Remember that brief moment of icy fear that went down your spine every time you heard the start of an Emergency Broadcast System test?
Well for United States audiences on Feb. 20, 1971, it seemed as if doomsday had indeed arrived, as the alert played on TV and radio stations across the country that morning did not start with the typical reassuring “this is a test…” disclaimer.
The system, originally known as the Emergency Action Notification System, was established in 1963 to provide United States presidents with a way to quickly communicate with the American public in the event of war, threat of war, or grave national crisis.
Listeners had grown used to the system’s test broadcasts occasionally interrupting their favorite shows, but on that Saturday morning in 1971 they heard a much more foreboding message.
You can hear the alert aired by Ft. Wayne news radio station WOWO that day below: “This station has interrupted its regular program at the request of the United States government, to participate in the emergency broadcast system.” The message went on to explain that the station would now become the official government news source for their area, and warned that other local TV and radio stations would shut down as a result of the declared national emergency.
Similar messages were broadcast across an unknown number of stations across the country. “The composure of the broadcast industry – and the country – was in shambles,” wrote Variety (as reported by History.com). “Some stations broadcast the announcement and went off the air as required – throwing listeners into a tizzy. Other stations didn’t pick up the warning until after it had been cancelled. Some went off the air without having the nerve to broadcast the warning.”
“I was absolutely terrified,” one Chicago-based listener told the New York Times in a report that appeared the next day. “I just knew that we were at war and that the President would come on and say what had happened.” A Florida woman added her reaction: “I didn’t do anything. I just sat there being scared.”
Moving back to the Ft. Wayne example, host Bob Sievers quickly took over WOWO’s airwaves to explain that he and his co-workers did not know the nature of the emergency and to ask frantic listeners, perhaps worried that the Vietnam war had taken a drastic turn, not to flood the station’s phone lines.
“Again, ladies and gentlemen, we ask you please, please do not call us to ask what is the matter,” he pleaded. “We are endeavoring to find out ourselves. We have received this official emergency action action notification, with the proper identification indicating a national emergency. We know nothing now, we are watching our wires.”
Luckily, the cause of the warning wasn’t impending nuclear war, just human error. An employee of the National Emergency Warning Center included the wrong confirmation code word with that day’s planned test, indicating to the stations that it was a real emergency.
“I can’t imagine how the hell I did it,” the employee in question, W.S. Eberhard (who had worked at the center for 15 years) told the Times. It took the center 40 minutes to find and send out the correct code, indicating to the stations that the alert was indeed meant to be just a test.
“And so… If you think this hasn’t been something here at the studio,” a relieved Sievers told WOWO listeners, after informing them that the danger was never real and explaining the nature of the error.
Others were far less forgiving. “The center’s explanation is that ‘human error’ caused unauthorized declaration of national emergency,” the Times reported on Feb. 22, before asking: “Could similar ‘human error’—here or in the Soviet Union—send American or Soviet weapons into action? Those who deny such a possibility must explain why the safeguards governing instant‐response weapons—which are also subject to human errors—are more trustworthy than those which failed to prevent the false emergency announcement.”
In response to the Feb. 20, 1971 error and the trouble it caused, the National Emergency Warning Center made major changes to the way its alerts and tests were sent including, as noted by History.com, the “jarring, screeching sounds” you hear during tests: “Like the sounds of information being transmitted over a modem, those tones transmit data to broadcasters – data that tells them what kind of situation is in progress and whether the transmission is a test or a false alarm.”
“Moon Crazy” by Blue Öyster Cult is the first song on this list of the 10 Best Songs With The Word “Moon” in the Title. Featured on the band’s Mirrors album, released on June 19, 1979, “Moon Crazy” stands out with its pop-rock sound, contrasting with the darker tones that Blue Öyster Cult had been known for in their earlier works. Produced by Tom Werman, this album marked a significant departure for the band, as it was their first not produced by long-time collaborator Sandy Pearlman. Recorded at Kendun Recorders in Burbank, CBS Recording Studios in New York City, and The Record Plant in Los Angeles, Mirrors was an effort to appeal to a broader audience with a more polished and commercial production.
The song features the core members of Blue Öyster Cult, with Eric Bloom on vocals and rhythm guitar, Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser on lead guitar and vocals, Allen Lanier on keyboards and guitar, Joe Bouchard on bass and vocals, and Albert Bouchard on drums and vocals. “Moon Crazy” was one of the singles from the album and was released in Japan in 1979. Despite not achieving major commercial success, the song remains an integral part of Blue Öyster Cult’s discography and showcases their versatility as musicians. The polished production by Werman gives it a different feel from the band’s earlier, more raw sound.
Lyrically, “Moon Crazy” captures the essence of personal transformation and longing, much like the moon’s own cycles. The theme of lunacy, reflected in lines like “A world gone crazy from the lunacy,” speaks to the chaos of emotions that can take hold, especially during moments of change. The song’s reference to summer and its recurring refrain—”Moon crazy, summer of changes, let the night shine on and on”—creates an atmosphere of nostalgic reflection, where the passage of time, dreams, and fleeting connections dominate the narrative. This ties into the overall concept of the article, as the song’s use of “moon” metaphorically mirrors how the moon’s phases affect human emotions, particularly the highs and lows of love and desire.
“Moon Crazy” also showcases a unique balance between wistfulness and energy. The juxtaposition of phrases like “Summer of changes” and “Dreaming about, what could it be” brings forth the uncertainty of life’s transitions, a recurring theme often associated with the moon’s influence on human behavior. The lyrics suggest a longing for clarity and peace, as the characters in the song search for meaning amidst the chaos of summer romances and fading dreams. This song opens the list with a powerful message, illustrating how the moon’s symbolism can extend beyond celestial imagery to represent the emotional tides of life.
“The Moon Upstairs” by Mott the Hoople is the third entry in the list of the 10 Best Songs With The Word “Moon” in the Title. This fiery track from the band’s 1971 album Brain Capers stands out for its raw energy and aggressive sound, making it one of Mott the Hoople’s most powerful songs. Written by lead vocalist Ian Hunter and guitarist Mick Ralphs, “The Moon Upstairs” showcases the band’s signature blend of hard rock and glam influences, which would later be fully realized in their subsequent albums. Brain Capers, often considered a turning point for the band, was produced by Guy Stevens and recorded at Island Studios in London. Although the album didn’t achieve the commercial success of their later work, it remains a cult favorite for many fans.
The song delves into themes of disillusionment and rebellion. The defiant tone is apparent in lines like “We ain’t gonna take it anymore,” reflecting the frustration and anger of a generation seeking change. The “moon” in the title can be interpreted as a symbol of the oppressive forces at play, a looming presence that the band seeks to defy. As the third song on this list, “The Moon Upstairs” brings a different interpretation of the moon’s symbolism compared to the previous songs, shifting from personal longing or foreboding disaster to a metaphor for resistance against external pressures. This song captures the rebellious ethos of rock in the early 1970s, making it a perfect addition to the list.
“The Moon Upstairs” is one of Mott the Hoople’s most intense tracks, both musically and thematically. The powerful combination of Ian Hunter’s snarling vocals and the band’s fierce instrumentation creates a song that leaves a lasting impact. In comparison to “Moon Crazy” by Blue Öyster Cult, where the moon represents personal transformation, and “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival, where the moon is a harbinger of doom, “The Moon Upstairs” symbolizes defiance and rebellion, underscoring the versatility of the moon as a central figure in rock music.
“Full Moon” by The Kinks is the fourth entry in the list of the 10 Best Songs With The Word “Moon” in the Title. Featured on their 1977 album Sleepwalker, “Full Moon” showcases Ray Davies’ introspective songwriting during a period when the band transitioned from their earlier rock-opera style to a more straightforward rock sound. Sleepwalker, released under the Arista label, marked a return to commercial success for The Kinks, and “Full Moon” fits perfectly within the album’s exploration of personal turmoil and emotional unrest. Produced by Ray Davies and recorded at Konk Studios in London, this track adds a reflective element to the list, as Davies delves into themes of inner conflict and the emotional toll of life’s uncertainties.
