Category Archives: Influenced

A to Z of Making It, Classic Songs to Be Discovered, Influenced, Music, My Stories, Unsung Heroes

X Out – Extreme

When “Six” came out from Extreme in 2023, I did what we all do. I pressed play, skimmed the album, hit “like” on the tracks that grabbed me. Instant dopamine. Songs that felt like me, right now.

“X Out” didn’t make the cut.

Didn’t hate it, just didn’t hit.

Fast forward almost two years. The video drops. I click. And suddenly I’m sitting there, head nodding, totally into it. The same song I shrugged off is now on repeat.

So what happened?

This is the funny thing about music: sometimes it doesn’t connect the first time. Or the tenth. And then one day, in some random moment, it hits you like a freight train.

Maybe it’s mood. Maybe it’s life. Maybe it’s just time.

Or maybe, in this case, it’s the video.

Because visuals change everything. You see the band sweating it out, the editing, the vibe, the narrative. The song suddenly has a face, a story. And once that meaning slides into place, the music feels different. What was just sound is now an experience.

There’s probably a fancy psychological term for this. I googled my description and got a few terms which mean nothing to me like; “Mere exposure effect.” “Priming.” “Contextual reappraisal.” Whatever. To me, it’s just proof that taste is alive. It shifts. It evolves.

The truth is: I wasn’t ready for the song before. And now I am.

And that’s why I love when this happens. Because it keeps music from being disposable. Because it means an album isn’t done after the first spin.

Sometimes the tracks I skip become the ones that I like later.

So yeah, two years later, I’m in on “X Out.” All because of a video.

Check it out.

Makes me wonder: how many other songs did I dismiss too early? 

How many are just sitting there, waiting for me to finally catch up?

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How Has It Aged: Iron Maiden – Dance Of Death

I don’t think there’s a bigger gap in all of metal between what your eyes see and what your ears hear than Iron Maiden’s “Dance of Death”

That cover?

The kind of thing you’d expect from a high schooler messing around with a pirated copy of 3D Studio Max in 1998. Or AI before AI was a thing.

Even Bruce admitted it was embarrassing. The artist literally pulled his name from the credits. Ouch.

But the music?

It rips. Maiden have always straddled old-school NWOBHM swagger and proggy sprawl, and here it actually clicks.

“Wildest Dreams”

“I’m gonna organize some changes in my life / I’m gonna exorcise the demons of my past”

This is the fantasy we all cling to, reinvention. The Monday morning promise that this week will be different. Except most people don’t make it past Tuesday.

Maiden’s framing it like a road trip, car, open road, freedom. But the truth is, it’s not about cars or roads, it’s about finally deciding you’re sick of your own excuses.

“Rainmaker”

How good is that intro?

“And the cracks in our lives like the cracks upon the ground / They are sealed and are now washed away”

Life is drought and flood. You hold on through the dry years, praying for rain that never comes. Then suddenly it pours, and for a second you think you’re redeemed.

But the cracks never really go away. They just fill up long enough for you to forget they’re there.

“No More Lies”

The bass intro. Typical Steve Harris. It builds momentum and the guitars decorate nicely.

“A hurried time no disgrace / Instead of racing to conclusion / And wishing all my life away”

This is the punch in the face. How much of your life have you already burned, fast-forwarding to some imagined future?

Graduation. Job. Promotion. Retirement.

Always waiting for the next thing instead of living the one thing. Harris is telling you flat out: stop trading your minutes for illusions.

“Montségur”

The song is forgotten at 3.92 million streams on Spotify. But it’s one of the best songs on the album.

“As we kill them all so God will know his own / The innocents died for the Pope on his throne”

This isn’t just history. This is the template. Power always finds a holy excuse. Wrap the violence in God, justice, freedom, it doesn’t matter. People still burn.

The castle becomes a metaphor for every system that crushes dissent under the flag of righteousness.

“Dance of Death”

Compared to other Maiden classics, 42.92 million streams is low.

With this, Maiden tried to recreate the vibe of “Fear Of The Dark”.

And when the solo sections kick in, a person would think they did.

“As I danced with the dead / My free spirit was laughing and howling down at me”

The most terrifying truth: sometimes we want the very thing that destroys us. There’s a seduction in surrender, in letting go of control and joining the dance.

The “dead” aren’t zombies, they’re every crowd you’ve ever followed against your better judgment. The fire looks dangerous, but it feels warm.

“Gates of Tomorrow”

The major key vibe shows their “Who” influences.

“There isn’t a god to save you if you don’t save yourself”

That’s it. The rawest line on the record. Forget prayers, forget systems, forget waiting. If you’re drowning, you don’t need an angel, you need to swim.

“New Frontier”

“Out beyond the new frontier / Playing god without mercy, without fear”

Science, AI, genetic engineering, Maiden saw the abyss before it had a name.

The question isn’t can we do it, it’s what happens when we do?

And the scariest part isn’t Frankenstein’s monster. It’s us realizing we’re no different than the monster.

“Paschendale”

Adrian Smith strikes again, crafting the music to one of my favourite songs on the album. And at 12.68 million streams on Spotify, it’s also forgotten.

“Blood is falling like the rain / Its crimson cloak unveils again”

This isn’t poetry. It’s eyewitness testimony. Every generation pretends their war is noble, unique. But the rain always turns red, the ground always swallows the boys, and the politicians always stay dry.

The most human line on the whole record: “Surely a war no-one can win.”

And yet we keep signing up.

“Face in the Sand”

“So I watch and I wait / And I pray for an answer / An end to the strife and the world’s misery / But the end never came”

This is apocalypse fatigue.

Everyone waiting for the end, everyone secretly hoping it will finally level the scales. But the world doesn’t collapse in fire. It just drags on.

More headlines, more waiting, more lies. The sand keeps shifting, and we’re still staring into it for signs.

“Age of Innocence”

“The working man pays everything for their mistakes / And with his life too if there was to be a war”

That’s the deal and always has been: the people in suits gamble, the people in uniforms pay.

