Rocky Horror Picture Show Soundtrack

Meat Loaf, Bat Out Of Hell

How many people bought the Meat Loaf album Bat Out Of Hell because of the bitchin’ Richard Corben cover, with its bare-chested hunk blasting out of a grave on a phallic motorcycle while a gargoyle-like bat looks on? And how many were confused by the actual music on the record: a pastiche of Phil Spector and Broadway that barely resembles the screeching, possibly Satanic hard rock the cover promises? There are two ways to read the disconnect between the grim exterior of Bat Out Of Hell and the florid pop music inside. Perhaps the irony is an intentional extension of songwriter Jim Steinman’s exploration—and occasional deflation—of the American masculinity exemplified by B-movies and old 45s. Or perhaps it’s just a chronically unaware nerd’s idea of cool. Either explanation is kind of glorious.

I’ve never been entirely un familiar with Bat Out Of Hell . The album came out in October of ’77, a month after I turned 7, and its biggest hit, “Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad,” was pretty ubiquitous in the late ’70s, both on the radio and at any place where kids might gather. (Municipal pools, little-league baseball games, amusement parks, church camps, school talent shows… you name it.) Later, when I started listening to album rock, “Paradise By The Dashboard Light” would pop up on the radio late at night, where all long, weird rock songs were consigned after the corporate takeover of FM. Sometimes my fellow pre-teenagers would talk about “Paradise” in the hushed tones of a boy who’d just found a stack of Oui magazines in the back of his dad’s closet. “The whole song’s really about sex,” they’d say, wide-eyed. No… really? 

But I never paid much attention to Meat Loaf because he wasn’t canon—at least not among the rock critics that I was devoted to during my formative years. The beefy Texan born as Marvin Lee Aday was regarded as one of the cheesy bastards, who along with Steinman and producer Todd Rundgren had dumbed down and camped up Bruce Springsteen in the same way that Alice Cooper did to Iggy Pop and Kiss did to New York Dolls. (Again: These were the critics’ opinions. Myself, I’m still not a big Kiss guy, but I’ve developed a belated love for Alice Cooper.) So even after I started moving beyond the Bangs/Christgau/Marsh/Marcus-approved listening list, and even after I started getting into musical theater, and even after I married a woman deeply into all things Todd Rundgren, it never occurred to me to listen to one of the best-selling albums of all time from start to finish.

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