Brad Brown

[Warning: Article may contain dated references to a style of music known as “heavy metal.” Reader discretion is advised.]

Photo by Simon Davison

I was sixteen when I realized that I wanted to play guitar. I was watching Headbangers Ball in a Panama City hotel room when the Iron Maiden song “The Trooper” started playing on the television. What I saw sparked a yearning in me that I had never felt before (not counting Penthouse magazine). I was hooked - the spandex, the long hair, the chicks - I wanted it all. After returning home from spring break, I set a course for rock stardom.
 

Perfectly Good Guitar

My Mom (we’ll call her Myra) thought it best if I purchased an acoustic guitar and learned folk songs, like Camptown Ladies (”Camptown ladies sing this song, doo dar, doo dar…”). I thought it best if I skipped acoustic guitar and went straight for the electric, so I could play songs by Yngwie J. Malmsteen (Sweden’s answer to John Denver). Mom controlled the purse strings (literally), so she won the battle. I spent the next year playing my three chords on a Yamaha acoustic, dreaming of the day when I could start shredding. “Shredding,” for the musically clueless, involves playing scales really fast without any melody whatsoever. It’s what happens when you apply athletic prowess to guitar playing. In the late 80’s, it was all the rage.
 
I was a sneaky bastard. When Mom asked what I wanted for Christmas that year, I told her I wanted another acoustic guitar. “What’s wrong with the one you have?” she axed. “It really sucks,” I replied. So she gave me $100 and told me to buy whatever I wanted. What I wanted was a Sears and Roebuck electric guitar, black with red trim. What I really wanted was a Fender Stratocaster with scalloped fingerboard and custom Dimarzio pickups, but since money was tight, I opted for a Sears model instead. I placed the order and waited. Eventually, the guitar was delivered and I opened the package with the eagerness of a young man expecting an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model BB gun with a compass in the stock. Mom said, “That doesn’t look like an acoustic guitar.” I assured her it was, and ran with it into my room to begin practicing my hot licks. Eventually, I tricked her into buying me an amp as well. I had arrived.
 

You’re Fired

My friend Cliff and I stopped by his buddy’s house one Saturday. We walked into the garage where his friends were practicing. They were starting a band and they wanted to see if I would be a good fit. Each of them had been playing their respective instruments for just a couple of months. I had spent an entire year practicing for two to three hours a night in my bedroom; I had become the Yngwie Malmsteen of eastern Alabama. The other guitar player said, “Why don’t you play a little for us?” I started with Eruption by Van Halen, then did a little Judas Priest, and ended with a little Racer X. When I finished, their mouths were all agape with shock and awe. I thought it was a good sign - they all laughed, patted me on the back, and told me they’d see me next week.
 
Two days later, Cliff called to tell me that I was a bit too good, and that the other guitarist was worried that I’d make him look bad. I was fired from my first band even before the first practice! This brings up an important life lesson for the younger BradBrown.com reader - don’t ever let them see how good you are, in any endeavor, until you’re ensconced. Find out what the average is, and work to achieve that average. That way, you won’t scare the underachievers who control your fate.
 

Madison Square Garden

Every year at school, we had a talent show. I decided to enter. The plan was for me to play solo for two minutes. I walked on stage, plugged my Sears guitar into my Peavey Renown amp, and started playing. It’s amazing how you lose track of time when you really get into your music. Five minutes later, I looked down and saw a friend giving me the “cut” sign across his throat. I quickly wrapped it up, and later lost the contest to a girl with a dancing poodle. Afterward, I heard stories of the elderly ladies in the audience grimacing in horror as I played. I would have loved to have seen that. The good news is that my popularity soared among the young teenage girls, and I was worshiped like a major deity (at least that’s how I remember it).
 

Photo by Kristopher Avila

Don’t Bring Me Down, Gruß

I had three career choices as a teen: rocker, English professor, and computer programmer. Myra had a heart-to-heart with me one day, and she told me that only computer programmers made money, and that I’d end up a loser if I chose to study rocking or English. Heartbroken, I gave up music (and English as a first language). These days, I still occasionally pick up the guitar, play my C/G/E chords to assure myself that I still have chops, and then I’ll put it back in the case and shove it back under the bed. I keep telling myself that when I retire from blogging, I’m going to go on tour of all the Starbucks in the area to recapture some of my former glory. So if you see a white guy at your local Starbucks singing “Afternoon Delight” on a Friday night, it’s probably me. Please tip generously.
 

Prequel

Someone (probably my sister Pascale Brown-Montague) gave me the book “The God of Rock” as a gift for my twelfth birthday. It was an encyclopedia of the anti-Christian tendencies of rock music acts. Here’s just a bit of what I learned:

• “Beware of anything that has to do with Led Zeppelin.” - this is an actual quote.
• Freddy Mercury of Queen was gay. I wasn’t sure what “gay” meant, but I assumed it must be bad.
• K.I.S.S. was an acronym for “Kids In Service to Satan.” I thought it meant “Knights in Satan’s Service.” Regardless, I was scared!
• The Eagles’ song “Life in the Fast Lane” is an expression of the utter folly and total despair of the rock music scene. Anton Lavey, high priest of the Church of Satan, appears on the cover of their album “Hotel California.”

After reading this book, I decided to burn all my records - the “Killing Me Softly” 45 by Roberta Flack, the “De Do Do Do” 45 single by The Police, and my Paul Stanley 8-track. However, I kept the “Greatest American Hero” single (too uplifting to burn). Before lighting the bonfire, I almost put my eye out when a fragment of the “De Do Do Do” single hit me in the eye as I broke it in half. After lighting the bonfire, I almost passed out and fell into it due to the sickening smoke from the burning records. However, almost losing my eye and breathing the fumes of Satan were worth it - I had removed all symbols of evil in my life. Eventually, that evil would return…
 

Are You Experienced?

Have you ever had your dreams crushed, particularly at a young age? If so, I’d love to hear about it. Please leave a comment sharing your experiences, and feel free to name those responsible for such heinous discouragement. Together, we can make a difference.

 

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