The “age of innocence” isn’t about childhood. It’s about the brief moments in history when you forget the world is rigged against you.

And those moments don’t last.

“Journeyman”

“I know what I want / And I say what I want / And no one can take it away”

The whole album builds to this declaration. After death dances, wars, false prophets, and systemic lies, what’s left?

You.

Your voice.

Your will.

Maiden strip it all back at the end: acoustic guitars, no armor. The journeyman isn’t a hero. He’s just a man who refuses to shut up and disappear.

And Bruce?

The man sounds like he found a time machine back to 1982. He sings like he’s got something to prove, like he’s still fighting to be the frontman of the biggest metal band in the world.

The album’s sound takes a hit from the era’s ‘loudness wars’ mix.

So yeah, the cover’s a dumpster fire.

But the album?

It’s Iron Maiden still swinging for the fences in 2003, and connecting more often than not.

It’s their last album with an ’80s-style vibe before shifting into their pseudo-prog NWOBHM/rock phase.

Overall, “Dance of Death” maintains Iron Maiden’s signature sound while experimenting with different themes and musical styles.

The album’s mix of shorter, more straightforward tracks and longer, more intricate compositions contributes to its diverse appeal.

And for that, the album has aged well.

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Down To Earth

In honor of Ozzy, this is a rewrite/re-review of a post written a few years ago.

October 16, 2001. The towers are down. The country is shook. And Ozzy Osbourne drops “Down to Earth”, an album caught in the crossfire between his myth and his mortality.

This isn’t Ozzy the bat-biting madman. This is Ozzy the tired father, the aging icon, the guy who’s slowly realizing that the monster people made him into is more cartoon than chaos now. It’s a rock album, sure, but under all the distortion is something we didn’t expect: a man falling apart, loudly.

Zakk Wylde’s back, but barely. He’s a hired gun here, not the warlord we saw on “No More Tears”. He plays, but doesn’t write a damn note. And that’s a first.

Instead, you’ve got a Frankenstein writing crew: Joe Holmes, Rob Trujillo, Mike Bordin, Mick Jones (yep, from Foreigner), Geoff Nichols, Marti Frederiksen, Tim Palmer, even Danny Saber. At one point, Offspring,Weezer and Dave Grohl tried to contribute songs. Dave Fucking Grohl. Zakk’s response in a Guitar World interview from November 2001? Legendary:

“Foo Fighters is a fucking candy-ass girl band… Let him get up there and play Mr. Crowley.”

Not exactly a warm collab.

The chaos behind the scenes? You can hear it. This album wasn’t created, it was stitched together like a body in a morgue. And somehow, it lives.

Tim Palmer, best known for producing U2 and Tears for Fears, was a bizarre choice for Ozzy. But he co-wrote most of the songs, played a bunch of instruments, and literally took the guitar out of Zakk’s hands to show him how to play it “better.”

Zakk was not amused. He wanted Les Pauls and Marshalls. Palmer wanted Telecasters and tone. They clashed like metal and pop always do.

And you feel that in the sound: polished, but bruised. Heavy, but with an identity crisis. It’s an album at war with itself, because its creators were at war with each other.

Gets Me Through

Ozzy rips the mask off: “I’m not the Antichrist or the Iron Man.” He thanks his fans while telling them they don’t really know him. The riff is heavy, the message heavier: Don’t believe the myth. Believe the mess.

Facing Hell

Religious hypocrisy served with a chugging riff and eerie ambience. If this was released today, it’d be written off as edgy. In 2001, it was relevant as hell.

Dreamer

This is Ozzy’s “Imagine.” A plea for peace from a man who once snorted ants. And it works. Earnest, beautiful, a little cheesy, but it lands.

No Easy Way Out

Ozzy admits he’s cracked. “Superman is dead.” Depression isn’t a lyric trend here, it’s a lived-in reality.

That I Never Had

Chasing fulfillment and coming up empty. He’s rich, famous, adored, and utterly hollow.

You Know… (Part 1)

A short Beatles-esque lament about broken relationships and time lost. This isn’t the monster’s voice anymore, it’s the man behind the curtain saying, “I fucked up.”

Junkie

The glamorization of addiction gets burned to the ground here. “That beautiful flower is eating your mind.” This isn’t heroin-chic. This is heroin as soul-eater. The prettiest things destroy you slowest.

Running Out of Time

Faith, hope, reason, all gone. “I haven’t even got a soul to sell.” This isn’t a cry for help, it’s a resignation letter written in blood and barbiturates.

Black Illusion

The manipulators wear makeup and smiles, and so does Ozzy. That’s the twist. The song starts as a warning. It ends as a confession. We’re all part of the illusion.

Alive

Maybe the most underrated cut here. It’s broken, desperate, hopeful, like someone who’s still breathing not because they want to, but because they’re too scared to stop.

“What keeps me alive is dreams.”

That line alone is enough to earn this song its place.

Can You Hear Them?

Ozzy’s final moment on the album is pure existential fatigue. “So sick and tired of living, and so afraid to die.” It’s not melodrama. It’s just truth. Raw, cold, unfiltered truth.

It’s not a classic. It’s not “Blizzard” or “Diary” or even “No More Tears”. But it’s important.

This is the album where the mask slips. Where the 70s horror movie Ozzy becomes the 2000s reality TV Ozzy. Where fame stops being a fantasy and starts being a funeral.

Post-9/11, the world was suddenly a darker, more cynical place. And “Down to Earth”, accidentally or not, caught that shift in tone perfectly.

“Down to Earth” is a crash landing. A confession booth in the middle of a circus. It’s Ozzy finally admitting: “I’m not who you think I am. I never was.”

And that? That’s the most rock & roll thing he’s done in decades.

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Twilight Cruiser

The self-titled debut from Kingdom Come took the charts by storm in 1988. “In Your Face” broke up the band a year later. A new all German version of Kingdom Come put out the underrated “Hands Of Time” in 1991, the last album on their Polydor contract. It did nothing and they lost their U.S deal, but with a proviso that no other U.S label could sign them unless Polydor allowed them to.

And Lenny Wolf refused to stop.

