Confess

by Rob Halford

I’ve always said that I could smell and taste heavy metal before the music was even invented . . .

Dad’s passion for planes rubbed off on me and we’d make Airfix models together – Flying Fortresses, Spitfires, Hurricanes.

My favourite subject was English literature, and I got into poets like W.B. Yeats. I liked music lessons and was good at geography. I’m a big believer in destiny so, to me, that all makes sense: I’ve spent my life writing lyrics, playing music and touring the world!

However, there was one band from that era that rocked my socks off more than any other, and that still does – Queen.

I first heard Queen when Alan Freeman played them on his Radio 1 show, and then Kenny Everett did the same. They sounded good, but it wasn’t until I saw them on Top of the Pops that they blew my mind. Freddie Mercury was a god for me from the off.

One female interviewer arrived convinced that we were called Judith Priest. Maybe she was expecting to meet an earnest female singer-songwriter?

I worked hard at my lyrics. I hated how so many heavy rock songs were about getting drunk, or fucking women: lame, predictable stuff. I was reading a lot of sci-fi, by writers like Isaac Asimov, and I loved incorporating that influence into songs like ‘Island of Domination’.

‘Love is never closing your hand. Love is never making a fist.’

I was walking back towards our sound stage when I saw something heading towards me. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? No, it was a huge bloke and, as he neared, I saw it was Christopher Reeve. It was cold, so he was wearing a fur coat . . . on top of his Superman costume. It just blurted out of my gob: ‘Oh, hello, Superman!’ ‘Hey!’ said the Man of Steel. ‘What’s up?’ ‘I’m here rehearsing with my band,’ I told him. ‘Oh, yeah? What’s their name?’ ‘Judas Priest.’ ‘Awesome! Well, good luck with it!’ ‘Thanks!’ And, with that, Clark Kent strode past me to change out of his fur coat and rescue Lois Lane from a plunging chopper.

Now Priest were on a major label, our tour transport had gone up a notch. It was bye-bye stinky Mercedes van and hello to a second-hand, bright orange Volvo, which we drove to gigs while our road crew (another new addition!) went ahead in the van. Good! It all felt like progress.

There is a thin line between being ‘influenced’ and being ‘inspired’ by another band. Being ‘influenced’ often means you just copy other artists and try to sound like them. But I was definitely inspired by Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’ when we wrote ‘Take on the World’.

I had a night in Athens before getting the boat to Mykonos, so I went to a gay bar I had read about. It was absolutely rammed, and I was having a drink in a corner when, just across from me, on the other side of the bar, I spotted . . . Freddie Mercury. It’s weird, but although Freddie was a hero, I had mixed feelings about him then. Queen had just had a big hit with ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’, and in the video Freddie got off a motorbike, all in black leather, and threw his biker’s cap away. It had niggled me: was he ripping me off? I’d also read one or two interviews where Queen had been asked if they were a heavy metal band and Freddie had said they weren’t. It had bothered me. It sounds preposterous now, and it is, but those things were on my mind when I clocked him. Freddie saw me across the bar and gave me a wave and a wink. I’d have liked to go across to talk to him, but you couldn’t move in the bar and, if I am honest, I was nervous. By the time I got my courage up, he had gone.

While I was on the beach, I saw Freddie again. He was kind of hard to miss. He had a big yacht, festooned with pink balloons, and he was sailing round and round the island with scores of buff gay guys in thongs sprawled all around him on the deck like courtiers. Amazing!

‘Jawbreaker’ saw me doing my party piece of smuggling gay lyrics on to our albums again. It was a song about a giant cock, about to come, and powerful enough to, well, break the jaw of any guy who tangled with it: Deadly as the viper, peering from its coil, The poison there is coming to the boil

As we finished Turbo, a movie company got in touch asking to use ‘Reckless’ in a new Tom Cruise film called Top Gun. It would have meant leaving the track off the album, which we didn’t want to do, and we didn’t think the film sounded like it would be much cop, so we turned them down. Good move, huh?

The Painkiller tour was kicking off in Canada in October, so we headed to a freezing cold sports hall near Lake Placid for ten days of rehearsals. I had one of my light-bulb moments there. Rollerblading was making a bit of a comeback, and I headed into the nearest town and bought a pair. Soon, I was rollerblading around the stage, and singing, as we got the tour production and set list together. ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be a great idea if I rollerbladed during the shows?’ I suggested. ‘You know, all in leather?’ Some of my ideas get waved through – but on this one, the reaction from the rest of the band was unanimous: ‘No, it would bloody NOT be a good idea for you to rollerblade on tour, Rob!’ So, that was that. I didn’t rollerblade on tour.

