Why Meat Loaf Mattered: A Salute to Horsepower, Hormones and Heft
Chris Willman Music WriterAmong Meat Loaf’s critical defenders — which, as you may have realized if you’ve paid much attention over the years, is a very niche market in the world of rock tastemakers — there’s a word that comes up over and over again, employed as a sort of backhanded compliment: “ridiculous.” I’ve used it myself, and fairly recently. It’s a qualification meant to convey that we know rock ‘n’ roll is not supposed to be about Wagnerian grandiosity, eight-minute song lengths, singing that even a tenor at the Met might say could be toned down a little, fantastical Richard Corben cover paintings, 24-track recordings that can sound like 124… or that word that most strikes dread into the hearts of music critics everywhere: “suite.” If you’re going to profess your love for (or even just tolerance of) “Bat Out of Hell,” it’s necessary to preface or succeed that admission with a quick acknowledgement that you get just how silly it all is.