“Bad Image” came in 1993, and then “Twilight Cruiser” dropped in 1995.

Both albums are forgotten. But they shouldn’t be. While grunge and industrial metal took over the airwaves, melodic blues based rock was still alive and well.

Lyrically, “Twilight Cruiser” deals with isolation and loneliness. A metaphor for someone who wanders through life aimlessly, searching for meaning and purpose.

“I can hear the silence in the dark”

This isn’t just synesthesia. It’s not poetry for its own sake. This is sensing the void. Not hearing nothingness, but hearing silence as presence, not absence. Like when you’re up at 2AM, and the world’s asleep, but your mind’s loud. This line doesn’t describe loneliness. It names it, in that way only people who have lived through it understand.

The kind of quiet you only recognize after the show’s over, after the crowd is gone, and you’re left with yourself and your ringing ears. That moment where you realize nobody is coming to save you, and that’s liberating as hell.

“Closing in the distance to my heart”

What was once out there, distant, abstract, is getting personal. The silence, the unknown, the ‘thing’ we fear or yearn for… it’s now at your chest, tapping your sternum. The detachment is gone. It’s getting intimate.

This could be grief. It could be love. It could be the epiphany that comes only after you’ve burned all the other options to the ground.

“Now and then a quick glance at the stars / Coming of a deep trance, peace at large”

Here’s the shift. A quick look up, a glance at something eternal, pulls you from your hypnotic state. You’re no longer in autopilot. You wake. You feel. It’s the spiritual equivalent of ripping your VR headset off and realizing you’re in a galaxy.

This is what rock and roll used to do before algorithms turned it into background noise. It used to wake you up.

The peace doesn’t come from control, it comes from surrender. You stop needing answers and start loving the questions.

“Like a soothing shelter over me / I have come to love her mystery”

Now she arrives. But she’s not a person. Not quite. She’s the Night, the Muse, the Unknown.

You used to fear the dark. Now it’s your cloak.

What once confused you now holds you, not because it explains itself, but because it lets you dissolve into it.

You’re no longer demanding clarity. You’re falling in love with chaos.

“Making me surrender, letting go / Guiding me so tender, very slow”

You’re not driving anymore. The wheel’s gone. Control is a myth, and thank God.

You’re being guided, not pushed. Led, not dragged.

There’s a tenderness to this surrender. It’s not violent. It’s almost erotic.

Like the way a great solo builds slowly, not to impress, but to invite.

It’s permission to be human.

The problem is thinking you have to fix everything. The answer is learning how to bleed without flinching.

“When the night is falling / I hear voices calling”

This is your moment of becoming. The night doesn’t just fall like a curtain, it opens a portal.

The voices? They’re not ghosts. They’re not demons. They’re memories, regrets, desires.

They’re everything you silenced in daylight.

At night, the suppressed becomes symphony. Lying in bed with nothing but a song and a past you can’t outrun.

“Like an aimless shooter / I’m a twilight cruiser”

The aimless shooter isn’t violent. He’s drifting. Firing into the void not to hit something, but to make noise, to feel real.

The twilight cruiser is someone who lives in the in-between. Not day. Not night. Not good. Not evil. Just existing in the grey zone, free from roles, from right answers.

This is the archetype of the modern antihero, the midnight philosopher, the vagabond spirit searching not for destinations, but for feeling.

It’s the cowboy without a saddle.

The punk without a cause.

The part of you that wasn’t made for daylight.

This song is a meditation disguised as melody. It’s about drifting into mystery, letting go of the need to dominate your inner world, and falling in love with uncertainty. It’s not a love song, it’s a survival song, whispered from the edge of isolation, written for people who are done pretending everything makes sense.

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Ozzy

I was late to the Ozzy party but once I joined, I could never leave.

Secret Loser

It started with this.

I was watching “The Wraith”, that glorious mess of a film where Charlie Sheen gets murdered by a car gang and comes back from the dead to destroy them in high-speed races. Total 80s nonsense. Beautiful.

And then this song kicks in, “Secret Loser”.

I’m floored. Jake E. Lee’s riff grabs you by the throat. Randy Castillo’s drumming? Thunderous. Bob Daisley holds the bottom end like a goddamn surgeon while writing the lyrics and acting as the unofficial musical director. Criminally underrated, all of them.

Shot In The Dark

Suddenly I started to notice Ozzy everywhere. “Hit Parader”. “Faces”. “Kerrang”. Any ragged, smudgy magazine I could get my hands on.

Then the “Shot In The Dark” music video drops on TV. I’m hooked. Again. Shoutout to Phil Soussan, he wrote a total earworm that became a copyright mess later. Classic rock n’ roll story.

I was a fan and yet, I hadn’t spent a cent on an Ozzy album.

That was about to change.

Crazy Train

I catch a music video of “Crazy Train” off the “Tribute” album. Blew my adolescent brain apart.

I didn’t know what modes were, or how going from F# minor to A major could tap-dance on your dopamine receptors, but it did. And Randy’s solo? Like someone threw lightning into a blender and made it melodic.

So I did what every kid did in the ’80s did. I went out searching for the music. The “Tribute” album at the time was sold out in my local store so I bought “Bark At The Moon” on cassette… and played it to death.

From the first riff to the last breath of “Waiting For Darkness”, I was in.

Funny part?

I didn’t even know who Randy Rhoads was until 1987, when “Tribute” came out.

That album changed everything.
My favorite live album. Knocked “Live After Death” off its throne.

I didn’t just listen to “Tribute”. I studied it. The tab book became my gospel. The holy book of guitar nerds everywhere.

“Children of the Grave” on that album? Absolute fire. Randy’s solo turns the whole Sabbath vibe into a soaring, melodic battle cry.

Miracle Man

The pigs. The bullseye guitar. The demented brilliance of it all.

“Miracle Man” was bizarre and perfect. A middle finger to the televangelist freakshow of the time and also to our sense of reality.

This was a perfect theme for Ozzy. He appeared in the movie “Trick or Treat”. He’s on TV telling kids heavy metal is the work of the devil. It’s meta. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect. And then the devil of the movie reaches into the TV screen, grabs Ozzy by the throat and chokes him to death.