They were talking to a guy called Dimebag Darrell about his band, Pantera. I had never heard of Pantera, but Dimebag was wearing a British Steel T-shirt, so I cocked an ear. He said nice things about Priest, and then they played the video for Pantera’s ‘Cowboys from Hell’. Fucking hell! They were phenomenal!

I walked down to the studio to meet him. Dimebag was a lovely guy – within minutes, I felt like I’d known him for years. That night, Pantera were playing a gig in Toronto. I went, and was blown away. What a band! And what cool, easy-going Texan guys! It was heavy metal and it sounded brutal, and original, and fresh. The next day, I told the rest of Priest all about Pantera. ‘Let’s take them on tour in Europe!’ I suggested. Nobody quibbled. Done deal. Cool!

We were second headliners on the metal day to Guns N’ Roses, who were then the biggest band in the world. I loved their music, and Axl Rose’s presence and charisma. To me, they were a heavy metal Rolling Stones. But I’d also heard that Axl could be . . . difficult. This was confirmed on the day of the show, when we got a message from the Guns N’ Roses camp that I couldn’t ride my Harley on stage for ‘Hell Bent for Leather’. Axl didn’t want me to, I was told. It was Dublin all over again . . . and I felt totally the same as I had then. ‘Well, the show is off, then,’ I said.

‘Axl wants you to know that this whole thing about your motorbike is nothing to do with him!’ he claimed. ‘He never said you can’t use the bike. You can use the bike!’ So, had it been an officious tour manager getting above himself, or had Axl backed down and was now trying to save face? Who knew? Who cared? All I was bothered about was that I was riding on stage on the bike. Whether Axl bloody Rose liked it or not.

I’d got used to journalists dropping sly questions about my views on gays into rock interviews. I always took the same approach as Freddie had: ‘That’s nothing to do with the band.’ I just figured it was nobody’s business.

‘Oh, hey, Rob, great to meet you!’ Madonna said, without getting up. She looked me up and down. ‘You have a lot of tattoos!’ I did, by then. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you have them everywhere?’ she asked me. I pulled up my shirt to show her the designs on my torso. ‘And how far down do they go?’ asked Madonna, coquettishly. I pulled the waist of my shorts down to the top of my pubes. She leaned forward and peered at my crotch. Her nose was virtually touching my stomach. Bloody hell, Rob! I thought to myself. You only met Madonna two minutes ago, and you’ve already nearly got your cock in her gob! ‘Oh, wow!’ she marvelled. ‘And do they go further than that?’ ‘Yeah, but I think we’d better stop there,’ I said. ‘Yes,’ agreed Madonna, nodding. ‘I suppose that’s probably a good idea.’ And that was the end of my very short backstage encounter with the Queen of Pop. I hope that she remembers it as fondly as I do.

‘That’s Trent Reznor’s studio,’ he told me. Wow! I’d never met Trent, but Nine Inch Nails were my favourite of the whole new wave of techno-industrial-metal artists. The studio was an imposing former funeral home (well, of course it was!); I gazed at it, reverentially. Chuck intercepted my gaze. ‘You should go in and say “hi”,’ he suggested. ‘No!’ I shook my head. I’ve never bought into all that schmoozing-with-the-stars crap. It can all feel false, and a bit daft. ‘I don’t do stuff like that!’

I knocked on the studio door. Which was not just any old door. After Trent had made Nine Inch Nails’ album The Downward Spiral in the Hollywood mansion where the Charles Manson murders had taken place, he had bought the door as a souvenir and relocated it to his studio. So, I was knocking on poor Sharon Tate’s door.

A minute later, the Queen was standing in front of me. Receptions are one of the few times that she doesn’t wear gloves, but she was holding a glass. Apparently, it’s to stop people trying to shake her hand. Well, it didn’t stop me. Instinctively, without thinking, I stuck my hand out to her. Cilla gave me a poke in the ribs, as if to say, ‘No!’ The Queen regarded me, and gave my hand the slightest brush with the tips of her fingers. I didn’t attempt a full-on bow, but I gave a very respectful nod.

