Back in 1985, I was nineteen and working part time in a grocery store, spending most of my spare change on Heavy Metal albums or cassettes. I was still a teenager trying to find my college and career path back then, making minimum wage really left me with extremely limited funds. Being picky about my purchases in 1985 was out of necessity. To buy a brand new book back then, it had to be good… Heavy Metal good. I would frequent regularly, (most of the time just to browse), a mom & pop bookstore called Bookworks. This store unfortunately no longer exists, thanks to the gigantic, corporate bookstore chains that invaded every corner of the globe. Um, back to the Bookworks store… you see, I happened upon a book that caught my eye instantly sometime back in 1985, the title Heavy Metal Thunder appeared too good to be true. The front cover of the book said it all… sub headings read: The Music, It’s History, It’s Heroes. Plus, a fully adorned Heavy Metal guitarist playing a flying V guitar, on this books front cover, was more than I could possibly resist. I bought Heavy Metal Thunder willingly for $12.95. This was the full cover price back in 1985, quite a bit of cash considering my economic situation back then.

I can remember walking home with this book under my arm, the feeling of striking Heavy Metal gold was resonating through me. Knowing this was a book documenting the history of Heavy Metal up to 1985, enticed me to become the Heavy Metal scholar of my block. I read this book from front to back repeatedly, taking in the facts and timelines of the Heavy Metal history found within it’s pages. As I look back now, this book was as informative as any Heavy Metal book available back in 1985. As I leaf through the pages of Heavy Metal Thunder today, it is obvious this book was written from the perspective of being in the year 1985. Don’t let the year 1985 fool you however, this book is accurate, informative and fact filled with enough Heavy Metal history to still satisfy me in 2009. I wish there was a companion edition of Heavy Metal Thunder that was written, a book that dates from 1985 to the present. The author, Philip Bashe, compiled a timeline of Heavy Metal evolution, in commendable fashion, with this book.

There are 32 full color pages of band and individual musician photos in Heavy Metal Thunder, each photo seems to capture the essence and significance of the Old School Heavy Metal genre. Dozens of black and white photos of Heavy Meal bands and musicians adorn the pages of this great book as well. The featured bands in this book, being depicted in color photos as well, are: Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Scorpions, Rush, AC/DC, Van Halen, Iron Maiden, Def Leppard, Quiet Riot and Motley Crue. Arguably, these were the biggest and most commercially embraced Heavy Metal bands back in 1985. KISS, Jimi Hendrix, Deep Purple, Mountain, Blue Cheer, Randy Rhoads, Twisted Sister, Lita Ford, Ronnie James Dio and Led Zeppelin do get their justified due in black and white photographs and are recognized for their importance in shaping and creating the Heavy Metal genre as we know it today. Even The Kinks, The Who and Grand Funk Railroad get their significance pointed out.

For it’s time, Philip Bashe does a top tier job at acknowledging a majority of the bands and musicians that were instrumental in the evolution of Heavy Metal, up to 1985, even if it is a short anecdote, quick mention or fact. From Elvis Presley to the The Doors to Fastway, the links and roots of Heavy Metal are touched upon in such an intriguing way by Philip Bashe, that I find Heavy Metal Thunder to still be a valuable read in 2009. The single most incredible aspect of Heavy Metal Thunder, is the Chronology, (timeline and progression of Heavy Metal Music), which is written so very well by Philip Bashe. This chronology begins on April 28, 1958, with guitarist Link Wray and his million selling instrumental single Rumble and ends on December 31, 1984, with the auto accident of Def Leppard’s drummer, Rick Allen. Believe me, the bands and their respective achievements, that are touched upon in between this timeline, is nothing short of a fascinating read.

Heavy Metal Thunder is a soft cover with 214 pages. A large size book, it measures 8.5″ x 11″ and is written with enough factual research that only adds to it’s total historical credibility. Metalheads both young and old, should find this book completely absorbing, with both it’s written and visual content. I have seen Heavy Metal Thunder for sale on Amazon.com, there were several used copies for sale, as recent as today. I saw the used copy price was for far less than the cover price I paid back in 1985. For me, it was money well spent 25 years ago… for I still own Heavy Metal Thunder to this very day.

So, I have pledged that the month of December (starting in true, Khadoran, snowy fashion) shall yield me completing two minis. The first being my Eiryss, Mage Hunter of Ios and my Destroyer Warjack. The destroyer won’t be in the usual Khador red, I opted for green on this guy. There will be some hits of red, but I really, and I mean really hate painting red. I figured a WW2 style green armour would look cool. I can see it having plenty of weathering and some rust patches, and will even be putting some snow on him too. I figured I would change the schemes up for different units/jacks in my Khador army. One of the things that bothers me about Warmachine is that each faction has its color. Its like a bloody football team or something.