Mr. Tinkertrain

Yeah, the lyrics are creepy. Like, really creepy.

But let’s not ignore the groove. It slaps.

Castillo on drums, Geezer Butler on bass, Zakk Wylde doing his loud-quiet-loud Jekyll-and-Hyde thing on guitar, it’s sinister and intoxicating.

Over the Mountain / Diary of a Madman

If these were on “Tribute”, that album would’ve broken the damn rating scale.

“Over the Mountain” is Sabbath DNA through and through. But “Diary”?

That’s the masterpiece.

It’s what this band could’ve become a blend of metal, classical, and time-signature wizardry. Prog meets doom. Beauty meets chaos.

Also, fun fact: Machine Head has used “Diary of a Madman” as their intro tape for 20+ years. Respect.

Old L.A. Tonight

Melancholy done right.
It’s nostalgia in a bottle, like yearning for a time you never really had but somehow still miss.

And Zakk’s solo? It sings.

Gets Me Through

Zakk didn’t write it. Doesn’t matter.

He owned it.

The riff is heavy. The vibe is real.
And Ozzy’s message is clear: you, the fans, are the reason he’s still standing.

Black Rain & Scream

Yeah, I bought ’em. Didn’t click.
Felt like the magic dimmed.

Ordinary Man & Patient Number 9

Then the Andrew Watt records dropped. Different but familiar. A reboot that didn’t suck.

“Straight To Hell” = vintage Sabbath.

“Goodbye” = Ozzy solo meets Beatles vibes.

But Patient Number 9?

That’s the one. Loaded with guitar gods. Packed with emotion. If this album doesn’t hit you in the soul, go check if you’ve still got one.

You can’t talk about Ozzy without talking about Sharon.

They’re a weird, dysfunctional symbiotic storm. But it works. Without Sharon, Ozzy’s solo career doesn’t exist. And without Ozzy, Sharon’s not a media empire.

They’re chaos and control. Yin and “holy-shit-get-the-fire-extinguisher” yang.

The Authorship Drama

It’s the elephant in the room that no one will remember once we’re all dead.

Jake E. Lee and Bob Daisley?

Did the work, got none of the credit.

Phil Soussan’s “Shot in the Dark” co-writers?

Silenced in the shuffle.

Lemmy wrote lyrics for a lot of songs on “No More Tears” and “Ozzmosis” and only got credits for a few. Paid well, sure, but still.

That’s rock history: full of brilliance, bullshit, and blown-up contracts.

Ozzy is more than a musician, he’s an institution.

Broken, brilliant, bizarre. And totally f*cking unforgettable.

And somehow, whether he was singing about war pigs, barking at moons, or being patient number nine, he always gave us something real underneath the madness.

And that’s why we kept coming back.

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Jason Flom: The Relentless A&R Rebel Who Shaped the Soundtrack of a Generation

From The Lefsetz podcast.

Jason Flom didn’t just stumble into the music business. he was basically dared into it. His dad, legendary lawyer Joe Flom (yeah, that Joe Flom, the one Malcolm Gladwell wrote a whole damn chapter about in “Outliers”), once told him he had a deal: become a rock star or go to school. Jason was ready to pick the guitar. His mom was ready to murder someone. Guess who won?

So, instead of ending up in a dive bar strumming power chords for PBR money, Flom got shoved into Atlantic Records thanks to some family favors. Sounds easy, right? It wasn’t. Because once you’re in the building, you still have to prove you’re not a poser.

Flom watched the A&R guys and thought, “I can suck less than these dudes with 30% effort.”

So he put in actual effort. Found “Zebra”, a band that nobody at Atlantic gave a crap about, but the people loved. Flom ignored the gatekeepers and went straight to the public. And guess what? The public was right. “Zebra” exploded, Flom got promoted, and boom, the kid was in the game.

Flom tells a story about the making of the album.

Doug Morris had cold feet to fund the “Zebra” album. For it to go ahead, Flom got Jack Douglas to agree to produce. However, Douglas was a mess at the time and was not the same Douglas who did the “Aerosmith” records. They had the Record Plant booked and the band was staying there as well, with Douglas booking studio time on Tuesday and arriving Thursday, meanwhile the bills from the Record Plant to Atlantic are piling up.

The budget for the album was a $130K with Douglas getting $55K of that. Morris was not happy as the record was over budget and no tracks had been delivered. The record was then at $230K spent and it was finally at mixing. Douglas then started to hear whale noises in the album tracks. No one else could hear the noises except Douglas. The manager of the Record Plant came into the studio and fired Douglas from the record as Atlantic Records had given him the news how they had pulled the financing for the album. Douglas goes “give me 10 more minutes to finish the album”. The manager goes “you have 10 minutes”. Douglas then barricaded the door so no one could come in and the record got finished. The record came out and it exploded out of the gate.

Then came “Twisted Sister”. They looked ridiculous. Nobody wanted them. Industry snobs laughed. Flom didn’t. He saw 3,000 kids packed into a venue on a Wednesday night screaming every lyric. He brought it to the bosses, and Doug Morris basically told him if he mentioned “Twisted Sister” one more time, he’d be booted. So Flom did what any stubborn SOB would do, he went around him, got them signed anyway, and helped launch one of the most iconic metal acts of the ’80s.

But success doesn’t mean immunity. Flom eventually got caught in the cocaine-fueled dumpster fire that was the ’80s music scene and ended up in rehab. And yet, even in the fog of recovery, the dude came back swinging, signing “Savatage”, “Ratt”, “White Lion”, “Skid Row” and more.

Fast forward: Flom starts Lava Records in 1995. He fakes it ’til he makes it, literally asking around how to run a label while running the label. He signs “Matchbox Twenty” after seeing them bomb a live show but spotting something special in Rob Thomas. He bets on “Kid Rock” when everyone else thought the guy was a joke. No one at MTV wanted to touch him… until they did — and then “Kid Rock” blew the roof off the damn VMAs with “Aerosmith” and “Run-DMC”.