Musically, “Full Moon” features Ray Davies on vocals and guitar, with Dave Davies contributing lead guitar, Mick Avory on drums, John Gosling on keyboards, and Andy Pyle on bass. The song combines a gentle yet driving rhythm with haunting guitar lines, creating a sound that complements the introspective lyrics. The subtle tension in the music reflects the emotional turmoil expressed in the song, adding depth to the track’s overall atmosphere. Davies’ ability to blend accessible rock elements with deeply personal themes is evident throughout Sleepwalker, and “Full Moon” exemplifies the band’s knack for marrying introspection with a melodic sensibility.
Lyrically, “Full Moon” taps into the powerful imagery of the moon as a symbol of transformation and instability. The full moon in this song serves as a metaphor for the uncontrollable forces that drive one’s emotions, with lines like “Haven’t you noticed a kind of madness in my eyes?” reflecting the effect of the moon’s phases on the narrator’s mental state. The song touches on themes of anxiety, restlessness, and vulnerability, as the full moon becomes a symbol of the personal battles the protagonist faces. As the fourth song on the list, “Full Moon” explores the moon’s influence in a more internal, psychological context, compared to the rebellious energy of Mott the Hoople’s “The Moon Upstairs” or the ominous warning found in “Bad Moon Rising.”
The song’s reflective nature and haunting atmosphere offer a contrast to the more energetic tracks already on the list. “Full Moon” adds a layer of emotional complexity to the theme of the moon’s influence, exploring how it can represent both external forces and internal struggles. Ray Davies’ lyrical depth and The Kinks’ ability to create evocative music make “Full Moon” a fitting addition to the exploration of how the moon shapes our emotions and experiences.
This haunting ballad appears on Waits’ debut album Closing Time, released in 1973, showcasing his early talent for blending jazz, folk, and blues influences with deeply poetic lyrics. Waits, known for his gravelly voice and evocative songwriting, composed “Grapefruit Moon” as one of the more introspective and emotionally rich tracks on the album. Produced by Jerry Yester and recorded at Sunset Sound Recorders in Hollywood, Closing Time marked the beginning of Waits’ remarkable career, with “Grapefruit Moon” standing out as a poignant meditation on loneliness and lost love.
“Grapefruit Moon” uses the image of the moon to evoke feelings of isolation and longing. The moon becomes a symbol of distant beauty, something that shines brightly but remains unreachable, much like the narrator’s fading love. Lines such as “Grapefruit moon, one star shining / Is all that I can see” paint a vivid picture of solitude, with the moon representing both a comforting presence and a reminder of what has been lost. This emotional complexity ties into the broader theme of the article, as the moon here serves as a reflection of inner sorrow and unfulfilled desires.
Released in 1979 on the band’s second album, Reggatta de Blanc, this track stands as one of their most iconic hits. Written by lead vocalist and bassist Sting, “Walking on the Moon” combines the band’s signature blend of reggae rhythms and rock influences, a sound that helped define their early success. The song was a major commercial hit, reaching number one on the UK Singles Chart, solidifying The Police’s position as one of the leading bands of the era. Produced by the band members—Sting, guitarist Andy Summers, and drummer Stewart Copeland—along with producer Nigel Gray, Reggatta de Blanc was recorded at Surrey Sound Studios in Leatherhead, England.
“Walking on the Moon” uses the metaphor of lunar exploration to describe the feeling of being in love, with Sting singing about the sensation of floating weightlessly as if walking on the moon. The refrain “Walking on the moon” captures the emotional high of love’s early stages, with lines like “Giant steps are what you take” suggesting that love can make everyday experiences feel extraordinary. In this context, the moon symbolizes the surreal, otherworldly feeling of being deeply in love, making it a powerful metaphor for emotional transcendence.
“Walking on the Moon” adds a different interpretation of the moon’s symbolism compared to previous tracks. Where songs like “Bad Moon Rising” view the moon as a harbinger of disaster, and “Grapefruit Moon” reflects personal sorrow, The Police use the moon as a metaphor for the elation of love, further showcasing the moon’s versatility in rock music. Its upbeat, rhythmic groove and Sting’s ethereal vocals create a song that remains one of the band’s most beloved tracks, capturing the joy and weightlessness of walking through life on the emotional high of love.
“Moonlight Drive” by The Doors was released in 1967 on their second studio album, Strange Days. The song stands as one of the band’s most mystical and poetic tracks. Written by all four members—Jim Morrison, Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger, and John Densmore—it was one of the earliest songs the band worked on together. The song was released as the B-side to “Love Me Two Times,” which reached number seven on the US Billboard Hot 100. Strange Days, produced by Paul A. Rothchild and recorded at Sunset Sound Recorders in Hollywood, further solidified The Doors’ place in the burgeoning psychedelic rock movement of the late 1960s.
“Moonlight Drive” captures The Doors’ signature blend of blues, rock, and psychedelic influences. Ray Manzarek’s haunting keyboard lines, combined with Robby Krieger’s slide guitar, create an ethereal, hypnotic atmosphere that complements Jim Morrison’s mysterious lyrics. John Densmore’s jazz-influenced drumming adds a sense of fluidity and depth to the song’s rhythm, giving it an otherworldly quality. The track has a languid, flowing structure that mirrors the imagery of drifting and floating under the moonlight, adding to the dreamlike feel of the song.
“Moonlight Drive” is steeped in Morrison’s characteristic blend of surrealism and romanticism. The song invites the listener to “swim to the moon” and “climb through the tide,” using the moon as a symbol of escape and transcendence. Morrison’s vocals are both seductive and eerie as he evokes images of moonlit journeys and mystical connections. The moon in this context represents the allure of the unknown, a destination for lovers seeking freedom from the constraints of reality. The lyrics’ emphasis on the sensuality of the moonlight adds a layer of nocturnal mystique, making the song feel like a dream or a vision from another world.
“Moonlight Drive” brings a new layer of meaning to the moon’s symbolism, shifting from the joyous romance of The Police’s “Walking on the Moon” to a darker, more mysterious interpretation. While earlier tracks on the list have explored themes of rebellion, destruction, and love, The Doors delve into the moon as a portal to a different realm, suggesting an escape from societal norms and a journey toward spiritual or emotional freedom. The song’s unique blend of psychedelic and bluesy elements makes it one of The Doors’ most iconic moon-themed songs, capturing the band’s signature style and Jim Morrison’s deep connection to the mystical and surreal.
“Mr. Moonlight” by The Beatles is the eighth entry in the list of the 10 Best Songs With The Word “Moon” in the Title. Featured on their 1964 album Beatles for Sale, this track showcases the band’s early willingness to cover lesser-known songs, bringing their unique flair to a wide range of material. Originally written by Roy Lee Johnson, “Mr. Moonlight” had been recorded by other artists before The Beatles made it their own, and their version stands out due to its distinctive arrangement and John Lennon’s powerful vocal delivery. Beatles for Sale, produced by George Martin, was recorded at EMI Studios (later known as Abbey Road Studios) in London and represents a transitional period in The Beatles’ career as they began to experiment with more introspective songwriting while still delivering upbeat rock and roll covers.
“Mr. Moonlight” speaks directly to the titular moon, personified as a figure that brings light and joy to the narrator’s life. The song revolves around the narrator’s plea to the moon for solace, with lines like “Mr. Moonlight, you came to me one summer night, and from your beam, you made my dream.” The moon is portrayed as a guiding, almost magical force that provides comfort in moments of loneliness. This ties into the larger theme of the moon as a symbol of emotional influence, which runs throughout this list. Unlike earlier entries that depict the moon as a source of danger or mystery, “Mr. Moonlight” represents it as a benevolent and comforting presence.
As the eighth song on this list, “Mr. Moonlight” brings a unique emotional tone, characterized by its romantic and almost pleading quality. While earlier tracks like “Moonlight Drive” by The Doors focus on escape and transcendence, The Beatles’ interpretation of “Mr. Moonlight” is more grounded in the need for reassurance and emotional support. The song provides a softer, more intimate portrayal of the moon’s symbolic power, emphasizing its role as a source of comfort in times of uncertainty. Despite being a cover, The Beatles’ rendition of “Mr. Moonlight” remains a memorable moment on Beatles for Sale, contributing to the band’s exploration of diverse musical styles during this period.