‘Thank you so much for coming,’ said the Queen. ‘Isn’t it strange that we have no music playing, when it’s a music event?’ ‘Yeah, that would’ve been nice!’ I said, trying not to sound too yam-yam. ‘I should have had a string quartet in the background,’ mused Her Majesty. ‘And what do you do?’ Before I could answer, Cilla chimed in: ‘He’s in this band called Judas Priest! He’s come all the way from Finland to be here!’ ‘Oh,’ said the Queen. ‘And what kind of music do you play?’ ‘Heavy metal, your Majesty,’ I said. The Queen gave me a slightly pained look. ‘Oh, heavy metal,’ she said. ‘Why does it have to be so loud?’ Woah! The Queen just said the words ‘heavy metal’! Possibly for the first time in her life! But . . . how do I answer THAT question? ‘It’s so we can bang our heads, Your Majesty!’ I told her. Cilla gave me another dig in the ribs. The Queen smiled, regally. ‘It’s been very nice to meet you,’ she pronounced. As she turned to leave, I instinctively stuck my hand out towards her again. And got yet another jab in the ribs from Cilla. ‘You don’t shake the Queen’s hand!’ she scolded me, as our monarch walked slowly away. ‘Nobody told me!’ I said. ‘I dunno anything about etiquette!’ ‘Oh, I can’t take you anywhere!’ sighed Cilla Black. On my flight back to the Arctic Circle, I replayed the scene, and the encounter, in my head a million times. Had it really just happened? It was a day I will never forget. The day I met the Queen. And it had been even better than Walsall...

It was a beautiful day, full of love for Ronnie. I still blast out his music today before I go on stage. He inspires me.*

* Just a few months ago, Ronnie’s widow, Wendy, gave me one of his collection of dragon statues, and a ring that he used to sport on stage. I wear it with pride.

I was blown away by Lady Gaga as soon as she appeared on the pop scene. She looked fantastic, and I loved her crazy costumes and the fact she wrote her own songs . . . and, most of all, I adored her voice. For me, it always comes down to the voice. I was smitten, and started reading everything I could about Gaga . . . and was amazed to learn that she had once been a teenage metalhead, and one of her favourite bands was Priest! Through Jayne, I sent her a message: ‘If you ever want to come to a show, just say!’ ‘Thanks, I will!’ the message came back.

Her people spoke to our people, and we arranged that, when I rode my Harley on stage for ‘Hell Bent for Leather’, Lady Gaga would be sitting on the back of the bike! It was exciting, and I had a job keeping my gob shut and not ruining the surprise.

It was to be a long outing, covering around fourteen months, and the guys were a little uncertain when I told them who I wanted to take out as our support act: ‘Are you sure about this, Rob?’ But I was. I’d followed the career of Steel Panther since they started out on the Sunset Strip fifteen years earlier. They were essentially a spoof of hair metal acts like Mötley Crüe and Poison, and it worked like a dream because they had fantastic tunes and they absolutely rocked. As I’ve always said, Judas Priest take our music seriously but not ourselves, and I howled at Steel Panther and their songs like ‘Asian Hooker’ and ‘Fat Girl (Thar She Blows)’. Their bassist, Lexxi Foxx, had a full-length mirror on stage to preen himself in front of. How he has escaped legal action from Nikki Sixx is beyond me!*

I was mooching around the airport late at night, waiting for our flight to LA, when I saw Lemmy sitting on his own. Normally, if Lemmy was on his own, he didn’t like to be bothered, but I went over and joined him. ‘Alright, Lem?’ ‘Alright, Rob.’ We had a bit of a chat but Lemmy seemed quiet and subdued by his usual lively standards. For some reason, I took his hand, and we sat like that in silence for a few minutes. Then, I said, ‘Hey, Lem, let’s do a selfie!’ He gave me the Lemmy Stare, and I braced myself to be told, ‘Fuck off, Rob!’ But instead, he smiled and said, ‘Oh, go on, then.’ I took a snap of us together. It was the last time I was to see him. Before the end of the year, Lemmy was dead. I spoke at his funeral in Hollywood. ‘Whenever I was in the presence of Lord Lemmy, I always felt a bit overwhelmed,’ I said. ‘Admiration, mainly. Here is a man that lived the rock ’n’ roll life on his own terms. A true rock ’n’roll maverick!’ And you can say that again.

I sing with my eyes closed a lot. Without sounding too poncey here, I hope, it helps me to go to a different place. Even though I’m on stage in front of people, it’s a very private, personal experience for me. Singing is what I do: what I am. Closing my eyes helps me to express myself and give the very best performance I can

Singing is my mental release; my purpose; my meaning. I only feel truly, fully alive when I am on stage and singing with Judas Priest.

Because, whatever age you may be, when you go to a heavy metal gig, you’re a teenager again.