He picked up “Katy Perry” when Columbia was about to drop her. Signed “Lorde” from a SoundCloud link when she had 200 plays and a Facebook page. Oh, and about “Thirty Seconds to Mars”? Everyone told him it was a Jared Leto vanity project. But when he saw Leto turn down a Clint Eastwood film to stay on tour, Flom thought, “That’s more rock and roll than anything I’ve seen in years.”

Every time someone said no, Flom found a way to make it a hell yes. He wasn’t trying to be the tastemaker, he let the fans decide what was great and then fought like hell to bring that to the masses.

Along the way, he helped launch “Hootie & The Blowfish”, “Jewel”, “Simple Plan”, “The Corrs”, “The Blue Man Group”, “Black Veil Brides”, “Greta Van Fleet”, the list reads like a damn Spotify nostalgia playlist.

In short: Jason Flom didn’t just sign bands, he bet on outcasts, longshots, weirdos, and artists with heart. And yeah, he fumbled, got knocked down, got high (a lot), got sober, and kept swinging. The guy helped shape the soundtrack of millions of people’s lives not by chasing trends but by giving a fuck about what actually mattered passion, authenticity, and good fucking music.

Not bad for a dude who was almost a failed wannabe rock star, right?

His mum, who had no degree or background in education, started a school called “The Gateway School”so her son could go to school. He now has a Ph.D. in Psychometrics, the Psychology of Statistics. The Gateway School is now known as the best school for children with difficulties. Try to do what you want to do and try to make the world a better place.

Twisted Sister story.

Randy from Zebra said to Flom that Twisted Sister is the greatest live band ever. So Flom goes to watch them. Twisted Sister is headlining, and Zebra is opening for them. Flom found this odd as Zebra had a record deal and Twisted Sister didn’t. 3000 kids on a Wednesday night for $6 a head.

He was sold as Doug told him that his opinion is secondary compared to the public’s opinion. He walked into Doug’s office the next day and told him he found the next big act. Morris wasn’t interested because TS was considered a joke in the music business. Flom went back to Morris’s office and every time he did, he was told to get out of the office. The debut album “Under The Blade” on Secret was still selling and they were one of the best attended live acts.

At a A&R meeting designed to get the label back in the Top 10 charts as they had a lean year, Morris even mentioned to Flom that if he mentions the name Twisted Sister again, he will never work for Atlantic again. Shortly after that, Flom saw Phil Carson, who was the head of the English division of Atlantic Records and gave him a wealth of material he had amassed on the band, plus a tape of their Secret album. Carson at that point had been in the game for a while, signing acts like AC/DC and Yes amongst other acts. Carson watched TS perform live and signed them.

As for the folder that Flom gave him, it went straight in the bin as Carson had no idea who this young punk was. But synchronicity and coincidence were in play here as TS was opening for an act that Carson went to watch. Morris could have vetoed the whole project, but he still released “You Can’t Stop Rock N Roll” as a favor to Carson, however there was no marketing budget, however Flom was doing a bit of marketing on the side for the band. The record was selling on fumes as Flom puts it.

Morris then called Flom later to tell him he was right and that Atlantic would make a big thing out of this band. Morris had the vision to use Tom Werman to get Marty Callner to direct the videos. I think Dee had a different version here, however it doesn’t really matter in the end, because the album “Stay Hungry” and the clips, “We’re Not Gonna Take It” and “I Wanna Rock” are iconic.

Flom couldn’t understand why they didn’t want to use Werman again for the next record “Come Out And Play” and not long after that it broke up. Dee goes into it in detail in his book and Mark The Animal Mendoza has mentioned his hatred of Werman in various interviews.

Flom at this stage was a victim of the excess of the times and entered rehab. But before he entered rehab, he signed Savatage.

Flom was also involved in getting Ratt to sign to Atlantic Records in 1983 with “Out Of The Cellar” being the first release on Atlantic for them and also White Lion in 1987 for the “Pride” album however they are not mentioned during the podcast.

Once he got out of rehab, he had some projects that didn’t do much and then he signed Skid Row.

An agent brought him Stone Temple Pilots and he signed them. Other acts included Hootie And The Blowfish and Jewel. He told a story of watching Jewel play at a coffee shop with 5 people watching and the coffee machine making cappuccinos and then a few months later, he was back there with 300 people watching and everyone being mesmerized by her.

In 1995, it all evolved into Lava Records, his own label after he turned down an opportunity to resurrect Atco Records. Flom reckons he was set up to fail. He was asking for advice, faking it until he made it.

He had people out there that were brining him good bands. A rep brought him a band called Tabatha’s Secret and he was given four songs. Flom wasn’t convinced. The rep said to listen to 3am again, and again Flom wasn’t convinced. So he want to watch em, and they were terrible, not even in tune and no one was even paying attention to em, but he felt there was something special about Rob Thomas so he signed them. Hollywood Records offered to triple the offer from Lava, however Thomas stayed to Flom. And the debut Matchbox Twenty album went crazy.

Flom and Thomas debated if the first single should be “Real World” or “Long Day”. They settled on “Long Day” and on the strength of that single, the album moved 100K units. Then a radio station in a different city started to play “Push” and the album started to sell like crazy in that city. Flom went back to the band and said this is your next single and the band said no, they wanted “Real World”, but Flom remembered the words of Doug Morris, “what we think is good is nothing compared to what the public thinks”.

And another rep brought him Kid Rock. Kid Rock had three albums before this and all three failed. He was seen as damaged goods. Flom watched him live and they had a meet. Kid Rock said he will deliver two songs to him. Upon hearing the songs, Flom called Kid Rock and said to him, what do you want, Kid Rock said I want $300K sign on and so many percentage points on royalties. Flom said done.

The soundtrack of a lot of people’s lives was possible because of Jasom Flom.

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Influenced, Music

Coheed and Cambria – Vaxis III: The Father of Make Believe

Released March 14, 2025.

