Category Archives: Influenced

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

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

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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Classic Songs to Be Discovered, Copyright, Influenced, Music, My Stories

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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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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A to Z of Making It, Influenced, Music

Joel Hoekstra on The Jay Jay French Connection Podcast (Sept 19, 2023)

Steve Lukather has nothing but the highest praise for Hoekstra, and it’s easy to see why.

Born in Iowa City, Joel moved to Chicago as a kid, then later spent time in L.A., working at Cherokee Studios in 1991 and 1992. By that time, legendary producers Tom Werman and Geoff Workman had already moved on, but their legacy lingered.

Hoekstra studied at the Musicians Institute (GIT) in L.A., though he had a head start, his local teacher had already introduced him to the curriculum before he even arrived. On day one, he found himself among 500 other guitarists in the main hall, an intimidating experience.

Growing up with classically trained parents, he learned to read music early on, though he admits it’s only occasionally useful in his current work. It did, however, come in handy when he landed “Rock of Ages” and other theater gigs.

Unlike many of his peers, the ’80s shred scene didn’t have a huge impact on him, he was too young for it to be a major influence.

He did, however, run in circles with some serious musicians, including drummer Scott Coogan, guitarist Pete Thorn (well-known for gear demos), and Joy Basou (who found success in pop music, working with artists like Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey).

When asked about his guitar heroes, Hoekstra named Steve Morse (High Tension Wires), Steve Vai (Passion and Warfare), and Joe Satriani (Flying in a Blue Dream, Surfing With the Alien).

While Eric Clapton wasn’t a big influence, he admired Jimmy Page for his rhythmic licks, Jeff Beck for, well, everything, and Jimi Hendrix for his showmanship. He also loved everything “Rush” did, as well as Trevor Rabin’s “Yes” era, he still follows Rabin’s work, including his latest album “Rio”.

Jay Jay French mentioned for his generation, Johnny Winter and Alvin Lee were the Yngwie Malmsteens of their time.

Over the years, Hoekstra transitioned from playing Floyd Rose-equipped Jacksons and Kramers to a Fender Telecaster, then a Gibson SG, before settling on a Gibson Les Paul in 2004. He admitted that while playing a Les Paul means sacrificing about 10% of your technique, each note is worth it. Initially, he avoided Les Pauls because he’d heard they had tuning issues.

As a solo artist, Hoekstra has released three instrumental albums covering various styles. However, when he shifted into hard rock and heavy metal, fans wanted more of that sound.

Instead of branding it as a solo project, he launched “Joel Hoekstra’s 13”, where he writes all the music and lyrics while bringing in powerhouse rock musicians to jam with him. At the time of the interview he was onto his third release with “JH13”, along with “Eagle Flight” from Revolution Saints.

Speaking of collaborations, Hoekstra has another project called “Iconic”, featuring Michael Sweet (guitar), Marco Mendoza (bass), Tommy Aldridge (drums), and Nathan James (vocals). At the time of the interview, new releases from Iconic and Revolution Saints are on the way.

Since then, Revolution Saints dropped “Against The Winds” in 2024 however Iconic hasn’t been released yet.

As for Whitesnake, the future remains uncertain. Everything depends on David Coverdale, with the band currently in a holding pattern. Their European tour had a few canceled dates, and the U.S. tour was ultimately called off due to Coverdale’s sinus infection.

If you like to hear a good story, check out Joel Hoekstra.

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A to Z of Making It, Copyright, Influenced, Music, Unsung Heroes

Derek Schulman

On October 15, 2020, Derek Schulman appeared on the Bob Lefsetz Podcast.

I first heard of Schulman as the guy responsible for signing Bon Jovi and Cinderella. But before becoming a label executive, he was a member of Gentle Giant (GG), a band that has a bigger fan base today than when they originally broke up.

When Lefsetz asked why GG had grown in popularity, Schulman explained: “We wrote music for ourselves, didn’t follow trends, and the music held up.” Interestingly, GG never considered themselves a progressive rock band. Rock, yes, but not prog. They simply pushed themselves musically.

I believe GG’s resurgence is largely due to the internet. Their music isn’t locked away in a vault, it’s widely accessible. If we were still in the pre-Napster era, their catalog might have remained buried, since labels wouldn’t see the financial incentive to print CDs. Labels have always believed they know what fans want, but they’ve often been wrong. Had they continued releasing hard rock in the ’90s, the genre could have still produced acts selling close to 500,000 units. Instead, they abandoned it.

It always comes back to the music. People return for the music, not for record sales, labels, executives, or streaming numbers.

From Musician to Executive

Before Gentle Giant, Schulman played in a band with a few hit singles, but by 1969, he was burned out from the pressure to keep churning out commercial hits. He wanted to form a band that was the opposite of pop, so GG was born.

But by 1980, after 14 years in bands, Schulman was done. GG had become a job, and he had lost enthusiasm for recording and touring. With nothing lined up, he spent a year feeling lost. Fortunately, he had savings, thanks to his role as GG’s quasi-manager in the mid-’70s.

A friend at PolyGram called with a job offer. Schulman moved from California to New York and joined the label as a Promotions/A&R rep, though his role was mostly promotions. He was hired because two of PolyGram’s heads of radio promotion were huge Gentle Giant fans.

At the time, PolyGram was a mess. The label had major acts like KISS and Def Leppard, but they drained a lot of resources. Schulman’s break came when artists and managers started bringing him albums. Uriah Heep was shopping a new record, and Schulman helped organize a deal to release it.

Then came Bon Jovi.

Bon Jovi’s Breakthrough

Schulman met Jon Bon Jovi and was impressed by his focus and drive. Jon wanted to be bigger than Elvis. He even introduced Schulman to his parents, who told him: “Take care of our son.”