“Moonlight Mile” by The Rolling Stones was released on their iconic 1971 album Sticky Fingers, this hauntingly beautiful track is often regarded as one of the band’s finest recordings. Its emotional depth, lush arrangement, and introspective lyrics make it stand out not only on the album but also in the band’s extensive catalog. Uniquely, Keith Richards did not perform on this track, with lead guitar duties handled by Mick Taylor, whose delicate and expressive playing gives “Moonlight Mile” its distinctive sound. The song was recorded at Stargroves, Mick Jagger’s country estate, with additional work done at Olympic Studios in London, under the production of Jimmy Miller.
The song’s imagery of traveling under the moonlight is both literal and metaphorical, representing a journey through both physical and emotional landscape “Moonlight Mile” is reflective and deeply personal, with Jagger singing about the exhaustion of life on the road and the longing for peace and solitude. Lines like “I’m just about a moonlight mile on down the road” evoke the sense of being so close to home, yet still distant, capturing the weariness and desire for rest. The moon here serves as a guiding light, a distant but comforting presence as the narrator continues on his journey. The song’s title itself suggests a long road ahead, but with the hope that the moon will illuminate the path.
Fusing elements of jazz, R&B, and rock, “Moondance” captivated a broad audience with its smooth, sophisticated sound and evocative lyrics. While the song is now considered an iconic classic, it was not released as a single until seven years after the album’s initial release. The track’s effortless mix of jazz-inspired rhythms and pop accessibility helped solidify Moondance as one of Van Morrison’s defining albums.
The song paints a picture of a perfect evening filled with love and connection, using the moon as a backdrop for an intimate encounter. Lines like “Well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance” and “Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?” emphasize the mood of enchantment and passion. The moon here becomes a symbol of romantic possibility, casting a soft glow over the scene as the couple enjoys their “moondance” together. The jazz-influenced rhythms and gentle swing of the music perfectly match the lyrics’ sophisticated, romantic vibe.
# 1 – Bad Moon Rising – Creedence Clearwater Revival
“Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival is the closing entry in the list of the 10 Best Songs With The Word “Moon” in the Title. Released in 1969 as part of their Green River album, this iconic track is one of the band’s most well-known songs, written by lead vocalist and guitarist John Fogerty. The song was a commercial success, peaking at number two on the Billboard Hot 100, and it has since become synonymous with the band’s signature swamp rock style. The Green River album, produced by John Fogerty and recorded at Wally Heider Studios in San Francisco, cemented Creedence Clearwater Revival’s reputation as one of the leading rock bands of the late 1960s.
John Fogerty, along with the rest of the band—Tom Fogerty on rhythm guitar, Stu Cook on bass, and Doug Clifford on drums—delivers a sound that blends rock, country, and blues influences. The song’s jangly guitar riffs (though Fogerty’s style is much more rooted in rock and blues) and driving rhythm provide an infectious energy, which contrasts sharply with the song’s apocalyptic lyrical themes. Despite its lively instrumentation, “Bad Moon Rising” carries a foreboding warning of impending disaster, a hallmark of Fogerty’s songwriting during that period.
Happy Friday! We’re back this week with another hefty round-up for the week’s biggest, best and most exciting new singles, including new tunes from the likes of Machine Head, Disturbed and Black Label Society. It’s not all veteran names, however. Be it Hollywood actress Vera Farmiga dipping her toes into post-punk goth with The Yagas, Danish noisy bastards Eyes returning with the grindcore-like Better or Harper releasing her latest metalcore-flavoured single, we’ve got you covered across a variety of styles and subgenres.
But first, the results of last week’s vote! Ozzy Osbourne might’ve popped up in a guest feature for Billy Morrison in last week’s round-up, but even the Prince Of Darkness couldn’t lay claim to one of the top 3 spots in our fan vote. Held off third place by monstermen Lordi, the Finns were themselves kept at bay by goth metallers Lacuna Coil. Top spot though went to rising Norwegian star STORM, whose Walking Dead showed Harper isn’t the only metal wunderkind on the scene right now.
As mentioned up top, we’ve got a diverse selection of bands for you to explore this week, so don’t forget to vote for your favourite song below – the top three will make it into our big playlist for the best metal songs of 2025. Otherwise, take care and have a great weekend!
Machine Head – Unbound
After teasing that their eleventh studio album would be with us “in April” back in November when they released the all-star team-up These Scars Won’t Define Us, this week Machine Head officially announced Unatoned for an April 25 release. New single Unbound drops like a sledgehammer-turned-guillotine, all hefty riffs and massive, swinging beats that, with Robb’s typically anthemic snarls, make us very excited to see the band live again this year.
MACHINE HEAD – UNBØUND (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO) – YouTube
It’s been three years since Harper first burst onto the scene, but the metal wunderkind is picking up some serious steam on latest single Thorn In My Side. Explosive metalcore in the vein of Spiritbox, Harper might wear her influences on her sleeves but does so with a level of passion and zeal that makes it undeniably exciting. Considering she made Download history last year as the youngest performer to grace its stage, we can’t wait to see what happens next.
Harper – Thorn In My Side (Official Music Video) – YouTube
Given they kicked off 2025 celebrating the 25th anniversary of The Sickness, perhaps it isn’t too surprising that Disturbed are going old school on latest single I Will Not Break. From the pulsing thumps that lead into the track to Draiman’s inimitable “Ah-Ah” vocalisations, the track certainly feels like something that could’ve come from their debut, but delivered with a confidence and sleekness that is in keeping with just how far the band have come in the quarter-century since its release.
Disturbed – I Will Not Break [Official Audio] – YouTube
With their debut EP Galore last summer, House Of Protection made some serious waves with their genre-straddling brand of alt. metal/nu/hip-hop mash-up. New single Afterlife shows they’re only just getting started. Taken from their upcoming EP Outrun You All, due May 23, it’s a tar-paced thumper that has surprisingly melodic vocals drifting atop a sea of fuzzy, electronica-enhanced low-end. Whether you catch them with Poppy when they tour the US in April, or otherwise see them this summer at Download Festival, make sure you don’t miss this lot.
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House of Protection – Afterlife (Official Music Video) – YouTube
The Duke Of Spook has come a long way from his graverobbing-in-drag lyrical roots. 20 years on from his solo debut, the punk energies that defined early albums Transylvania 90210 and Fang Bang have been replaced with a darker heft that is front and centre on Wednesday’s latest single, When The Devil Commands. It’s a dark and stormy stomper with a typically titillating video, a perfect reminder that Wednesday 13 remains a master of horrorcore.
WEDNESDAY 13 – When The Devil Commands (Official Video) | Napalm Records – YouTube
With a little over a month to go until Alien Weaponry’s third album Te Rā arrives on March 28, Alien Weaponry have offered another glimpse of things to come in new single 1000 Friends. Given the single’s focus on more contemporary issues – taking aim at social media in particular – it’s hardly surprising that the band have stripped away their more folk instrumentations to go right for the neck with some clattering groove metal riffs.
It’s something of an open secret that The Conjuring’s Vera Farmiga loves heavy music. With her band The Yagas, she’s putting that love in the spotlight however, her band’s latest single combining powerful, pumping vocals with ethereal, almost post-punk melodies that bring to mind the likes of Unto Others, Grave Pleasures with a more fiery twist.
The Yagas – She’s Walking Down (Official Music Video) – YouTube
Look, Zakk Wylde is only a set of leather body armour away from looking like he’d fit into the Mad Max universe anyway, so is it any surprise that Black Label Society’s latest single is an ode to the hockey masked villain from The Road Warrior? It’s a match made in heaven, BLS’ trademark motor-rumble riffs adding to a gritty air of cool around the track, getting us even more pumped up for whatever BLS might be cooking up in 2025.
Urne – Throes Of Grief (ft. Tim Öhrström)
Out on the road this week with Norwegian black’n’rollers Kvelertak, Urne surprised us with a double-drop of singles. But while their cover of Dio-fronted Sabbath tune I is excellent (and you should definitely check that out), it’s original tune Throes Of Grief that gives us our first hint of where the band are headed stylistically now they’re signed to Spinefarm. Classic heavy metal architecture with a contemporary heft and even shades of extreme metal, Throes… is exactly the kind of tune you’d expect for a band who produced one of the best metal debuts in recent years.