Eiryss will be dropping the green cloak in favor of a snowy white cloak, to keep in theme with the northlands, with a green surcoat and a pale ice blue on the inside of her cloak. She’ll probably have brown leather boots, and will be complemented by a snow covered base. I want to convey her ‘invisibilty’ attribute by having her well camoflaged, only distinguishing the gear she is wearing underneath her cloak. I also own the alternate sculpt that was available through No Quarter magazine, and in my opinion is a far superior sculpt to the one i’ll be painting. The original, while dynamic, looks a little odd on the battlefield with the ‘movement’ of the figure, exaggerated by the positioning of the cloak. Does she only run backward? or is the wind always blowing from behind her? Sometimes I think Privateer Press should think less about crazy dynamic posing, and more about pose durability with their figures. Still, if this plastic rumor is to be believed, then we’ll see a world of difference…

I’ll start posting photo’s of the progression soon!!

I hopped up, got dressed and hit the stairs before the smell of bacon, and eggs got to me. But when it did, I thought Daddy out did himself.  Downstairs, staring at the sink, filled with soaking dishes, the bacon grease commingling with the sudsy water, I accepted the apology. Cub Koda appeared a while later, lost in that little children place, a picture of dormant inertia. He got into his chair, and we ate in silence. Then, between bites of this grand feast, the kind we had not seen since the great departure, his doughy face creased red where the fabric from his blanket bunched together, he weakly cried out, when is my Momma coming back, to groggy to insist more than that. I don’t know, Cub, she’s on the road, you know, she’s out there, doing her thing, I don’t think she knows when.  I don’t believe you, you always know. You talked on the phone with her, he said, the pitch of his voice shifting for higher ground. I tried to reason with him, but  he was too tired to listen. Does she miss us? I told him she did, but I wondered myself. Cub Koda’s deepest thoughts clung earnestly to Superman sheets, went clothed in threadbare hand me down Star Trek pajamas that I wore until greasy spots pockmarked them, and the sleeves rose to my elbows. His world had no objectivity, and he existed as a byproduct in it, an afterthought in more than appearance, and because of this, I forgave him instantaneously for what connection he shared with Daddy, because all Cub Koda wanted, all he needed was Momma, and if he couldn’t have her, he’d settle on Daddy, a distant second in my opinion, but a worthy surrogate none the less, a man willing to accept his stake in life, and yet willingly attempting to better it. The bible tells a lot of things, and duty is one. Duty makes you worth something. You can’t escape it. Even the damn bible knows that.

We had been bound to our copy of the good book from an early age, according to Momma’s instruction. Her voice recited its illogical strands, and gave pervasive lessons from the great but dingy Family Bible. Its swollen legends of hardened life seamed perfectly with the vengeful rhapsody God delivered from the heavens, and the tales, these scrupulous parables uncovered a mercy in her, when she read from it. We weren’t as poor as some, and perhaps Cub Koda could not tell the difference, but we lacked more than most, and the Bible clings to the weakened best of all. Of course we saw it as our portal into a more fantastic world, despite its brutality, and frogs, and leeches, and plagues. For something that bleak to enable any beauty at all, fear sent you down to follow along with the prophecies and parables. Not God, but fear.

The book’s leather had succumbed on its ridged spine, worn away by generations of Clancys, long departed. Semi embossed letters situated across the front in a sweeping arc spelled out The Holy Bible, and beneath that, Standard Edition in what once had been actual gold leaf, though that had long ago flaked off, leaving scratched bits of dimpled naked leather in its place. When Momma read to us at night, she read from that book, and only that book. Her fingers traced the letters, as she sat us on her lap, delivering us from evil. Daddy hadn’t the nerve to cross her, then, which had as much to do with her white skin and brown curls and lustrous attention she paid to him late at night, as it did to this vision of his family presented to him. He knew the persnickety inner workings, and science of most machinery, but he did not know the stars, or their history, least not the way his wife believed she knew them.

And she made sure we knew bible, and understood the world it represented, despite the crude, gothic barbarism of some parts, everything eventually balanced out. Right will prevail against wrong, if you remain virtuous. To a child, the value of a stern God is immeasurable, exquisite. Children need things to wrap themselves inside of, like belief, and trust, like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the splendor of divinity, or the devil. Who knows what people they will become, we will finally be. When Momma laid out Genesis, and explained the world of Ezra, of Jeremiah, the kings, and priests, the thousands of bullock, the daughters of Egypt, the cry of the axe, all contrived to lament us, and tantalize us, not just to teach us, or prevent us. The bible gained our attention with dark hollows full of stricken heretics who behaved like western bandits, highwaymen who willingly would give up their guns, to receive a curious, but spiritual light. Thwarted Philistines, and boorish pagans. Our father, he who art in heaven. It was only one she left when we strayed from the fine morality of its pages, and laid our hope amidst the ragweed struggling through the mustardy browned bits of oxidized farm implements Daddy spent more time ignoring than repairing. Engine blocks sprung up beside young stalks of corn. Heresy formed a most powerful lobby, and rebellion’s gathering pubescent storm rollickingly swayed my attentions to the transistor radio’s heavy metal thunder. I am Iron Man. Runnin’ With the Devil. Salvage rather than salvation.