The third act of the Vaxis saga and Coheed’s eleventh album, “The Father of Make Believe” dives deeper into “The Amory Wars” mythos, but this time, the most intense battles might be internal. Beneath the sci-fi architecture lies a deeply human narrative: loss, identity, illusion, and the relationships that either save us or undo us.

“Yesterday’s Lost”

The album opens with a whisper of heartbreak:

“But should you go before me, I’ll be right behind you.”

It’s not just romance, it’s loyalty shadowed by death. In the narrative, this is Nostrand’s vow to Nia, but it doubles as Claudio’s meditation on mortality and family. A quiet promise that love doesn’t end with life.

“Goodbye, Sunshine”

“I won’t stay mad; we played our parts.”

This is closure without bitterness. A eulogy for what once was, not clung to, not blamed, just released. The band turns loss into liberation.

“Searching for Tomorrow”

“You dance between the true and false / To salvage something, but you learn that you lost it all.”

Musically reminiscent of “In Keeping Secrets Of Silent Earth”, this track explores the illusions we create to survive, until reality breaks through. It’s the sound of waking up too late, discovering solitude was always your only constant.

“The Father of Make Believe”

A masterclass in accessible prog, complex in arrangement, yet melodically inviting.

“I’m the vision that you choose to see… I’m the Father of Make Believe.”

Here, myth and memory blur. The titular Father isn’t a man, he’s an archetype, shaped by need. A projection born from longing, trauma, or manipulation.

He could be Vaxis’s absent savior, a stand-in for authority, or a coping mechanism. He isn’t real, but he’s believed in. That’s what gives him power.

“Meri of Mercy”

A love song in elegy’s clothing.

“When all goes dark / And I can’t see / All my memories lost / I’ll know you’re always with me.”

Meri may be Vaxis’s last tether to clarity, a symbol of what’s worth holding onto when identity disintegrates. This track reclaims connection as sacred in a world built on illusion.

“Blind Side Sonny”

Pop-rock melodies meet gritty distortion, a wolf in candy coating.

This track channels the fury through mob-chant catharsis. Not about justice. About revenge.

“Play the Poet”

“Different language, the words you can’t seem to say…”

This song captures the tragedy of miscommunication, the loop of trying, failing, and eventually giving up.

The poet becomes a performer yelling into a void.

Within the Vaxis story, it may reflect Vaxis losing someone to ideology or despair.

Words fail. The silence wins.

“One Last Miracle”

“A fortune sold on television / Where our truth’s coming from, so damaged beyond recognition.”

A searing critique of media, faith, and false salvation. Hope has been commodified. Truth is no longer broken, it’s unrecognizable. The line between belief and delusion collapses. Still, people keep buying miracles.

“Corner My Confidence”

“You stole the sun / Caught in the flare, we were amateurs…”

This one aches with the pain of failed revolution or broken love. The speaker doesn’t give up, they corner their confidence.

This could be the turning point for Vaxis: forging strength from scars and aligning with those who still believe.

A quiet rebellion begins.

“Someone Who Can”

A shimmering, nostalgic feel, Don Henley vibes via post-apocalyptic heartbreak.

“When the lines of the road vanish in your tracks…”

Abandonment is no longer dramatic, it’s quiet, total. And yet, out of that emptiness comes a demand: for light, for love, for fire. This is rebirth through ruin.

“The Continuum I: Welcome to Forever, Mr. Nobody”

“I plead / Is it so hard to see / A better version of me?”

Shame and stagnation tighten like a noose. The protagonist isn’t begging for forgiveness, just to be seen as more than their past.

In the Vaxis arc, this may be the psychological low point: identity in crisis, hope a fading memory.

“The Continuum II: The Flood”

“Where I once loved / Now pumps cold blood…”

This is post-emotion. Where once was fire, now there’s frost. The flood has wiped the slate, or tried to. A survival mechanism turned into exile from feeling.

“The Continuum III: Tethered Together”

“We’ll all sing together / Tethered forever…”

The emotional payoff. After trauma and betrayal, comes harmony, not as fantasy, but as chosen solidarity. This could be the rebel choir. The fractured finally uniting. It’s the album’s true heartbeat.

“The Continuum IV: So It Goes”

“Please, somebody open this lock / My mind is breaking apart…”

The final collapse, or the final confession. The speaker begs for release from the cage of their own mind. Whether this is Vaxis or someone else, it’s a moment where the veil between internal and external horror is paper-thin.

We’re left not with closure, but a question:

Can the light escape the dark?

“Vaxis III” is more than a concept album. It’s a study in duality, illusion vs reality, connection vs fracture, myth vs memory. And while it expands the “Amory Wars” universe, it also holds a mirror to our own: asking how we survive when the truths we built our lives on collapse.

It’s not just a story, it’s a reckoning.

P.S.

I initially held off on writing this review, hoping to dive deeper once the deluxe edition arrived, particularly to expand on the narrative elements through the included story materials. But after several delays, I decided the album itself deserved its own reflection. The review is, shaped by the lyrics, the music, and the emotional arc they deliver to me on their own terms.

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Classic Songs to Be Discovered, Influenced, Music, My Stories, Unsung Heroes

Machine Head’s ‘Unatoned’ Is a 41-Minute Punch in the Soul – Brutally Honest Review (Track-by-Track)

Machine Head’s eleventh studio album, “Unatoned”, released on April 25, 2025, through Nuclear Blast and Imperium Recordings, marks a significant evolution in the band’s discography.

Clocking in at 41 minutes, it’s their shortest album to date.

Landscape of Thorns

A 31-second instrumental opener that is like walking into a post-apocalyptic cathedral made of rust and bad decisions. No lyrics, just vibe.

The vibe?

You’re screwed.

Atomic Revelations

You know that moment when you realize humanity might’ve peaked with sliced bread and everything since is just radioactive garbage?

Yeah, that’s this song.

“Atomic revelations / These cryptic devastations…”

In other words, the future’s here, and it’s wearing a hazmat suit. Think less “technological utopia” and more “Oops, all fallout.”

It’s a poetic bitch slap to our blind optimism. A warning, framing the future not as a bright evolution but as a terrifying construct built from our short-sighted and immoral decisions.

