Okay, now what is going on here? Only 12 months ago, the following phone conversation with CREEM’s Fearless Leader took place:

Fearless Leader: (shouting over hysterical laughter in office) Hey man, we have to ship ’em out in about a half hour and we need a cover. How about doing a story on whether Heavy Metal is dead or not?

Stupid Rick: Heavy what?

FL: Metal, metal You know, like (imitates sound of cinderblock hurricane striking local petting zoo at lunchtime).

SR: Oh, I thought you said heavy mental. FL: No, don’t worry!

Don’t worry, hall In Biz Jargon, this is what’s known as “buying a ticket to the sailboat races.” Stupid Rick proceeds to declare Heavy Metal dead, buried and forgotten. All gone. Never happened.

Rotting corpses, dinosaur poop, etc. Hey—after watching ten zillion rivetheads go ga-ga over Led Zep’s glorified garbage bag, you would have too.

The rest of the story is all too well known. About five minutes after we went to press, the HM Revival began sweeping England, the States and, naturally, Japan, setting off the biggest furor since the debate over frontloading vs. top-loading washing machines. Personally, I think it was a plot. Performers are always crying that writers “build ’em up and knock ’em down,” when, in reality, it’s the other way around. You buy that? Good! Now you wanna buy a ticket to a sailboat race?

Sooo, new, improved HM groups started turning like so many forgotten Stone Age tribes suddenly caught sucking shrimp over at Arthur Treacher’s. The critics out in the right field bleachers began to boo and throw bottles of Liquid Paper on the playing field, but starving metal maniacs everywhere *, clutched these new bands to their heaving chests like they were a CARE package full of new squeeze toys and a couple dozen clean bibs. As a spokesman for Jimmy Carter once so eloquently put it, “You don’t put raw meat in front of these people and expect them not to eat it.”

They won’t slurp down just anything, though. This “hew wave” of HM is another generation or two removed from the old, blues framework and far more condensed than the earlier strains. The actual songs are much more compact and energy-efficient, with little of the exaggerated virtuosity that bored everybody to death except for eight morons in the back row and the eelfingers themselves. I mean, sheer endurance certainly has its merits, but these days, regular everyday life (i.e. breathing, pushing buttons, drinking heavily) is endurance enough. I think Marlin Perkins summed it up best of all when he so sagely pointed out, “The armadillo has natural protection, but you do not.”

Like salt, snowflakes and succotash, these new bands are pretty much alike unless you put ’em under the microscope. Better you should put ’em under a sewer grate—you don’t need to analyze these separate riffs and touching, life-is-a-lunch^ pail-full-of-shit7sammies lyricism to get the . message. The message being: It’s Still O.K. To Sit Inside A Bottle And Pretend You’re In A Can.

9 So face the iron drool, cowpokes, as;. CREEM presents the definitive word on the new Heavy Metal. After all, a little knowledge can be a.. .uh, a thing, right? We were just testing you last time.

And don’t miss our October, 1981 issue, featuring “Is The Heavy Metal Revival Dead?”

DEF LEPPARD:: With an average age of 18, you won’t find any fake teenagers in this group. Maybe that’s why they kick ass so unself-consciously. Starting out on the Bonneville Flats of Alvin Lee’s imagination and then speeding it up, DL is so. invigorating that they give me the urge to accost strange women in, the supermarket and debate their tampon preference with them. Deif Leppard...isn’t the name enough?

KROKUS:: Nothing much ever happens in Switzerland (The Land of Compulsory Bingo) that can’t be handled with a splint and some plaster. Enter Krokus, with their refreshingly idiotic moniker and mangled ski-lift chains of metal trashola. With a singer who sounds like Steve Marriot doing Robert Plant and precise, if quavering, DNA models of every HM riff known to Western Civilization, Krokus would be easy to hate except that it all works'. Their incredibly crappy LP cover makes me like ’em that much more, but where's their version of “Hocus Pocus?”

