From Kanye West to the Spice Girls and Meat Loaf: Why Our Childhood Musical Idols Matter

As a child growing up in the pubs, bars, and clubs of an anonymous British town, there wasn’t a jukebox within a ten-mile radius that didn’t play Bat Out Of Hell almost hourly. That record, and the man who recorded it, made a significant crater in my early understanding of art, culture, and self.

Friday 21st January 2022 — one week ago today — started like any other normal Friday for me. I got up, got my kids ready for school and nursery and dropped them off. I went for a run, had a shower, and made a cup of coffee. Then I sat down to work.

It’s a routine I’ve completed some version of hundreds, even thousands, of times.

When my laptop whirled into action on this particular day and fired up my homepage though, I was confronted by a piece of news that stopped me dead in my tracks:

The enigmatic rock and roll star Meat Loaf had sadly passed away.

As a child, Meat Loaf had been my first independent musical love.

I’d grown up with my parents records — The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, The Band — and adored each and every one of those sounds and stories.

But Meat Loaf was the first singer I was attracted to outside of the influence of my mum and dad.

It was a fascination formed in the pubs and clubs I was dragged to every weekend as a child, experiences that will be familiar to other eighties kids in the UK.

Curiously in these environments, Bat Out Of Hell was an absolute mainstay of every jukebox, despite — or as I would later come to release, because of — the grandeur of the music, lyrics and performance that contrasted so keenly with the otherwise drab and hum drum environments of working class Britain in the eighties.

Meat Loaf stood in stark contract to all of that, which is what drew me in to the theatrics of his music and persona.

Meat Loaf and Me

This won’t be another lengthy obituary. There’s plenty out there already that have captured the ups and downs of Meat Loaf’s remarkable life and career.

But for the uninitiated, allow me to quickly give you an outline of his story.

Born Marvin Lee Aday in Dallas, Texas in 1947, he was a talented athlete as a youngster but also had a passion for the stage. After the death of his mother when he was in his late teenage years, he fled his alcoholic father and ended up in Los Angeles, where he formed his first band — Meat Loaf Soul — in honour of the nickname his high school football coach had given him as a result of his weight.

A role in the musical Hair proved to be an early break and led to opportunities recording with Motown Records. In 1972 he met his future collaborator Jim Steinman, before appearing in the original production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and reprising his role as Eddie for the film version.

Meat Loaf and Steinman began to work together on Bat Out Of Hell around this time, a record that has since sold more than 43 million copies around the world. It’s an absolute giant of an album that rightly claims its place to this day as one of the all time rock and roll greats.

A tumultuous period followed for Meat Loaf though during which he lost his voice as a result of heavy touring and rock and roll lifestyle, and a long-standing feud erupted with Steinman.

By the 1990s they’d resolved their problems and crafted Bat Out Of Hell II: Back Into Hell which went on to sell over 15 million copies, and the album’s lead single I’d Do Anything For Love, But I Won’t Do That went to number one in twenty-eight countries. In his later years he continued to release music and tour extensively, and starred in number of films, most notably David Fincher’s Fight Club for which he received critical acclaim.

There’s no question Meat Loaf had a remarkable career and a remarkable life. To me, he was always incredible, and he is in no small part a contributor to shaping my early world view.

He taught me about drama and romance, about the grandiose, about showmanship, and theatre, and the energy and combustion of performance.

His music and his personality shattered through the grey of my surroundings with an absolute riot of colour.

And I’ll never forget him for that.

The power of music

“Music is life itself” — Louis Armstrong

Music conjures some remarkable and powerful emotions within us.

And there’s evidence to show that there’s numerous benefits to exposing children to music.

But outside of the nurturing effect it can have on educational and social development, there’s another and equally important tool that music gives young people.

It shows us that there’s a whole world of possibility that exists outside the framework of our lived experiences.

It conveys ideas and experiences that are alien to us, while also reassuring us that we’re never alone in feeling the things we do.

Our early musical idols play a huge part in shaping who we are, and who we become.

They can be the source of conflict with parents, friends and contemporaries, but it’s a process of independent discovery that matters profoundly.

And that’s why when my children are old enough to start discovering their own musical idols, I will do my absolute best to encourage them, to leave my ‘uncool Dad views’ in the locker and instead ask, share, and try to understand what is special about what they love.

Music is so powerful, and I want my children to shape their relationship with it themselves.

If they love the music I do, then great, but if not I hope they find artists that allow them to express something about themselves and their experiences, realities and goals.

That music can do that in the first place is amazing.

Meat Loaf was the first to do it for me, and no matter who my boys grow up listening to, I want them to have these experiences too.

After all, music is a gift, and it’s one I as a father want to give.