By Francesc Borrull · January 27, 2025

In the summer of 1984, during one of my trips to L’Ametlla de Mar to visit my cousin, I had my first taste of heavy metal. My cousin and his sister were avid fans of KISS, and it was during those sun-soaked days that I was introduced to the electrifying sounds of the genre. I distinctly remember listening to a tape of the album “Restless and Wild” (1982) by the German band Accept. It was a transformative experience, as the powerful riffs and raw energy of the music captivated my senses and left an indelible mark on my musical journey. Accept’s songs “Fast as a Shark” and especially “Princess of the Dawn” really made an impact on me. I was able to make a copy of the cassette, so I listened to this one album for a while. It was the only heavy metal album I had at the time, and the only one I could listen to.

Now forward to 1986, a pivotal year in the life of a young metalhead-to-be. I’m just a wide-eyed thirteen-year-old, navigating the treacherous waters of the final semester of elementary school. To say those years were less than stellar would be an understatement, but little did I know, life had a few surprises in store as I ventured into the realm of high school.

Enter Albert R., a classmate of mine in 8th grade. Now, Albert wasn’t exactly my buddy, but there was this unspoken connection between us. Maybe it was our mutual love for all things heavy metal that drew us together. With his mane of long hair, jeans tighter than a vice, and a wardrobe consisting solely of heavy metal shirts, he was the epitome of cool in my book. One fateful day in the school cafeteria, Dire Straits “Money for Nothing” blared from the radio. Now, Albert wasn’t exactly a Dire Straits fan, but when that distorted guitar riff sliced through the air, something clicked. He cranked up the volume, demanding that everyone within earshot pay attention. And pay attention I did. That riff? It hit me like a bolt of lightning, igniting a passion for loud guitars that would shape my musical journey for years to come.

Albert’s brother was a drummer in a band, and one day, as I roamed the streets of my hometown, I heard them rehearsing Metallica’s “Fade to Black.” As I sat near the entrance of the rehearsing studio, I was moved to tears by the beauty of the music and its profound lyrics. The lyrics struck a chord deep within me, resonating with the dichotomy of my life at that time. While I lived a somewhat dysfunctional life at home, school was my sanctuary, where I found solace and happiness. The words captured the essence of my inner turmoil, the feeling of drifting further every day, lost within myself. Yet, amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope, a recognition that only I could save myself, even as I grappled with the pain and emptiness consuming me. “Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye,” the haunting refrain echoed my innermost thoughts, giving voice to the emotions I struggled to express. In those moments, the music became more than just a soundtrack; it was a lifeline, guiding me through the darkest corners of my mind.

Fast forward to the summer of ’86, and I’m bidding farewell to the confines of elementary school, ready to take on the halls of Alexandre Satorras High School. The energy pulsating through those corridors was electrifying, and I couldn’t wait to dive in headfirst. My class? 1H, the last stop on the alphabet train. It was packed to the brim, but amidst the hustle and bustle, I found a kindred spirit in Juan Antonio F. Juan Antonio was more than just a classmate; he was a walking, talking music encyclopedia. We’d spend hours dissecting every guitar solo, drum fill, and lyric, immersing ourselves in the world of heavy metal. His passion for music was infectious, and he quickly became my mentor, my confidant, and my guide as I navigated this new musical landscape. I remember one day, as I was ‘complaining’ about Metallica’s Master of Puppets being too long, Juan Antonio quipped, “Great for me! More music for the same price!” His enthusiasm for the music was unwavering, and it opened my eyes to new perspectives. It was Juan Antonio who recommended the first heavy metal album I ever owned, Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance. 

That pivotal moment when I made my first vinyl album purchase further solidified my journey into heavy metal. Standing in the record store, surrounded by rows upon rows of tantalizing LPs, I found myself drawn to Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance. It wasn’t solely Juan Antonio’s recommendation that influenced my choice, but rather something about that album spoke to me on a personal level. Little did I know, it would mark the beginning of my deep dive into the realm of heavy metal, setting the stage for countless albums to come, each adding its own riff to the soundtrack of my teenage years. I’ll never forget the excitement of bringing that album home, the anticipation of hearing those electrifying riffs for the first time. It was a moment of self-discovery and the beginning of a lifelong journey into the heart of heavy metal, guided by the wisdom and passion of my dear friend, Juan Antonio.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, my love for heavy metal only grew stronger. I adorned myself in heavy metal shirts, let my hair grow long and wild, and immersed myself in the music of bands like Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, AC/DC and Metallica. But one day stands out vividly in my memory, a day that would shape my musical journey like no other.

I remember the day I bought Ride the Lightning by Metallica. It was a crisp afternoon, and I made my way to the record store with anticipation coursing through my veins. Metallica had released Master of Puppets in 1986, but to my disappointment, it wasn’t available at the store that day. However, fate had a different plan in store for me. Among the shelves lined with vinyl records, my eyes fell upon Ride the Lightning, beckoning me with its electrifying cover art.

In those days, buying music was a ritualistic experience. It meant spending hours browsing through the racks, hoping to stumble upon a hidden gem. The record store owner held the power to shape our musical tastes, and that day, I placed my trust in their selection. Ride the Lightning became my treasure, a prized possession that I couldn’t wait to share with the world.

On my journey back home, Ride the Lightning cradled safely under my arm, I encountered Joan F, a fellow music enthusiast. His eyes widened with excitement as I proudly displayed my purchase. Together, we marveled at the album’s intricate artwork, eagerly anticipating the sonic journey that awaited us.