Unbound

This is the sonic equivalent of breaking out of a mental straitjacket while screaming into a hurricane.

Lead single for a reason, it’s the sound of someone clawing their way to freedom, with bloody nails and existential panic.

It’s not about being free. It’s about realizing you’ve been your own prison warden the whole damn time.

Outsider

A love letter to being done. Betrayal, bitterness, burn-it-to-the-ground energy.

All the lying, all the cheating
All you left me was defeated
There could never be forgiveness in the end

No redemption arc. Just someone standing over the wreckage of trust and lighting a cigarette off the flames.

It’s beautiful.

In the way that watching your ex trip over karma is beautiful.

Not Long for This World

Here’s your death anxiety, set to music. Haunting, lyrical, and bleakly gorgeous. The kind of track that makes you text your therapist and also maybe your mom.

Through the struggles life hurls
Behold the heavens unfurl
Not long for this world

You’re gonna die. Everyone you love will die. And this track whispers: “Yup. And?” It’s oddly comforting, like being hugged by a ghost.

These Scars Won’t Define Us

A motivational anthem for people who’ve seen some serious crap and didn’t get a cheesy Instagram quote tattoo about it.

Head to the grindstone, power forward through the endless dark
Focus, determination, on this world I’ll leave a mark
It took so long for any confidence to get in here
And now the question that I need to know, I cannot hear

It’s not saying “you’re special.” It’s saying “you survived, now do something with it.” Less “self-love,” more “self-discipline.”

Dustmaker

“Dustmaker” is a little musical intermission.

A breather.

Kind of. It’s the metal equivalent of a weird dream sequence in a war movie. You’re not dying yet, but your brain’s doing weird crap.

Sip some water. You’ll need it.

Bonescraper

It’s a head banger with themes of self-destruction and a side of guilt.

We scrape our bones to numb the pain

If you’ve ever tried to drink your problems away, punch your trauma into silence, or sleep with someone just to feel something, this one’s your anthem. Congrats, you’re the problem and the solution.

Addicted to Pain

This one goes out to everyone who keeps dancing with the same demons and calling it “growth.” Spoiler: it’s not.

We’ll never know what could’ve been
Cravings pulled you deep within
Thrown into the hit machine
Feed the beast, start the routine
You gave it all just to chase this flame
The dotted line, a puppet in the game now
Twisted and cheating
The fame we chase is bleating
Turned against brother for acclaim that is fleeting

The fame-chasing, dopamine-looping, clout-sucking treadmill of modern life, and how it turns people into hollowed-out achievement junkies.

No wonder you’re tired.

Bleeding Me Dry

This one’s a gut-punch, a slow-motion collapse of a relationship that started with dreams and ended with pill bottles and silence.

There’s no pain without living life
This liquor helps cope with the strife
We talked of you being my wife
Picket fences, some kids, and two bikes
But all that was a fantasy lost in our haze
Through all of the weed smoke and piles of cocaine
A pharmacy of Vicodin, Percs, refillers
You and I were worst friend’s best painkillers

Jesus.

That line alone deserves a Pulitzer in “Emotional Damage”.

It’s not a love song, it’s a eulogy for what could’ve been. And it hurts because it’s true.

They’re not lovers, not saviors, just each other’s favorite painkillers in a life too painful to face sober.

Shards of Shattered Dreams

More heartbreak. More poetic destruction. Think of it like picking glitter out of a crime scene.

It’s raining
Shards of shattered dreams
This love divine
Ruins everything
Left to pick up the pieces
Of my dejected heart
I’m breaking and I’m ripping at the seams
These shards of shattered dreams

When hope becomes a weapon. When dreams cut deeper than knives. This one will haunt you at 3 a.m., probably while scrolling through old texts you should’ve deleted.

Scorn

The final exhale.

Closing the album, “Scorn” is a haunting ballad that delves into themes of manipulation and societal decay, featuring piano-driven melodies that contrast its dark lyrical content.

The music says “reflection,” but the lyrics say “everything’s broken.”

The Wrap Up

It’s short, sharp, and swinging a sledgehammer. Less an album, more a therapy session set to blast beats. It’s a bleak, beautiful middle finger to false hope and a mosh pit for your emotional baggage. If you’re looking for easy answers, you’re in the wrong pit, buddy.

Joining Robb Flynn and Jared MacEachern is drummer Matt Alston and guitarist Reece Scruggs, injecting fresh energy into their sound, making “Unatoned” a noteworthy entry in their discography.

Final Score:
5 existential crises out of 5.

Now go scream into the void or your pillow, whichever’s closer.

\::/

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Influenced, Music, My Stories

Is Metal in Crisis?

The idea that metal is in crisis, whether due to oversaturation, a lack of originality, or changing audience engagement, seems to be a recurring sentiment among older generations of fans.

But is metal truly in decline, or is this perspective more a symptom of aging, nostalgia, and shifts in how we consume music?

The Age Factor: Fatigue vs. Fresh Ears

A young listener coming into metal today wouldn’t think the genre is in crisis. If anything, they’re encountering a landscape full of new music, endless subgenres, and countless bands to discover. They don’t have the same point of reference as someone who grew up when there were fewer metal bands, more gatekeeping, and a greater emphasis on full-album experiences.

For older fans, like me, there’s often a sense of fatigue. Over decades of listening, many metalheads feel me like we’ve “heard it all before.”

Riffs, song structures, and production styles that once felt groundbreaking might now seem derivative. This isn’t necessarily because metal has gotten worse, rather, it’s a byproduct of familiarity. The more you consume, the harder it is to be surprised.

But each new wave of fans is excited about something that may seem repetitive or uninspired to those who have already lived through multiple cycles of innovation.

I had to actively seek out metal, often through record stores, tape trading, and word of mouth. This process required time, effort, and sometimes even risk, buying an album based on cover art alone, waiting weeks for an import to arrive, or discovering new bands through underground zines.