URNE – Throes of Grief ft. Tim Öhrström (Official Lyric Video) – YouTube
A collision between thrashy riffs and soulful, Alice In Chains-like vocal melodies, Rootbrain’s latest single Unawares strikes a careful balance between classic schools of metal. But although Unawares evokes the anything-can-happen mindset that embodied the final years of glam (before Grunge officially changed the aesthetic of popular heavy music), there’s a contemporary energy and force to the German/Finnish group’s sound that brings it firmly into the 21st Century.
There’s a little over a week to go before rising alt. metal star RØRY embarks on a packed-out tour of the UK, making the perfect time to drop an emotive new single. Wolves is a gorgeous contemporary ballad in the vein of Linkin Park or Bring Me The Horizon, dealing with a sense of loss and grief with cathartic breakouts and soaring vocal melodies.
Eyes – Better
In 2023, Denmark’s EYES came out with the wildly swinging, swivel-throated mashup of noise rock and hardcore that was Congratulations. Freshly signed to Prosthetic Records, it’s safe to say they’ve only grown uglier and more frenzied. A one-minute blast of grindcore-like fury, the track flies by in a cacophony of howls and clattering drums. Taken from new album Spinner – out April 25 – it’s a first taste of some truly wonderful nastiness. Drink deep.
Santana will release an album containing new and previously released tracks titled Sentient. The LP follows the 2021 release of Carlos Santana and his band’s 26th album, Blessings and Miracles.
The March 28 release includes collaborations with Smokey Robinson, Darryl “DMC” McDaniels, and the late Miles Davis and Michael Jackson. One of the new tracks is a different version of Santana’s 2009 song with Robinson, “Please Don’t Take Your Love,” which focuses more on the guitarist here.
It’s the album’s first single and can be heard below.
“I went to the studio and did my own thing,” Santana notes in a press release announcing the album. “I said, ‘Let’s just roll it.’ I did another take with Smokey, sort of guiding me. Smokey loved them both, so he wound up combining the two. What’s on Sentient is the first version.”
Santana said the songs, some dating to the ’90s, make sense in the new context. “I’m always driven by passion, emotion and inner instinct,” he explained. “When I first heard these tracks floating around in the house, I said, ‘Why don’t we put these all in one place?'”
Another new track on Sentient is “Stranger in Moscow,” Jackson’s 1995 song that Santana reworks as a live instrumental showcase. “From Stravinsky to James Brown, it’s all the same song, meaning it’s all connected to the umbilical cord of humanity and planet Earth,” Santana said.
You can watch a trailer for Sentient below.
Where Is Carlos Santana Performing in 2025?
A few weeks after the album’s release, Santana and his band will launch their 2025 tour with a date in Highland, California, on April 16. A two-week U.S. tour wraps up on April 29 in Nashville.
The band then heads overseas for European and U.K. dates from early June through mid-August. You can see the list of dates for Santana’s Oneness tour below.
Santana, 2025 Oneness Tour North American Dates April 16, 2025 – Highland, CA – Yaamava’ Resort & Casino at San Manuel April 18, 2025 – Phoenix, AZ – Talking Stick Resort Amphitheatre April 19, 2025 – Albuquerque, NM – Isleta Amphitheater April 22, 2025 – San Antonio, TX – Majestic Theatre April 23, 2025 – Sugar Land, TX – Smart Financial Centre at Sugar Land April 25, 2025 – Thackerville, OK – Lucas Oil Live at WinStar April 26, 2025 – Tulsa, OK – River Spirit Casino Resort April 29, 2025 – Nashville, TN – The Pinnacle
2025 Oneness Tour Europe & UK Dates June 9, 2025 – Lodz, Poland – Atlas Arena June 11, 2025 – Budapest, Hungary – MVM Dome June 13, 2025 – Berlin, Germany – Uber Arena June 15, 2025 – Hamburg, Germany – Barclays Arena June 18, 2025 – Glasgow, UK – OVO Hydro June 19, 2025 – Manchester, UK – Co-op Live June 21, 2025 – London, UK – The O2 June 23, 2025 – Paris, France – Accor Arena Paris June 24, 2025 – Amsterdam, Netherlands – Ziggo Dome June 26, 2025 – Antwerp, Belgium – Sportpaleis June 28, 2025 – Zurich, Switzerland – Hallenstadion Zürich June 30, 2025 – Vienna, Austria – Wiener Stadthalle July 2, 2025 – Mantua, Italy – Piazza Sordello – Mantova July 16, 2025 – Rosenheim, Germany – ROSENHEIM SOMMERFESTIVAL 2025, Mangfall Park July 18, 2025 – Montreux, Switzerland – Montreux Jazz Festival July 19, 2025 – St. Julien, France – Guitare en Scène July 21, 2025 – Nimes, France – Festival de Nîmes July 23, 2025 – Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo Summer Festival July 25, 2025 – Marciac, France – Jazz à Marciac Festival August 3, 2025 – Marbella, Spain – Starlite Occident Festival August 8, 2025 – Cologne, Germany – Lanxess Arena August 9, 2025 – Hanover, Germany – ZAG Arena August 11, 2025 – Copenhagen, Denmark – Royal Arena
Santana Albums Ranked
Carlos Santana & Co. have been supernatural musical shape-shifters for 26 albums. Here’s how those records rank.
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David Lee Roth’s solo career has been fascinating, frustrating, sometimes glorious, occasionally risible but rarely anything other than entertaining. The man with the billion-dollar ego quit Van Halen in 1985 with the intention of becoming the ultimate showbiz juggernaut, a rock’n’roll Frank Sinatra with the high kicks of an Olympic gymnast and the kind of luxuriant chest rug not seen since Allied Carpets went bust.
As the five releases covered in this no-frills, every-expense-spared box set illustrate, he started strong then precipitously tailed off. 1985’s four-track EP Crazy From The Heat, released while he was technically still in Van Halen, was Showbiz Dave in full effect, serving up showboating Beach Boys, Edgar Winter Band and Lovin’ Spoonful covers, plus a none-more-Vegas update of Louis Prima’s Just A Gigolo/I Ain’t Got Nobody medley. The Van Halen brothers reportedly hated it, and Dave was officially out the door a couple of weeks after it was released.
David Lee Roth – Just A Gigolo / I Ain’t Got Nobody (Official Video) [HD] – YouTube
Galvanised by a dream-team band – virtuoso bassist Billy Sheehan, drummer Gregg Bissonette and hotshot guitarist Steve Vai, whose mere presence was Roth’s fuck you to bandmate-turned-nemesis Eddie Van Halen – he hit Peak Dave with his debut full-length album, 1986’s Eat ’Em And Smile.
It holds its own against any Van Halen record – Yankee Rose features a jawdropping ‘talking guitar’ intro from Vai and a charisma-bomb performance from Roth, while Shy Boy and Goin’ Crazy aren’t far behind. 1988’s Skyscraper ramped up the synths, which worked brilliantly on the monumental Just Like Paradise, one of the all-time great pop-rock singles. There was reflection, too, on Damn Good, which sounded suspiciously like DLR being serious. At least for a second.
David Lee Roth – Yankee Rose (Official Video) [HD] – YouTube
It couldn’t get any better than that, and it didn’t. Sheehan and Vai left after Skyscraper, and Roth brought in a bunch of ringers, including guitarist Jason Becker, for 1991’s A Little Ain’t Enough, whose killer title track towered over the rest of an album that was more Blackpool Pleasure Beach than Las Vegas Strip. Diamond Dave had truly lost his dazzle by the time of 1994’s Nile Rodgers-produced Your Filthy Little Mouth, which found our hero trying everything from country music to jazz with all the desperation of a man who would juggle greased ferrets if it meant saving his career.
It didn’t, of course. There were more, increasingly irrelevant, solo albums, before an eventual VH reunion went some way to putting Dave back on his pedestal. But David Lee Roth never did become the Frank Sinatra of rock’n’roll. Hey, that’s showbiz.
Dave Everley has been writing about and occasionally humming along to music since the early 90s. During that time, he has been Deputy Editor on Kerrang! and Classic Rock, Associate Editor on Q magazine and staff writer/tea boy on Raw, not necessarily in that order. He has written for Metal Hammer, Louder, Prog, the Observer, Select, Mojo, the Evening Standard and the totally legendary Ultrakill. He is still waiting for Billy Gibbons to send him a bottle of hot sauce he was promised several years ago.