Heavy Meta! Update-

Although our “other” Heavy Metal overview/unwarranted attack came out only a year ago, there’ve been some big revisions. Changes in lineup1, fingers in buzzsaws, parole violations and, of course, death (the ultimate personnel change) have altered some of these faces almost beyond recognition. But it’s no use, guys. I know who you are, I saw what you did.

BLUE OYSTER CULT:: When we covered these guys the first time around, their most recent release was Spectres which, despite the surrealistic dimestore effects, had some pretty funny odors emanating from the glove compartment. Two disgusting LPs later, they’re just slightly better than seeing Kansas nude. C’mon guys, willya just sell your lasers back to Styx and go away? Robert Enis

AC /DC:: When original vocalist Bon Scott was found draped lifelessly over his steering wheel, a mysterious shopping list (1. Woolite, 2. Oven cleaner, 3. flea collars) clutched in his cold paw, it looked like curtains for this outfit right when they were getting big. No such luck—they simply drafted Brian Johnson from Geordie and continued being mudpies.

VAN HALEN:: Their Women & Children album proved conclusively that V.H. are the finest HM unit currently eating over the behavioral sink. Sounds like,they’ve been listening to old Stooges records, or maybe

just old stooges. Don’t miss Van Halen’s appearance in the upcoming scare flick, The Creature Walks Among Us, with David Lee Roth as the Mongus.

BLACK SABBATH:: I think the Sabs without Ozzie are like a supermarket without refrigerator magnets, but new vocalist R. J. Dio (ex-Rainbow) isn’t all that bad. Pretty much the same old dharma puds, with megathud riffs and lovable, your-mother-chokes-gophers-in-hell lyrics. Now on a nationwide tour .so that, in the .words of a Detroit Lions ownejr, they can have “the distinction of disgracing themselves from coast-to-coast instead of just locally.” >,

HUMBLE PIE:: Does somebody want to read these guys their rights before I begin? The regrouping of this particular mung coven of decrepit riffers was the most' Uncalled-for insult to the music biz since Robbie Dupree. You know what I think about “old-timers” like this?” For a hint, check Qut the Homelite print ad that reads: “Buy Any Old Timer, Get The Cbainsaw Free!”

MX-80 SOUND:: As evJery schoolchild knows, these guys are great, but let’s give Richard Riegel another chance to hoist his weenie onto the chopping block: “MX-80 Sound arenas crucial to America’s revolt into rock ’n’ roll style as the Ramones, and Out Of The Tunnel is the best rock album of 1980, bar none”—Richard Riegel, CREEM July ’80. You know what it means if you turn out to be wrong, doncha Rich? Life imprisonment at Murph’s 76 Station.

JUDAS PRIEST::These sightless crabs tried hard as hell to be commercial on their British Steel album and proceeded to BOC themselves into a moosh not unlike the finny residue of alchemical fish kill. Their rapidly increasing popularity gives me the same feeling of dread as when Jack Brickhouse says, “.. .and taking that way of thinking a little bit further...” LUCIFER’S FRIEND:: For an HM band, these silly storm troopers provide more variety than a grab bag of assorted bait. It all stinks, but in different u>ays. Personally, I think these guys are totally out-to-lunge.

TRIUMPH:: If you were to take the active ingredient out of sleeping on a garage floor and set it to music, the result would be Triumph. Long songs, iron gelatin, routine moisturizing and a rhythm section that sleeps two—that’s been their story ever since Frank Zappa, of all people, sicced ’em on us from the Canadian void. In the immortal words of Geddy Lee: “People don’t really know what Canada is.” But did anyone complain?