That level of commitment created a deep connection between listener and music. There was an emotional investment in the experience. When you spent your hard-earned money on a single album, you had to give it multiple listens, even if you weren’t hooked right away. That patience often led to a greater appreciation for the depth of the music.

Compare that to today’s streaming era, where music is instantly accessible. While this allows anyone to explore niche genres with minimal effort, it’s also led to an endless sea of content.

Listeners can skip tracks within seconds, constantly moving on to something new without letting an album sink in. This convenience fosters a different kind of relationship with music, one that can feel less “earned” to those who grew up under the old system.

For an older fan, it can seem like metal has lost its soul, not necessarily because the music is worse, but because the ritual of discovery has changed.

Oversaturation vs. Opportunity

There’s no denying that metal, like all genres, is more saturated than ever. Advances in technology mean that anyone with a laptop can record and distribute music, leading to an overwhelming volume of releases.

But is that really a bad thing?

For young listeners, this means more diversity, more experimentation, and more ways to find exactly what speaks to them.

While an older fan might lament that there are “too many bands that sound the same,” a younger fan may see an ecosystem where they can explore an endless array of niche styles.

It’s also worth noting that every generation has had complaints about oversaturation.

In the late ‘80s, thrash metal had so many similar bands that many critics claimed the genre was becoming stagnant. The same was said about hard rock towards the end on the 80s/start of 90s, death metal in the early ‘90s, metalcore in the 2000s, and djent in the 2010s. Yet metal has always found ways to reinvent itself.

The Role of Nostalgia in Perceived Decline

It’s human nature to view the past as a golden era. This is particularly true in music, where people tend to romanticize the bands they grew up with. Metal fans who came of age in the ‘80s often see that as the peak, just as those who started in the ‘90s might champion that era, and so on.

However, if you ask a 16-year-old today, they might argue that metal has never been stronger. They’re discovering bands without any baggage, without comparisons to the past, and without the weight of decades of listening experience making them jaded.

What might seem “unoriginal” to an older listener could feel fresh and exciting to them.

Similarly, the tendency to view the past as superior is amplified by the way we remember things. The weak or generic bands of the ‘80s and ‘90s have largely been forgotten, while the legends remain in cultural memory. If you judge the current scene by its mediocre bands while remembering the past only through its icons, of course it will seem like metal has declined.

The perception that metal is struggling isn’t new, it’s been a conversation since at least the late ‘80s. But in reality, metal isn’t in crisis; it’s simply evolving in ways that can be harder for long-time fans to appreciate.

Young listeners today don’t think metal is dead because they aren’t burdened by nostalgia or fatigue. To them, the sheer abundance of music is an opportunity, not a problem. The old model of discovery, where commitment was required, has been replaced by one of limitless accessibility, and while that changes the experience, it doesn’t necessarily make it worse.

Ultimately, metal will continue to thrive as long as there are new generations of fans who are excited by it. The real crisis isn’t in the music itself, it’s in whether long-time fans can adapt their perspective and find new ways to engage with the genre.

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Classic Songs to Be Discovered, Influenced, Music

Scorn – Machine Head

Dom Lawson, in Metal Hammer, called it “ostensibly a dark, crestfallen ballad” that builds through synth-drenched haze and emotional swells before erupting in a syncopated, spine-tingling finale.

He’s not wrong.

In fact, “Scorn” might be the most hauntingly beautiful track Robb Flynn has ever penned.

Machine Head is no stranger to monumental album closers, think “The Burning Red,” “Descend the Shades of Night,” “A Farewell to Arms,” “Who We Are,” or “Arrows in Words from the Sky.”

Now, add “Scorn” to that list, lifted from their new record “Unatoned” a fitting name for what feels like both an indictment and a lament.

The opening verse says it all:

“I’m putting you under my spell / ‘Cause I’ve got a Bible to sell
Let go your convictions, restrictions will cost you / Your fiction and all that is well
Distrust all the fable they sell…”

This isn’t subtle. It’s manipulation disguised as salvation. The “Bible to sell” is a loaded metaphor, suggesting the commodification of belief, the weaponization of faith. Convictions and moral boundaries are liabilities here, illusions sold to the weak, while the puppeteers profit.

“I look to the sky / As it won’t be the first / And it won’t be the worst
‘Cause there’s still yet to come / With a nation undone by their Scorn”

Hope?

Maybe.

But not without cynicism. The sky becomes a metaphorical void, once a symbol of transcendence, now indifferent or complicit. The “nation undone” is a clear nod to societal collapse, a warning about the corrosion eating away at public trust, autonomy, and truth.

The chorus drives the point home with venom:

“Scorn / Paranoia seeps through every pore
Scorn / Envenomated eyes emit their scorn”

Yes, “envenomated.”

A rare, brutal word choice. It means poisoned. But more than that, it implies a kind of psychological venom, gazes that don’t just judge but infect. Surveillance becomes psychotropic. The “eyes” don’t just watch; they erode.

“The eye in the sky never rests
Watching to form our arrest
They’re chasing us out of our nests
Keeping tabs as they play us like masters of chess…”

There’s Orwell here, but also something more, this is modern paranoia woven through algorithmic control, deep-state tactics, and manufactured chaos. The image of being driven from nests evokes exile from comfort, from truth, from home.

“I look to the sky / As they give us new rifles / To stifle our words
With a Bible and bulletproof vests / As we suffer their Scorn…”

Weaponized religion. Militarized faith. Truth gets smothered in the name of protection. Resistance becomes treason. Free thought becomes a target.

Thematically, “Scorn” stands shoulder-to-shoulder with:

– Rage Against the Machine’s political fire
– Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” and its suffocating institutional critique
– Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited”, where biblical imagery twists through cultural critique
– Metallica’s “…And Justice for All”, where justice is just another rigged game

But “Scorn” isn’t derivative, it’s a culmination. It distills our present-day fears: media manipulation, mass surveillance, the erosion of belief systems, and a creeping spiritual void. It’s a bitter elegy dressed as an anthem.

You don’t just listen to “Scorn”. You endure it, absorb it, and then see the world a little more clearly and perhaps a little more grimly.

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