Skunk Anansie vocalist Skin really, really doesn’t like people leaving hate comments.
In a new video interview with Metal Hammer, the British rock icon names recent single An Artist Is An Artist as one of her band’s five essential songs. The track, released last month, is about the enduring nature of creativity, with Skin singing, ‘An artist is an artist till death do us depart-est.’
Discussing the song, Skin broaches the topic of armchair critics on social media who try to dictate what an artist should or shouldn’t create.
“It’s just something that I feel a lot of us feel: ‘What does it mean to be an artist now in this social media world? In this world where there’s a lot of toxic negativity? In this world where everything you’re about is just hen-pecked and stripped down and destroyed?’” she rhetorically asks. “That seems to be the modern way, that an artist puts something out and everyone just destroys it.”
Skin adds that several lines in An Artist Is An Artist attack that mentality, such as, ‘I didn’t hang around to be my own echo.’ “There’s just a lot of words that sum up how I feel and how a lot of artists feel about what it is to do what they want to do,” she continues.
“We are the creators, and sometimes you guys need to [shut the] fuck up and enjoy or not enjoy. But you don’t also need to comment and destroy the artist and take something away from the artist. And you don’t need to put out your first ignorant thought and write that down as a comment.”
Skin then offers advice to people who do want to leave their thoughts in comment sections, encouraging them to think their stance through and not broadcast a knee-jerk reaction.
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“Think about it: ‘What do I want to say about this, if I want to say anything,’” she suggests. “Most of the time, I think people need to just shut the fuck up. You ain’t got nothing to say, you haven’t done any research, you don’t know about this band, you don’t know about the art world or about the interior design world or architecture or… – you don’t know about these things with any depth at all.
“So, to say something’s terrible or say something’s awful, just stop with the first ignorant thought and think about it. I think, half the time people will just say, ‘You know what, I’m gonna move on, keep scrolling.”
Skunk Anansie first found during the Britpop era, their 1995 debut album Paranoid & Sunburnt reaching number eight in the UK charts, and are now six albums deep into their career. Their most recent, Anarchytecture, came out in 2016.
The band will tour Europe and the UK from February to April, starting with a gig at Porto’s Coliseu Porto Ageas on February 28. See all dates and get tickets via the band’s website.
“When I met him he was this hippie dude, living up in the hills taking magic mushrooms.” The making of Bon Scott: AC/DC frontman, sun-worshipper and night-crawler
At the height of AC/DC’s Australian success in the mid-70s, before they’d cracked it in Britain, let alone America, Bon Scott was already a star in his own mind. Sitting in some pub in Sydney, a large beer and a quadruple whisky on the table before him, that gap-toothed grin on his face and a friendly female companion by his side, he would be the life and soul of the party. As his great friend and former AC/DC tour manager Ian Jeffery recalls, it didn’t matter if he’d been in the place before. “Wherever Bon went,” says Jeffery, “by the end of the night he’d have made ten new best friends.”
But he might just as easily have made 10 new enemies. With his wild larrikin laugh, glint in his eye and piratical tattoos festooned along his taut muscly arms, Bon was fond of a ‘blue’ – Aussie-speak for a punch-up. But only if he’d failed to charm someone first, winning them over with a brilliant one-liner. When the rough-and-tough blokes that frequented the Sydney bars where Bon liked to go would try to get a rise out of him, ask if he was AC or DC, Bon would reply: “Neither. I’m the flash in the middle.”
“Bon had that way about him,” says Jeffery, “He had the words, knew how to give them the face. And if that still didn’t work, look out!”
According to Angus Young, it was this furiously but frighteningly feisty aspect of Bon Scott’s character that moulded the best of AC/DC’s music. “He was one of the dirtiest fuckers I know,” Angus would smirk. “When I first met him he couldn’t even speak English – it was all ‘fuck’, ‘c**t’, ‘piss’, ‘shit’.”
But then the Bon Scott era of the band was far removed from the polished professionalism of the AC/DC of present day. There was nothing slick or polished about the band that Bon Scott fronted. When he sang ‘If you want blood… you got it’ he fucking meant it, pal.
(Image credit: Fin Costello/Redferns)
But there was also another side to Bon, one that the outside world rarely got to see.
“He had a lot of the hippie ethics of the time,” says Peter Head, a bandmate and friend of Bon’s from before his time in AC/DC. “He’d read, he’d think about religion and philosophy. You could talk about serious things.”
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There was also the kind-hearted guy who would – literally – give you the shirt right off his back. “He was accepting of anyone,” says his former wife, Irene Thornton, “from kids to old people. He just had a very bubbly personality and a lovely laugh, and would be very quick with a joke.”
This feature originally appeared in Classic Rock 212 (June 2015)(Image credit: Future)
And there was Bon the gentleman. “He was lovely to women, and women loved him,” says Fifa Riccobono, former CEO of AC/DC’s label, Albert Music. “My mum came in the office, this old Italian widow, and Bon put his arm around her. He was tattooed, tooth missing. His charm was disarming.”
But that was Bon Scott. “A great bunch of guys,” as former AC/DC manager Michael Browning ruefully puts it. “You just never quite knew which one you were gonna get – until it was too late.” He laughs, but the sadness in his voice is still there.
So what’s the true story of Bon Scott? Comedian, tragedian, entertainer, depressive, he was all of those things. He was also a prodigious drug-taker, serial womaniser, heroic drunk, poetic lyric writer. A man who loved the company of strangers yet yearned for a simpler life. A guy who helped take AC/DC to the top of the tree, yet didn’t live long enough to enjoy any of the material benefits. A sun-worshipper and a night-crawler with a body already bowed and broken long before it finally gave out on him, that cold lonely night in February 1980.
We know how the story ends, but where did it start, really? Before the mythmakers and idolaters turned it into a two-dimensional story of one clown and his many laughing followers?
Ronald Belford Scott was born in Forfar on 9 July 1946, but the fighting man was in his blood from generations past. The Scotts had been a powerful lowland clan, whose motto was ‘Amo’: ‘I Love’. They were staunch supporters of Robert the Bruce, fighting alongside him at Bannockburn. When he was excommunicated by the Pope, so were the Scotts, who were also threatened with death for following him. You want to know where Bon got his rebellious streak from, ask Robert.
The musical side came from his father, Chick. When his pipe band came marching by the house on Saturdays, little Ronnie, as his mother Isa called him, would drum along, walloping the breadboard with forks and spoons. His wanderlust was instilled early, when the family emigrated to Australia in 1952, taking advantage of the same ‘assisted passages’ that would later allow the Young family to make a new life for itself there.
Staying initially with Isa’s sister in the Melbourne suburbs, Ronnie was enrolled in primary school, where his skills as a marching drummer made him popular with the other kids. In 1956, the Scotts moved to Fremantle, near Perth. It was there that Ronnie got his nickname. Picking up on the handy congruity of his surname, little Ronnie Scott became little Bonnie Scotland. He hated it and would fight anyone who used it in the playground, but it stuck. By the time he was a teenager, even his mates called him Bonnie – or Bon, for short.
Good at athletics, but better at music, he was the under-17 marching drums champion five years running. Things changed when he discovered Chuck Berry and Little Richard as a teenager. He would sing their songs around the house, until his mother begged him to stop. “My mum used to say, ‘Ron, if you can’t sing proper songs, shut up!,” he later recalled. “Don’t sing this rock’n’roll garbage’.”
Leaving school at 15, he and his first serious girlfriend, Maureen Henderson, would dress up and go rock’n’roll jiving. By now he was also a cigarette smoker and drinker, then dope smoker and speed freak. It wasn’t long before he was part of the local ‘mobs’ – street gangs of teenage hoodlums. The roughest, toughest member of the gang, Bon quickly became leader. There were various jobs – tractor driver, fisherman, apprentice mechanic. Bon didn’t care what he did for money. He knew what he was going to do with his life, he told Maureen: “Be a singer in a rock’n’roll band.”
The Valentines circa 1970 (Bon Scott second from left) (Image credit: GAB Archive/Redferns)
He got his ear-pierced – unheard of for a teenage boy in the early 1960s – then went one step further and got his first tattoo: the words ‘Death Before Dishonour’. Not on his arm, though, but on his lower belly, just above his pubes. When a friend was beaten up by cops, Bon went wild and beat one of them half to death. He somehow got away with it – then got arrested stealing 12 gallons of petrol. Housed in a maximum-security facility, Bon – who would later write the early AC/DC classic Jailbreak – spent almost a year behind bars.
