BIBLICAL

The amiable lead singer of Judas Priest serves up a heavy metal liturgy.

“You don’t go fifty years as a metal god without getting to know every last thing about what it’s like to be in a band,” writes Halford (b. 1951). To that end, he ventures commandments, parables, proscriptions, and occasional curses. The key to getting to Madison Square Garden, or, for that matter, the local pub? “When you’re starting out in a band,” he writes, “there are three things that are so crucial that you do them every single minute that you can: rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals.” Not that MSG is a be-all and end-all. Just getting in front of a crowd is payback enough, and thanks to the overly exuberant behavior of some fans, Judas Priest has been banned from MSG since 1984. These days, his post-gig routine involves a cup of tea rather than vodka and cocaine. Blending choice bits from his earlier memoir, Confess, Halford discusses the pitfalls and pleasures of life on the road. One cardinal rule: “YOU. NEVER. SHIT. ON. THE. TOUR. BUS....You don’t want to spend the morning speeding down a US freeway with your nostrils full of the drummer’s breakfast dump.” (As for drummers and bassists, so often the brunt of rock jokes, Halford counsels that they’re indispensable.) Rock is like religion in that schisms are inevitable, requiring either Spinal Tap–ish moments of free jazz or hiring some kid a third your age. The author is a grizzled—literally, sporting a “big fuck-off Gandalf beard”—veteran whose bad-boy youth is well past him. Even so, in his sermons on groupies, Halford, one of the few openly gay metal singers, allows that every now and again some young woman gropes him, which is good for a laugh.

Aspiring metal gods, or even rhythm section players, will enjoy these sermons from the mic.