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INTERACTIONS
Meeting the metal gods
TUSHAR MENON
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As they sign their new album in New Jersey, Judas Priest drop hints about a possible tour of India.
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Photo: Tushar Menon
‘Got plans for India’: K.K. Downing (left), Rob Halford and Glenn Tipton (right) of Judas Priest signing their new album.
The ride from New York City’s Pennsylvania Station to Metropark in New Jersey takes about an hour. It is, under normal circumstances, quite a dull ride. Not today, though. I am on my way to the “Vintage Vinyl” record store to meet G
lenn Tipton, Rob Halford and K.K. Downing of Judas Priest. This is the first time in over 25 years that the band is doing a promotional album signing, and, like any good fan, I had hoped that I was the only one who had heard about it. Unfortunately for me, word of this event got out about two weeks back, so I had to make an extra trip here last week to book my slot in line today by ordering their new album. Incidentally that day, the psychedelic rock band “The Electric Prunes” happened to be performing an acoustic set there to a small gathering, after which they moved to the Chinese restaurant next door where I happened to be eating. I hoped that Judas Priest would be inclined to do that too.
Unlikely place
New Jersey’s public transportation system is sparse, at best. I have to take a taxi ride from the train station to the nearby music store. It is more expensive than the ride from New York, but I don’t have a choice. It is a little under an hour until they arrive, quite unbearably cold and I see no pavement for miles in either direction.
The nameless (and wholly unimpressive) mall at the corner of Ford Avenue and Route One seems like such an unlikely and unfitting place to meet the so called “metal gods”. As I get out of the blissfully warm taxi into the unyielding cold and relentless spitting drizzle of the mall’s outdoor parking lot, I can already see the line that begins at the back entrance to the store. In about 15 minutes, it winds its way all the way to its front entrance. It is very heartening to reach the point in the queue where there are more people behind you than in front.
Conversation in a line like this is always interesting. A family of three in front of me argues incessantly about whether or not they have another umbrella in the car, but none of them wants to walk all the way there in the rain to find out, so they huddle quite uncomfortably under one small umbrella. Meanwhile, behind me, a father of two alternately complains about the weather and Dave Mustaine of Megadeth, who, apparently, was very rude to his son last year when they met him here. We exchange Mustaine stories for a few minutes before the line starts moving.
We are told by a member of the Vintage Vinyl staff that we can only get one thing signed and that we cannot have any photographs with the band. Both rules are met with loud, colourful objections.
I have spent the better part of the last week coming up with questions to ask the band. Of course, once I get inside the store and catch a glimpse of Glenn Tipton engaged in polite conversation with a fan, I forget about them entirely. The line in front is moving extremely fast. There’s barely enough time to say hello to the band before security whisks us away.
In a flash
Before I know it, I’m in front of Glenn Tipton. He shakes my hand and very politely says hello to me even before I have time to inhale. I ask him the first question that pops into my head. It turns out that I ask him if he knows how huge they are in India and if they have any plans to come here. He says that they are all aware of how popular heavy metal is in India and turns to Rob Halford, who agrees. They would love to come here. There is something in the tone of their responses and the way Tipton looks at Halford that seems to suggest that I’m not the first person to have brought up this subject. There is a hint of a “we have something in mind for India” in their behaviour. As I’m guided away by security, K.K. Downing looks at me and says, “I’ll see you there!”
“Ask for Tushar Menon when you get to India,” I respond jokingly. And it’s over. I have to move away. Like everyone else whose turn is over, I pretend to be going through the CDs in the section nearest the stage hoping to get at least a photograph of the band at close range even if I’m not in it.
It seems highly unlikely that I’ll get another chance to get close to the band and have a conversation with them, so I decide to call a taxi and get back to the train station before it gets dark. Ten minutes later, I’m in a taxi with a suicidal, depressed driver, which, of course, makes the ride that much more riveting. I dare not look away from the road. Now I’m back at Metropark wondering if what they had just said was true or whether they were just being polite. Is there going to be a Judas Priest concert in India soon? Well, there had better be one now.
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