It was meant to be hard and it was. There were no open dormitories, only locked cells, and sexual assault was rife. Released just before Christmas 1963, Bon emerged more determined than ever to live his dream. His break came when he landed a gig drumming with covers band The Spektors. Bon decided it would be cool for the drummer to sing a couple of songs. Nobody was going to argue with the little hard nut just out of the slammer and Bon’s raucous version of The Kinks’ You Really Got Me became a highlight of the set. Bon certainly thought so.
It was at a Spektors gig that Bon met a stunning 17-year-old blonde named Maria Van Vlijman. Maria later claimed Bon asked her to marry him and that she would have let him, were it not for the fact she knew that when he wasn’t with her he was off with some other “scrag” from the gig. With Maria, though, Bon was always on his best behaviour, never swearing, never drinking.
Eventually The Spektors merged with rival covers act The Winstons, fronted by singer Vince Lovegrove, to form The Valentines (above). Specialising initially in pop-soul covers, both Vince and Bon would front The Vallies, as they became known. Vince was the handsome hunk who delivered the songs straight-faced; Bon his cheeky sidekick. In their puff sleeves and colour co-ordinated suits, they would belt out Build Me Up Buttercup, Bon clutching his breast on the word ‘heart’. “We had a pretty wild stage act,” Lovegrove recalled. “We’d jump up on the amps, have firebombs going off…”
A couple of singles made it into the Western Australian charts, but it was two years before they got their national break, with their songs written for them by George Young and Harry Vanda of Aussie rock sensations The Easybeats and, later, AC/DC’s producer-mentors.
The band relocated to Melbourne, then the epicentre of the Aussie music biz. Bon wrote to Maria, who had already moved there, telling her he hoped “we can both have a good time together when I arrive” or he would be “so flippin’ lonely”. Any plans soon got buried beneath Bon’s hectic new life carousing the local nightspots. Explaining the Vallies’ appeal, Vince Lovegrove said: “I’m more popular than Bon. But he’s a far better singer than I’ll ever be. In fact, I think he’s the most under-rated singer in Australia.”
But Bon was tiring of the “cabaret act” the Vallies had become. When an old mate from the Perth scene, Billy Thorpe, showed up in Melbourne with his new rock’n’roll outfit, The Aztecs, Bon took to making unannounced appearances at their shows, belting out Whole Lotta Love and Long Tall Sally. “He was a fucking madman,” recalled Thorpe. Bon would get high and tell Billy: “You know I’m going to make it, I’m going to fucking make it.”
The Valentines were busted very publicly for possession of marijuana in 1969. When their next single – a sumptuous pop ballad written and sung by Bon entitled Juliette – was refused radio play as result, Bon became angry, bitter and disenfranchised from the whole ethos of the group. Even the normally upbeat Lovegrove threw in the towel.
Still only 23, Bon was sure there was still time for him to make his mark, so he split for the hippie hills outside Adelaide, where he intended, in the vernacular of the day, to get his head together. Except of course his head had gone long ago…
The next few years would be even more calamitous, personally and professionally, for Bon Scott, than the years that followed in AC/DC. Hooking up with another friend from the Perth scene, bassist Bruce Howe, in folk-rock outfit Fraternity, Bon grew a beard and took to playing the recorder, yearning for musical respectability.
“I got sick of doing bopper audiences with The Valentines and I wanted to become a musician, to be recognised in the Australian rock scene as more than just an arse shaker,” as he later put it.
Gordon ‘Buzz’ Bidstrup, who would later become the drummer with The Angels, met Bon during this time. “He was a long-haired recorder-playing hippie,” says Bidstrup. “He lived up in the hills, took magic mushrooms and smoked pot. I don’t remember him as being a hell-raiser, fighter guy. When I met him he was this hippie dude, as we all were. Long robes and all this stuff…”
He couldn’t keep it up. Fraternity’s keyboardist John ‘JB’ Bisset acknowledges the Bon may have become “a little Pan-like,” early on. Mostly, though, he recalls the Bon with the wicked gleam in his eye. “Bon was a great one for dispelling myths about acid culture, like the vegetarianism that many hippies embraced. I remember him wandering around chomping on a leg of roast beef at one very acid-soaked party.”
Fraternity – Seasons of Change ft. Bon Scott – YouTube
As with The Vallies, Fraternity enjoyed a couple of local hits – notably, Season Of Change, with Bon on exquisite lead vocals and moody recorder. The band decided to fly their freak flag all the way to London, taking with them wives, girlfriends, children, roadies and tour manager. Bon, who’d recently become close to a pretty blonde local girl named Irene Thornton, talked her into going with him – as his wife. The two were married on January, 24 1972, in Adelaide. The trip to London with Fraternity was to be their honeymoon.
“The first time I saw him I think I sort of grimaced a bit,” Irene says now, with a laugh. “He was bare-chested, little shorts on, no shoes, arm around a girl, drink in the other hand, weaving his way through a crowd and laughing his head off, which was a typical Bon image. I think I thought something like, you’ve got to be kidding…”
The next time they met, at a Fraternity show, Irene saw him in a different light. “He cracked a couple of jokes, and that changed my opinion of him. I made a comment about his really tight jeans – ‘What a well packed lunch!’ – and he just as quickly said, ‘Yep, two hard boiled eggs and a sausage’, and went on talking while I was killing myself laughing… I suddenly thought, he’s not really silly. And I was quite intrigued with him.”
Living in North London, money was so tight Bon took a part-time job behind the bar in a local pub. Worse still, good dope – so plentiful in the Adelaide hills – was hard to come by. Not that they were choosy. Bon was nicknamed Road Test Ronnie, as he was always the first to sample any new drugs that came their way. “He seemed able to cope with any drug that science or nature could come up with,” recalled John Bisset. The only time he came a cropper was when he ‘road-tested’ some datura, a powerful hallucinogen. “He had a bad couple of days and the rest of us avoided it.”
Fraternity – Raglan’s Folly ft. Bon Scott – YouTube
Things went downhill from there. Blown off opening for Status Quo, made to look outdated by the new glam threads of Slade, even a change of name and image – to Fang – failed to make a difference. They were finally put to shame opening for a modestly successful act named Geordie at Torquay Town Hall.
Bon was spellbound by the band’s singer, Brian Johnson, who’d finished the gig on his back screaming in agony (Bon didn’t know he’d burst an appendix and the agony was real). Johnson’s long-ago memories of his one and only meeting with Bon are wonderfully piquant: “Short hair, tooth missing. He was the funniest man and we had a lovely time.” Though he added: “He wasn’t half as good as he was when he joined AC/DC. They brought something out in him.”
Soon afterwards, Fraternity/Fang called it a day and returned to Australia. But before the bright new dawn came the gloom. Back home, Bon became involved with a musical collective called the Mount Lofty Rangers, fronted by Peter Head. But Bon grew impatient and began to take out his frustrations on everybody.
“Bon was almost 28, and had not reached the fame and fortune he desired,” Vince Lovegrove explained. “He felt trapped, frustrated, almost too old.”
He began fighting with Irene. Bon was in a downward spiral that finally hit rock bottom on the night of Friday, 22 February 1974. He had turned up already drunk for a Rangers session.
“He always had either a flask of red or, more often, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on him,” says Head now. “It was pretty intense. In those days you’d drink and drive, too. He used to ride a motorbike around, and he’d be out of his head all the time.”
Not for the first time, the others got the feeling that Friday night that the problem wasn’t so much whatever Bon said it was but whatever was going on in his head. Suddenly he got into it with them. Called one a c**t. Offered to bash their brains in. Then he smashed through the door and out onto his bike again, hurling his now empty bottle of Jack onto the ground where it shattered.
Vince Lovegrove got the phone call from Irene at about 2am. She was calling from Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Bon had run his bike into an oncoming car. Now he was in a coma.
Doctors told Irene to prepare for the worst. Would she like a priest to come and give her husband the last rites? One of the nurses informed her that before he blacked out, Bon had been hallucinating, talking gibberish. “He said he’s a singer,” she told Irene, rolling her eyes.
