The Spirit Of Radio

Three things brought the world of heavy metal much closer to me over the Christmas holiday in ’85; and two of them were introduced to me by my uncle. He was only a few years older than me and was a drummer in a proper band. Those eight years between us were a colossal chasm however. He was in the Boys Brigade when I was in nappies, in work when I reached puberty, and living a grown-up life while I was still able to reach high C above the stave.

Still, as a 21 year old rocker living in the suburbs of Birmingham, the home of heavy metal, he was as heroic and formidable a role model as any young rock fan could wish for. It wasn’t just the lifestyle of Friday nights down the pub, or his flame-haired girlfriend who wore astonishingly tight leather trousers, although both were very impressive, there was also the massive drum kit in the granny-flat extension as well as his fabulous record collection to drool over.

The nearest my parents got to guitar rock was a mono copy of Sgt Peppers, but Dave had some absolute classics hidden in the hi-fi cabinet. There was a Deep Purple best of, (on purple vinyl of course), and a couple of Lizzy albums too. I particularly liked the double-albums in his collection, Live and Dangerous, On Stage, and the ponderous Song Remains the Same. I got a bit confused with the Rainbow albums though, as the same singer seemed to be on one of his Black Sabbath records, Heaven and Hell. I was yet to realise just how complicated band membership had been in the previous decade, and just how many of these bands had revolving memberships and tortured family trees. There were a couple of Rush albums there too, 2112 and Fly By Night, the latter of which I dismissed because the cover was so terrible. Surely if they were going be so lazy as to put a crappy owl on the front of the album then the contents couldn’t be that good? It would be a while before I understood Rush...

But the rest of the records were just bloody fantastic as far as I was concerned, although I was a bit troubled by the fact there was nothing post-1980 in the racks. I used to put Moby Dick on the record player and bash away on Dave’s drum kit, convinced it couldn’t be that difficult. I asked Dave why there wasn’t any Iron Maiden in his collection and he made a snorting derisory sound that knocked me for a while, Maiden were the best band in the world, weren’t they?

Dave said to wait until I saw his band, Target UK, in action. They had produced their own single with help from Budgie’s guitarist, John Thomas, and every member of the family had received their own signed copy for Christmas that year. I wasn’t sure who Budgie was, but Dave assured me that they had headlined big festivals like Reading in the past. Big JT might even be able to get me into an Iron Maiden rehearsal if the timing was right. But anyway, I should be excited about seeing Target UK, not some new-fangled NWOBHM chancers.

Dave was also going on about getting the single played on the radio, which left me perplexed. They didn’t play Metal on the radio did they? So Dave told me about the BBC Rock Show, which he didn’t listen to because (a) it was on at night when he was down the pub and (b) it played modern crap instead of good honest Rock.

That evening I scanned the airwaves for the BBC, and was severely disappointed to find No Heavy Metal being played. But then as I was turning the dial I heard a familiar sound; Iron Maiden! It was the local radio station, BRMB, and they had a rock show of their own. I was so excited I taped the damned thing and listened to it over and over. They played Metallica, Crue, Twisted Sister, Accept, and many names that were new to me, but they didn’t play Target UK. Dave accepted this phlegmatically, as he did for most things in life.

We drove home after New Year’s Day had been and gone, without me having seen Target UK but happily loaded down with taped copies of all Dave’s records. When we got home I discovered the Radio One Rock Show was on a Friday, and I started to listen to it religiously. My view of the world had suddenly become panoramic, Technicolor, bigger, brighter, louder. I had a grounding in rock history now, passed down half a generation and cherished, and I had the keys to the future thanks to Tommy Vance. The Friday Rock Show was more important than any other thing an adolescent male should be doing, or thinking about doing, at that time of the week, although I could only listen to it in school holidays.

And months later, one Friday night when I was sat in the lounge with headphones , I suddenly jumped up and started gibbering with incoherent excitement. A sharp look from my father didn’t calm me, despite the fact my parents were busy watching TV, and I managed to gasp out “Dave’s on the radio! Target UK are on Radio One!” I pulled out the headphone jack so they could hear the evidence and we all gaped in amazement, unable to process the information for a moment.

Then Mum ran off to phone her little brother, to tell him he was famous now...


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