BLACKFOOT:: Now this is what a Southern band oughtta sound like. Leader Rick Medlocke (favorite state: Unconsciousness) whips out vocals you could caulk a boat with and, with co-lead guitarist Charlie Hargrett, they dig into flash dynamics as inarguably complex as an insurance salesman’s Bonus Dismemberment Schedule. This oufit is so hot, my underpants have called for an arson investigation. HAWKLORDS:: Formerly Hawkwind, these weirdoes...they just...I mean...uhoh, wait a minute. HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW! There, now I feel better. Mainly the faves of bizarre West Coast anvil-worship cults, they’ll continue to exist as long as placebo-brains continue to support their phosphorescent slime cultures of doombeat. SCORPIONS:: One of post-war Ger-> many’s biggest mistakes, the Scorps’ albums comprise the longest losing streak in Heavy Metal history. Yet, they just keep getting more and more popular. All they do for me is bring on an obsessive desire to use the words “hoopla” and “festooned” in the same sentence. Terrible, disjointed vocals,

phonetic riffing and an empty bucket production by Dieter Dierks, which is German, slang for ostrich weenie. What they most remind me of is the testing procedure used at the sporting goods store down the block on the day they received an entire truckload of duck calls.

GAMMA:: The main selling point of Ronnie Montrose’s latest rubber gun squad is that they’re audible over vacuum cleaners. Firing away with personal style some refer to as jackshit cubism and by many others as simply irritating, there’s'just something about Ronnie’s guitar playing that makes you want to take out a contract on his transistors.

GAMBLER:: This should be hitting the papers any' day now: Criswell Prediction Comes True! That’s right, way back in his July column, right after Well-Dressed Corpse and Your Body In Vibration comes this prophecy: “I predict the release by this time next year of long-playing albums of music especially arranged for dogs, cats and birds, which will keep pets happy and well adjusted.” Try Gambler on your monkey today!

IRONHORSE:: Their recent Everything Is Grey LP was a real departure from Randy Bachman and friends’ orchestrated sponge torture. In fact, they’re as different an experience as comparison shopping for cheese food at 3 A.M. Includes the immortal observation, “The whole world is full of deaf men listening to the Six O’Clock News.” I guess that about says it all.

GIRL:: I know the promo, poodles over at Jet are just waiting for somebody to write that “this LP proves once and for all that a Girl can rock,” but it ain’t gonna be me! However, this is one steam table of a new group, smart enough not only to decode the Buzz Factor, but to coat their nuclear molasses with a highly digestible Zee-Glaze of differential mass appeal. Lead singer and future star Philip Lewis incorporates the best elements of coyote sweetalk and distemper convulsion into his vocals, and the band is sufficiently fearless enough to retnake Kiss (“Do You Love Me”) and beat ’em at their own goofyness. Recommended!

TKO:: The same old reupholstered thuds, but without that “special something” that would make them truly repellent. Where are the Godz now that we really need ’em?

CHOPPER:: This is the first Jeff Berry production that doesn’t include a version of “Be My Baby.” Like carpet remnants, there’s a goodly amount of variation. Jeffs secret? Think of the songs as food groups! Fair enough, but where’s the meat?

ST. PARADISE:: TV Guide described this group better than I ever could with their plot synopsis of the horror flick Unknown Terror: “Search party, mad doctor, mold creatures.

PRIVATE EYE:: Here they are, the only good band in Canada. It figures, because the Leggett brothers once bossed Foot Ir^ Coldwater, Moosejaw’s other only good group. Made the unfortunate mistake of dividing their debut LP into a hard side and a puss side. Very convenient though—you always know which side to play and which side to scrape the catshit off your speaker wires with. This really happened to me.

GARY MOORE:: The ex-Thin Lizzy guitarist and no-show is a rare case of an artist saving all his worst material for hjs solo LP. This is the guy who went back and removed all of Phil Lynott’s guest vocals, no doubt because they showed up his own cruddy voice. MARSEILLE:: Limeys.despite the name, they’ve been slugging it out oh the English club scene for a while and it shows. Strong, speedy and tighter than projections of future prison space.

BETTY PERKINS:: Can a woman play convincing Heavy Metal? I dunno about the metal part, but one peek at her God Is Supernatural LP cover proves she’s indeed hea-vee. Betty possesses the pipes of Big Mama Thornton, the bod qf T.V. Mama and the face of Ma Perkins. But don’t take it from me, listen to what Earl S. Beecher, Ph.D, says on the liner: “I think so highly of her that she appears in the documentary film of my life.” Okay, but when they do my life, I want The Mutants.