Eighteen days later, Bon Scott was discharged from hospital. Much to his doctors’ surprise he was alive, though it would be some time before he would be able to walk unaided. His marriage was also over. Irene had had enough. Hobbling around on crutches, sleeping on Lovegrove’s couch, Bon was working as a gofer at Vince’s talent agency the first time he met the band with whom he made his legend.
Fifa Riccobono was A&R manager at Albert Music in the 1970s. She recalls seeing Bon during one his first appearances with the band. “It was his first night in Sydney with the band,” she says. “Bon was very crass, very loud and rather obnoxious, but in a funny way. The manager said, ‘Do you want to come back and meet Bon? I was prepared for a fairly rough encounter. And it was the opposite. He was charming, he picked up my hand and kissed it. He had a tooth missing and a shark’s tooth around his neck, and he looked quite menacing. But he was just gorgeous.”
The next few years have become a well-told part of the AC/DC story. How Bon replaced original vocalist Dave Evans, bringing a more earthy image to the band, as well as a staggering talent for storytelling lyrics and a marvellously characterful voice, part-Paul Rodgers, part-Artful Dodger. How AC/DC became stars at home, before setting out to conquer Britain, and, finally, after many setbacks, America, with an album, Highway To Hell, that stands as one of the greatest of all time. How it ended with Bon’s worn-out body left to die in the seat of a car belonging to someone he hardly knew.
The stories have been told but the truth has rarely been allowed out from where it’s been hiding in plain sight all these years. The often-contradictory aspects of Bon Scott’s life and personality that confused even him.
There was his extraordinary relationship with the Young brothers. Before AC/DC, says Irene, “he felt like he was an old bloke in the music world and a has-been… like it was all finished for him.” When, within weeks of joining, Malcolm ordered Bon to cut his long hair, he complied immediately. Pushing 30, amazed at being given this last chance, Bon knew where his bread was buttered. A fact he would never allow himself to forget.
AC/DC – High Voltage – King of Pop Awards 1975 (Remastered) – YouTube
It was different with the other brother. “I think the main thing Bon liked about AC/DC was Angus,” says Peter Head. “He was just knocked out by Angus. Bon was really looking for that sense of showmanship, the theatre to go with it. And so AC/DC gave him the opportunity to go a bit crazy and let that side of his personality reign a little bit.”
As the years have gone by, we have read of all the times Bon nearly missed the gig because he’d been too busy partying with yet more of those “new best friends” Ian Jeffery talks of; the times he nearly died mixing drugs and drink, most notably when two sex worker sisters in Sydney shot him up with smack and he woke up in hospital; the other times when he would boast of having all-night orgies in his hotel room.
What we heard very little of were the times, alone on the road, when Bon would ponder the choices he had made. When his brother Graeme began a relationship with Irene’s sister Faye, Bon wondered what he’d lost when he’d walked out on his own marriage. When his other brother Derek got married and had kids, he wondered what the cost was of his quest for… what? Another drink? Another woman? Was that it, really?
The closest Bon Scott ever really got to love, after Irene, was with Margaret ‘Silver’ Smith, hippie trail enchantress, heroin user and queen of the long nights. The same age as Bon, and with the same tastes for the exotic, Silver had left Adelaide and begun travelling not long after Bon had returned from London with Fraternity.
“I just set off around the world on my own and met a lot of very interesting people,” she recalled in a rare interview with 891 ABC Radio in Adelaide in February 2010. “When Bon arrived in London I’d been here for quite some time.” She claimed Ronnie Wood from the Rolling Stones “became a friend” and that they shared a house where she worked for him in an unspecified role. “So I went to a lot of really interesting gigs.”
Bon Scott signs an autograph for a fan as the band returns to Sydney after an overseas tour, 26 November 1976. (Image credit: Fairfax Media via Getty Images)
Through my work as a PR for bands like Journey and Black Sabbath, I met both Bon and Silver in the summer of 1979 at her tiny bedsit in West London. The pair had a history, she told me. True love, as she told it, thwarted by Bon’s ambition and Silver’s refusal to be the little lady left behind at home.
With her croaky junkie voice, bleary smile and tough-cookie demeanour, Silver was no pushover. She was hard in a way so-called hard men like Bon Scott could never be. “She was part of Bon’s world,” says Michael Browning, AC/DC’s former manager, “but she certainly wasn’t part of the band’s world. She was looked upon as being a negative influence.”
A more positive influence on the wayward singer in those final years was that of Ian Jeffery. “We would be hanging out just talking bullshit,” he says now. “Bon was a sociable guy, whereas with Malcolm and Angus it was maybe a hello or a grunt every now and again. Bon would want to have conversations, want to do different things. Bon would have friends and acquaintances all over the place. He would write hundreds and hundreds of postcards. He was always off down the post office, posting cards to people he’d met once or twice, along with people that were really good friends of his.”
For Jeffery, who would go on to work with Def Leppard, Ozzy Osbourne and U2, Bon was simply the greatest frontman there ever was. “These were the days of absolutely no technology. And most of the gigs Bon did with AC/DC, at least in America, were always opening for other big bands. So he had a job on his hands every single night and he just killed it. They would have no idea who the band was, but by the end Bon had them eating out of the palm of his hands.”
As Joe Perry told one American writer after AC/DC had just blown Aerosmith off the stage in 1979: “Bon had so many miles on him. You could tell when he sang… he was there, man.” Or as Bon himself said in 1978: “We just want to make the walls cave in and the ceiling collapse… Music is meant to be played as loudly as possible, really raw and punchy, and I’ll punch out anyone who doesn’t like it the way I do.”
The final world tour of 1979/80 found Bon Scott on the edge of the abyss, physically, mentally. For the first time, Angus, who had always looked up to Bon and loved him, began to openly fret. Malcolm, unsure whether to pull the trigger or not, chose to look the other way for now, but had decided on a reckoning when the tour was over.
“Bon was in rough shape,” their American agent Doug Thaler recalls. “He was drunk most of the time or sleeping it off. He was starting to have a real problem. The last time I saw him [was] the last date on that tour in Chicago. I saw him at the hotel in the afternoon. He was so drunk he could barely stand up. He didn’t acknowledge me. He had a couple of chicks with him, but he was in very rough shape for broad daylight. And I know the guys were starting to have problems with him by that time because of that reason.”
You get a flavour of just how worn out Bon Scott was in the film shot in Paris by French filmmakers Eric Dionysius and Eric Mistler, released a year later as the in-concert movie AC/DC: Let There Be Rock.
In it, Bon looks every one of his 33 years. And although he smiles for the camera and appears to put on a fair show for the French audience, the poses are not even ironic, merely rote, the inevitable plastic white cup full of whisky glued to his hand, his movements stiff as though in pain.
When the world tour finally ended Bon was so floored he slept for most of the 26-hour flight home, waking only to pick at the in-flight meal and guzzle as many free miniature bottles of scotch and bourbon as he could stay awake for. Back in Australia, exhausted and still drinking heavily, he spent the three-day Christmas weekend at his parents’ home in Perth. It was the first time in three years he had been home.
Like the rest of his friends, Bon’s parents Isa and Chick couldn’t help noticing how much their son’s drinking had escalated. But then New Year – Scottish Hogmanay – was always a time of drinking into the night and next morning.
Flying back to London in January 1980, Bon didn’t feel rested so much as spaced out, Sydney already seeming more like a dream. The first thing he did when he returned was arrange to finally get his own flat in London. Silver lent him a few sticks of furniture, knickknacks and kitchen utensils, to help him move in without too much hassle.
In the days before he died, Bon made phone calls to old friends and acquaintances, in some cases people he hadn’t seen for years. Among them were Michael Browning, Doug Thaler, Irene. No one says they got a sense of anything wrong.
“He always had this thing in his mind that he was never going to grow old,” says Fifa Riccobono. “I spoke to him literally days before he passed away and he was incredibly excited. He said that he’d just been with Malcolm and Angus, and he’d been listening to some of the things they’d been writing for the new album, some of the riffs. He said, ‘Fifa, wait until you hear this, it’s going to be brilliant, a fantastic album.’ In my mind, he was going in the studio three or four days later. So when I heard he’d passed away, I found it really hard to accept.”
