Consuming the Tangible

We all have blind spots in our listening; sometimes willfully intentional, but more often than not the harmless result of there simply being so much music in the world, and only a finite amount of time to hear it. So despite being an avowed metalhead for over 45 years and being not an apologist but an outright fan of John Bush-era Anthrax (side A of Sound of White Noise is better than side A of Metallica’s Black Album), I had never listened to Armored Saint before now. I knew a few album covers on sight, but could not name a song title, let alone hum a single melody.

Not intentional; my musical path just never led me there until I randomly decided to pick up the Rock Candy reissue of the band’s debut March of the Saint. Sight firmly restored, I can immediately see (well, hear, but the analogy was already muddled so just play with me) why this would not have clicked with me when it came out, despite being something old-man me is delighted by.

In case I wasn’t clear in the intro: yeah, I kinda love March of the Saint, and already have an order in for both Raising Fear and Symbol of Salvation. And Rock Candy’s reissue not only delivers a solid remaster, but also includes bonus features like a thorough essay, new interviews with both Bush and founding bassist Joey Vera, and tons of pics, all of which helped me better understand how different the group’s debut was from everything else at the time. You can hear a lot of what other bands would stretch, emphasize, or hide to get the spotlight, from the liquid leads of Dave Pritchard and Phil Sandoval trading back and forth, Vera’s aggressive bass presence, and of course Bush’s voice. You can instantly hear, the moment he enters on the opening title track, why Metallica wanted him for a singer, and why when Anthrax needed a vocalist (twice, even), Bush was the perfect choice. And I love the swagger of “Can U Deliver” both because of and despite it breaking my rule of only allowing Prince to use letters for words, and for the chugging chord progression literally every band put in their songs from Spring ’84 to late ’87.

The album does that great ’80s thing: obviously stringing great riffs together with the barest attempt at smooth transitions. It’s frustrating on the beginning of “Mad House” because that opening guitar lick basically never comes back, replaced by a speedy chugging Priest riff that I love but man…they had gold with that thing, and it feels a bit wasted. That’s the most minor of quibbles, though. You can also toss in the simpering obligatory lighter song in “Take A Turn” although when it kicks into gear and Bush regains the grit in his voice it’s a powerhouse. And I wonder how he feels now about the yelping he does on the opening of “Stricken By Fate” because man that makes me laugh out loud every time, even though the riffs following are some of the best of the record.

Everything else? Solid gold, from the intricate Mercyful Fate meets Iron Maiden on “Seducer” to the sweet modulations going on throughout “Glory Hunter.” So why didn’t the 11-year-old me discover this back in the day, or dig into it or anything else from the band’s discography over the past 20+ years access to the Internet made discovering/streaming/stealing virtually every piece of music in the universe?

I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready? I remember being really, really into bands like Ratt, Dokken, Ozzy Osbourne…I was definitely at that time looking for the flashy, polished production and beautiful-looking people who would distract me from the fact I was anything other than an awkward kid with no esteem, isolated and alone despite statistically being within a one-mile radius of dozens if not hundreds of kids who felt exactly the same way. Heavier fare wouldn’t come for another couple of years when — yeah — Metallica’s Master of Puppets turned a key in my brain when I heard it played on a boombox in the back of a school bus. There’s a rawness, a denim vibe in their attack they find a way to integrate with their more progressive, thrashy moments.

And I was definitely at 11 still engaged in the leather, teased hair, and all the girls it was attracting.

But good news, Armored Saint. At 52 I pretty much have all of that out of my system, and March of the Saint sounds as kickass as it probably did 40 years ago.

Blind spot gone. Sight restored.