At the time, no other labels were bidding on Bon Jovi. Schulman also had a strict policy, he refused to get into bidding wars.

The key move was bringing in Doc McGhee. Doc originally came to Schulman’s office pushing Pat Travers, but Schulman told him to check out Bon Jovi instead. Schulman saw in Doc the same relentless drive that Jon had.

Jon met Doc, they struck a deal, and just like with Schulman, Jon’s parents needed to approve.

McGhee put Bon Jovi on tour with Ratt and Scorpions. Their debut album was a success, but their second record, “7800° Fahrenheit”, was considered a sophomore slump. Schulman hated the album title, the recording process was a mess, and the overall vibe felt off. But the album did its job, it kept the band on the road while McGhee worked overtime to book shows.

Schulman, meanwhile, had started working with producers Bob Rock and Bruce Fairbairn, who had just finished albums with Loverboy and Honeymoon Suite. Jon and Doc knew they needed great producers to reach the next level.

Schulman suggested co-writing with others. Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons had already introduced Jon to Desmond Child. The rest is history.

The label knew they had something big as soon as “Slippery When Wet” was mastered. The original album cover was scrapped, and Jon designed the new one himself. “You Give Love a Bad Name” and “Livin’ on a Prayer” were immediate hits, and the album shot to No. 1. Schulman had a percentage point on the album, but when he left the label, his royalties ended.

Cinderella

Schulman was introduced to Cinderella by an agent, a lawyer, and Jon Bon Jovi, who knew Tom Keifer.

He went to see them play a club in Philadelphia. The band wasn’t great, Tom Keifer stood out, Jeff LaBar was solid on guitar, but the other two members weren’t up to par. Then Schulman listened to a 90-song demo of Keifer’s original material. He was blown away by Keifer’s songwriting.

Schulman told the lawyer: “Get Tom to replace the other two with better musicians, and I’ll give you a deal.”

Andy Johns was brought in to produce “Night Songs”. The album dropped shortly after “Slippery When Wet” exploded, and “Night Songs” shot into the Top 10. Suddenly, Schulman was on fire, he had two bands in the Top 10.

When Lefsetz asked why Cinderella never released another big album, Schulman pointed out that they did, “Long Cold Winter”, but he had briefly forgotten the title.

Tom Keifer eventually lost his voice, which Schulman confirmed was true. Schulman also helped shape Cinderella’s albums with his artist experience, though he didn’t contribute to Bon Jovi’s records in the same way. He even co-wrote songs with Tom but never took credit.

Dream Theater

Derek Oliver, an A&R representative at Atco Records and a passionate fan of progressive rock, was the key figure in discovering Dream Theater.

In the late 1980s, Dream Theater had self-released their debut album, “When Dream and Day Unite”, through Mechanic/MCA Records, but the album failed to gain much traction due to poor promotion and distribution.

Meanwhile, Oliver, who had interviewed and reviewed the band during the period as part of Kerrang was impressed by their technical proficiency and songwriting.

Recognizing their potential, he brought Dream Theater to the attention of Derek Schulman, the head of Atco Records at the time.

After meeting the band and seeing their dedication, Schulman agreed to sign them to Atco. Under his guidance, Dream Theater recorded their breakthrough album, Images and Words (1992), which featured the hit single “Pull Me Under.” The album’s success helped establish them as a leading force in progressive metal, proving that Schulman and Oliver’s instincts were right.

Running Labels

Schulman also played a key role in launching Bob Rock’s production career, giving him his first gig with Kingdom Come, another band that went on to dominate the charts.

In 1989, Schulman left PolyGram to run Atco Records. PolyGram wanted to keep him, offering him control of Vertigo and Mercury, but he wanted a change, even if it meant losing his Bon Jovi and Cinderella royalties.

Doug Morris was hesitant about Schulman at first and saw him as a potential replacement. But Schulman built an impressive roster, signing Pantera and The Rembrandts. He had actually planned to sign Pantera to PolyGram but knew he was leaving, so he told their attorney to wait until he moved to Atco.

At first, Atco thrived. Schulman put together a strong team, and the first three years were fantastic. But eventually, he started losing perspective. One day, he heard a No. 1 song on the radio and liked it. When he asked a work colleague who had signed the artist, they said: “You did.” That moment shook him.

Doug wanted him out, but Schulman quit. He even attempted a coup while on a trip to Russia.

Roadrunner Records and the Rise of Metal

Schulman took a break before getting a call from an old friend, Case Wessels, at Roadrunner Records. Initially consulting for a year, he eventually became president.

Roadrunner was independent, which Schulman loved—no board to answer to. He scrapped some of Wessels’ ideas and focused on breaking bands like Coal Chamber and Fear Factory, both signed by Monte Conner.

Then he saw Slipknot live and knew they would be massive.

He also signed Nickelback. Their first album (with Roadrunner) featuring “Leader of Men”, got some airplay, but when “Silver Side Up” dropped, Schulman immediately recognized its potential. The moment he heard “How You Remind Me”, he knew it would be huge.

Roadrunner was suddenly rolling in cash. Wessels wanted another “Silver Side Up”, but Schulman knew those albums don’t appear every six months, more like every 5 to 10 years.

Lefsetz asked why Nickelback gets so much hate. Schulman believes they’re a guilty pleasure, many people who claim to hate them secretly enjoy their music.

Finally, Schulman pointed out that while the industry panicked over piracy during Napster, hip-hop thrived by giving music away for free.

When streaming took over, hip-hop was already dominant—and it still is.

If you like your hard rock and metal history, then Derek Schulman is an unsung hero and this podcast is one to listen to.

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