master of Reality adorned only with blood-red lettering on the disc, one of Don Arden’s infamous Dorchester Holdings pressings. “Iron Man” floored me when I was a kid, but I only knew Sabbath through the first side of Paranoid dubbed onto an old Certron tape. The Jesus Lizard were my favorite band. Ozzy seemed cartoonish after “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” Thank god I actually had five dollars and just enough faith. The decision changed my life. Master quickly became an addiction, a refuge and a sacred text, finally unlocking side two of Paranoid amongst many other gifts. The portal was “Into the Void”’s churning, indomitable cosmic grind. I was obsessed. They let me on that rocket engine far above my sad teenage life. Part of me is still there.
–Dennis J. Seese
…
“Burned (Kane Theme)” – Jim Johnston
One of my first true loves was–and still is–professional wrestling. I got hooked when I was roughly seven years old after tuning in to an episode of Monday Night Raw. I was captivated by the entire spectacle of the show, but one thing stood out above all else: Kane, and his entrance theme “Burned,” specifically the slightly updated version from 2005’s WWE Anthology Vol. 2. Performed by the legendary Jim Johnston–WWE’s entrance theme composer from 1985 to 2017–the song starts with brooding organs that signal the inevitability of the Big Red Machine, followed by the sound of an explosion that synced with Kane’s stage pyro. The song then goes into the main sinister melody that has been stuck in my head for the past 25 years. If “Burned” had some howls and blast beats thrown in, it would easily pass for a symphonic black metal track. “Burned” opened my eyes and ears to the darker side of music, and led me down a 25-year-long path that got me here today. Eternal hails, Jim.
–Eric Wing
…
“Nanook Suite” – Frank Zappa
When I was a kid, my dad was an every-second-weekend dad, and so every second weekend I did only fun things like watch sword movies and not wear a seatbelt. During the drives from the arcade to my dad’s weed-smelling couch, I developed a childhood obsession with Frank Zappa’s Apostrophe.
Apostrophe is not a metal record, but it’s how I learned to love metal. Side one has the “Nanook Suite,” an abstractly racist four-song, 11-minute Looney Toon on dirty acid which, at seven, felt like the evil twin of the fun I’d normally (i.e. with mom) be allowed to have. I was fascinated by it, made game for it by how funny my dad found it, even as the weird ellipses in the narrative left my mind with all kinds of shadowy shit to parse: enemies, baby seals, a violent, yellow crystal-inflicted blinding, all of it brought to a boiling crescendo at St. Alphonso’s Pancake Breakfast, one of my childhood’s first hyper-objects.
Even as I came to know its gonzo, free-associative contours, there was something in the way it moved that felt just a hair too uncontrolled to be safe. It was, I see now, my first encounter with musical extremity. Extremity is metal, even when it doesn’t come in a metal package. Zappa for me now is a wild, compositional genius too-often undercut by a twelve-year-old’s edgelord humour, but in my dad’s car Zappa was the ferryman, revealing unseen worlds I imagined my father boldly striding between our weekends.
–Josh Rioux
…