As we inspected the vinyl, flipping through the insert and scrutinizing the lyrics, a sense of camaraderie washed over us. It was more than just an album; it was a testament to our shared passion for music. Joan proclaimed it as Metallica’s finest work, and as I eagerly anticipated the first notes of the album, I felt a surge of excitement coursing through me. While I had been well-versed in Metallica’s other albums like Kill ‘Em All and Master of Puppets, I couldn’t help but share in Joan’s enthusiasm for what lay ahead.

Upon arriving home, I wasted no time in spinning the record. The moment the needle touched the vinyl, I was transported to another realm, a world where the raw energy of heavy metal reigned supreme. Ride the Lightning captivated my senses, each track resonating with a power that shook me to the core. As the familiar chords of “For Whom the Bell Tolls” filled the room, I was reminded of how this song echoed through every corner, its popularity igniting a shared passion among friends and fans alike. It was like an anthem, and it still is for Metallica fans around the globe. And then there was “Fade to Black,” arguably my favorite Metallica song to this day.

Its haunting melodies and poignant lyrics struck a chord deep within me, resonating with my own experiences of navigating life’s highs and lows. I couldn’t help but recall that day when I roamed the streets of my hometown, stumbling upon Albert’s brother’s band rehearsing. It felt like deja vu as I listened to the haunting melodies of “Fade to Black,” the music intertwining with memories of that moment. Just as the band’s music filled the air that day, Metallica’s song filled me with a sense of nostalgia and reflection, reminding me of the journey I had undertaken since then.

For hours on end, I lost myself in the music, the outside world fading into insignificance as the thunderous riffs and blistering solos consumed me. It was a transformative experience, one that solidified my love for heavy metal and ignited a fire within me that would burn brightly for years to come. Ride the Lightning wasn’t just an album; it was a revelation, a guiding light on my journey through the realms of heavy metal.

Come ’87, my brother and I landed a gig at the local radio station, hosting our very own heavy metal show. It was a dream come true, a chance to share our love for the music that had shaped us into who we were. Sure, the higher-ups may not have understood the appeal, but for us, it was a chance to connect with fellow metalheads and spread the gospel of heavy metal far and wide.

And then there was that fateful day at my aunt’s house. As I wandered through the cluttered room, my eyes landed on a bass guitar tucked away in a dusty corner. With a sense of curiosity piqued, I couldn’t resist the urge to pick it up. To my surprise, my aunt noticed and casually mentioned that I could take it home with me. So, without a second thought, I seized the opportunity and claimed the instrument as my own. Little did I know, this impulsive decision would become my ticket into the world of music, opening doors to new friendships and unforgettable experiences. Sure, I had no clue how to play it at the time, and I didn’t even have an amp to plug the instrument into. But who needs an amp when you’ve got dreams of rock stardom fueling your every strum? 

Soon and very soon, I joined a band that a friend of a friend was putting together. We gathered at the house of one of the band members, excited to start rehearsing. However, as I quickly realized, I was the only member of the band without an amp, and I was told to ‘pretend’ I was playing. Feeling embarrassed but determined, I soldiered on. As expected, none of us had a clue about music, and our rehearsal session for “For Whom the Bell Tolls” by Metallica turned into more of a social gathering than a musical endeavor. I only ‘rehearsed’ with the band for a couple of more days. Despite the lack of progress, I maintained a friendship with one of the band members, although I can’t recall his name.

We often met at Plaça de Catalunya in Mataró to drink and listen to music. One day, we spent the whole evening listening to and comparing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and Iron Maiden’s Somewhere in Time. We analyzed every riff, air-guitared every song, and debated endlessly to determine which album was better. They were both so good that we couldn’t decide. I believe Metallica won in the end because Iron Maiden committed the ‘sin’ of including keyboards in the production of this album. After so many years have passed, I found myself listening to the song “Wasted Years” at the gym the other day, and I was moved to tears as Bruce Dickinson proclaimed: “So understand / Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years / Face up, make your stand / Realize you’re living in the golden years.” Now that it’s too late, I understand the meaning of the song and the meaning of life. I had it all, but those days are now gone forever.

My friend’s excessive drinking eventually led me to distance myself from those gatherings, opting instead for more supportive and music-focused friendships. During this time, my musical tastes continued to expand beyond heavy metal, including bands like Guns N’ Roses and AC/DC. Despite the ups and downs of my high school years at Alexandre Satorras, they remain some of the best days of my life. From falling in love for the first time to excelling academically, those years shaped me in ways I’ll never forget. And while my life has taken many twists and turns since then, one thing remains constant: my love for music. Even now, as I reflect on my journey, I see the enduring influence of bands like Metallica and AC/DC in the classroom, where I’ve spent over 20 years as an educator. It’s a testament to the timeless power of music to bridge generations and shape identities.

As the years passed, my taste in music evolved, but the love for heavy metal remained steadfast. Now, as I reflect on those formative years, I find myself reminiscing about the camaraderie, the friendships forged in the fires of rebellion and passion. While life may have taken me down different paths, the memories of headbanging to Iron Maiden, jamming out to Metallica, and losing myself in the raw energy of heavy metal concerts still bring a smile to my face. Those were the days, the days of youthful exuberance, of endless possibilities, and of a love for music that knew no bounds. And though the years may have passed, the music lives on, a constant reminder of who I was and who I’ll always be—a metalhead at heart.

So, here’s to the music that saved my soul, the friends who stood by my side, and the journey that continues to unfold with every riff, every beat, and every scream. Long live heavy metal!

© Francesc Borrull, 2024-2025