RIOT:: I’ve had a weakness for East Coast Heavy Metal ever since the glory days of Dust, Boomerang and the truly insane Sir Lord Baltimore, and Riot follow in that fine tradition of barely restrained excess. Their Narita disc although available only as a Canadian import (that’s okay, guys, it’s not i/our fault) passed ujb Roger Whittaker, pineapples and Lucky Strikes on the prestigious U.K. import chart. Now available here on Capitol, they’re faster than the speed of Science, but not too heavy to get off the ground.

IRON MAIDEN:: One of the leaders of the UK metal rebirth, the Maidens are pleasantly reminiscent of Deep Purple’s “Highway Star” days. Enthusiastic as happy-face maggots haying a good day at a landfill, this unit is recommended should The Leisure Revolution fail. Watch for their upcoming live-at-Budokan album, Maiden Japan. No dummy, not really.

JOE PERRY PROJECT:: Joe Perry has been kicked around by life so much, he’s got a cauliflower mind. His new band is faster and denser overall than Aerosmith, but decidedly low-brow in the composing dept. Screamer Ralph Morman(?!) won’t make anybody forget old vibralips, but he’s acceptable. That’s the trouble with the Project, they’re just okay. As The Professor asked Gilligan, who’s going to slaughter the boar?

anAUNi! strong,. experienced oumi, Saxon is very likeable even though they’re just so much frozen duplicating fluid. So what—when did originality ever solve anything.

SAMMY HAGAR:: It’s not that swingin’ Sammy is totally boring, but I think you should know that scientists in Pasadena have been using his records for inducing the proper frame of mind for studies of sleep posture. Hey, that must be what Kiss was trying to do on Rock & Roll Over\

HOUNDS:: Heroes of every cretinous asshole in Illinois, the Hounds bring new meaning to the concept of dull waddle. Of course, you have to admit that it took a lot of guts to cover “Under My Thumb,” much = less to do it this bad. Besides, I just can’t I forgive head ' pooch John Hunter for f wearing a red Beatle wig in his Thomridge H.S. days. Onward, inward?

AXE:: Michael Lloyd’s first rock production since The Hardy Boys is a bit on the B/W side, with aft .occasional melody or splat. Oh well, I guess you get what you axe for!

mcAseyomte WOHDCKm.'..

A lot of groups look like they might be Heavy Metal (i.e., hair down to their tweeters, lips puckered violently, and really stupid expressions). But since HM is probably the most doctrinaire pop/rock genre, one listen will tell you that they need not apply. Metal freaks should skip the following; all other kinds of freaks can stay home and watch Space: 1967.

PRISM:: This Styxish ball of moo is the most unspeakable French-Canadian fake rock possible. Yes, French-Canadian—I want you to let that sink in for a moment. Perfume on a moose, get the picture? TOUCH:: No relation to the L.A. super studio group of some years ago, despite the musical similarities (tinkle, beep, ping!). Some assembly required.

FACE DANCER:: Like Indianapolis, this high energy, low metal-content outfit is 81 % cleaner. First LP (This World) was hot stuff; latest is shortened up as if to bunt.

ARROGANCE:: Not so much HM as they are pure poetry. Just check this out: “City woman, you know I miss your smell/City woman, I hope I see you in Hell.” The Nobel Prize committee anxiously awaits their nomination.

NEW ENGLAND:: About as aptly named as Tryst dishsoap, this despicible group of lightweightsYnay have permanently tarnished their region’s reputation. Most memorable lines not drowned out by sheep kisses of mellotron wash: “if that’s the way you live/you gotta get a new diet.” Better yet, get some of those rubber zip-up tummy squeezers andput them over their mouths. BILLY SQUIER:: Not so much HM as just heavy, the former Piper pooper’s first solo shot has the heaviest drum sound since Iron Buttfly, but with tough vocals that don’t sound like an experiment in speech-afterremoval-of-larynx. Good LP.