AC/DC – Beating Around The Bush (“Aplauso” TVE Official, Madrid, Spain 02/09/1980) VHS. – YouTube
How the greatest rock’n’roll frontman of them all died has long been the source of conjecture: too much of this, too much of that, a touch too much of everything. Ian Jeffery vividly recalls getting a phone call at 2.30 in the morning from a distraught Malcolm Young: “Bon’s fucking dead.” He remembers arriving at the hospital with the band’s new manager, Peter Mensch, at 6.30am, still unable to believe that the singer was gone, half-expecting to find Bon had somehow survived – yet again.
The Evening Standard broke the news: left in a car to sleep off a night of heavy drinking by a musician friend, Bon was found unconscious the following evening and pronounced DOS at the hospital. Police said there were no suspicious circumstances. It was this silted information that formed the backbone of every story subsequently printed around the world, and to which much of the official version of Bon Scott’s death is still attributed today. Just like his life, Bon’s death – shrouded in secrecy and rumour – would become a figment of someone else’s rock’n’roll fantasy.
Speaking in 2010, Silver Smith claimed: “He died of major organ failure… the doctor’s report said that his organs were like those of a sixty-year-old man.” But no one else I have spoken to who was there can recall any similar “doctor’s report”.
Ian Jeffery snorts with derision when I mention it to him. “If Bon had been seeing a doctor, I’d have known. I never saw any notes or prescriptions, never took him to any appointments.” In fact, according to the autopsy Bon’s liver and general health were actually in reasonable condition.
Forty years later, it hardly matters. It’s really not Bon Scott’s death we should be remembering him for, but his extraordinary life.
“It keeps you fit, the alcohol, nasty women, sweat on stage, bad food – it’s all very good for you!” Bon had proclaimed in 1979. Except of course it wasn’t. Good for the ego, maybe, no good at all for body and soul, as Bon discovered.
“I always felt that he was still out on the road after he passed away,” says Fifa Riccobono. “I still feel like he’s out on tour. I’ll see a video and I can remember exactly where we were when we did it. He’s left that legacy that you watch him on-screen and you see that grin, it’s as if he’s still there.”
(Image credit: Fin Costello/Redferns)
The real tragedy is that, had he lived, Bon Scott might just have gone on to a better way of life. In private, stoned and tired and unable to see past the next day, he talked of “getting out”. Of maybe one more album with AC/DC and then back to Australia and a house up in the hills; a home with a wife and some “ankle-biters”.
Other times he talked of doing a solo album. Of maybe teaming up with some of the old Adelaide gang like Peter Head. In the days before his time with Peter and the Rangers turned sour, Bon and Peter had written some great stuff: the gentle Carey Gully, a sweet blend of Gram Parsons-inspired country and Celtic roots folk, based on the small town of the same name in the Adelaide Hills where Bon then lived. Its opening verse gives a wonderful glimpse of how life might have been for Bon if AC/DC had never come along, and of where he might have gone when it was over: ‘You go on down Piggy Lane through the flowers/That paint the hills as far as you can see/And that’s where I while away my hours/Hours of eternity/In a little tin shed on the hillside/Where we sit and drink our peppermint tea…’
How long that kind of peaceful feeling would have kept him happy is harder to guess. Another song he wrote with Peter, the autobiographical Been Up In The Hills Too Long, describes the frustrations of the born traveller waylaid too long by family commitments: ‘Well, I feel like an egg that ain’t been laid/I feel like a bill that ain’t been paid/I feel like a giant that ain’t been slayed/I feel like a saying that ain’t been said/Well, I don’t think things can get much worse/I feel my life is in reverse… I been up in the hills too long…’
That was Bon Scott. Too far up or too deep down. Not even he knew what was going to happen next. That’s why AC/DC loved him. And still miss him so.
This feature originally appeared in Classic Rock 212 (June 2015)
Mick Wall is the UK’s best-known rock writer, author and TV and radio programme maker, and is the author of numerous critically-acclaimed books, including definitive, bestselling titles on Led Zeppelin (When Giants Walked the Earth), Metallica (Enter Night), AC/DC (Hell Ain’t a Bad Place To Be), Black Sabbath (Symptom of the Universe), Lou Reed, The Doors (Love Becomes a Funeral Pyre), Guns N’ Roses and Lemmy. He lives in England.
“Patient Number 9” was recorded by Ozzy Osbourne for his thirteenth studio album of the same name, which was released on September 9, 2022. The song, featuring Jeff Beck on lead guitar, was recorded at multiple locations, including Platinum Underground in Arizona and Tone Hall in the UK, with production handled by Andrew Watt. Osbourne’s lineup for the track included Chad Smith on drums, Robert Trujillo on bass, and keyboardist Michael “Elvis” Baskette, contributing to its dense and layered sonic landscape. The song, released as the album’s lead single on June 24, 2022, set the tone for an album that explored mortality, mental illness, and the torment of isolation, all wrapped in Osbourne’s signature brand of heavy metal.
Lyrically, “Patient Number 9” dives deep into the terror of being trapped in one’s own mind, using the metaphor of a psychiatric institution to frame the experience of insanity. The opening lines immediately immerse the listener in an unsettling reality: “Every hallway’s painted white as the light / That will guide you to your help.” This stark imagery creates a suffocating, clinical atmosphere where the protagonist wrestles with internal demons. The repeated references to taking pills, spitting them out, and hearing voices screaming reflect the struggle of someone who has lost autonomy, manipulated by forces beyond their control. The chorus, “When they call your name, better run and hide / Tell you you’re insane, you believe their lies,” encapsulates the song’s central theme—losing one’s grip on reality under the weight of external manipulation. Osbourne’s vocal delivery, combined with Jeff Beck’s hauntingly intricate guitar work, amplifies the paranoia and desperation that permeate the lyrics.
The song’s music video reinforces its psychological horror elements with nightmarish visuals of distorted faces, eerie animation, and a fractured sense of identity. The imagery of padded walls, shadowy figures, and Osbourne himself trapped in a surreal world enhances the song’s themes of imprisonment and madness. Sonically, “Patient Number 9” blends classic heavy metal with a progressive edge, echoing Osbourne’s earlier works while incorporating modern production techniques. Compared to other songs in this article, it stands out for its direct portrayal of institutionalization, making it one of the most vivid explorations of insanity on the list. While other tracks may approach the theme metaphorically or abstractly, Osbourne places the listener directly inside the mind of someone spiraling out of control.
As a lead single, “Patient Number 9” was well received, reaching No. 1 on the Billboard Hot Hard Rock Songs chart and earning a Grammy Award for Best Metal Performance in 2023. It marked a significant moment in Osbourne’s late-career resurgence, proving that his ability to channel darkness into compelling music remained as potent as ever. With its intense instrumentation, lyrical depth, and haunting atmosphere, “Patient Number 9” serves as a defining modern entry in Osbourne’s catalog and a powerful contribution to this list of songs about insanity.
“Madness” was recorded by Elton John for his twelfth studio album, A Single Man, which was released on October 16, 1978. The album marked a transitional period in John’s career, as it was his first studio project without longtime lyricist Bernie Taupin, instead featuring lyrics by Gary Osborne. The track was recorded at The Mill in Cookham, England, with production handled by Clive Franks and Elton John. The musicians on the recording included Elton John on piano and vocals, Tim Renwick and Steve Holley on guitars, Clive Franks on bass, and Ray Cooper on percussion. While A Single Man produced hit singles such as “Part-Time Love” and “Song for Guy,” “Madness” remained an album track, yet its ominous tone and unsettling imagery made it one of the record’s most thematically intense compositions.
Lyrically, “Madness” explores the destructive consequences of violence and terrorism, presenting insanity as an inescapable force that drives people to commit unspeakable acts. The song’s opening lines—”The fuse is set and checked once more / Then left beside a back street door”—immediately paint a grim picture of a planned explosion, placing the listener in the middle of an unfolding tragedy. As the verses progress, the lyrics depict the chaos and devastation that follows, with “a child scream[ing] out in fear” and “the smell of death hang[ing] in the air.” The recurring refrain of “Madness” reinforces the senseless nature of the destruction, framing it not as an individual affliction but as a societal plague. Unlike other songs on this list that approach insanity from a personal, internalized perspective, “Madness” examines it as a collective phenomenon, a force that engulfs entire communities in cycles of hate and violence.
Musically, “Madness” carries a brooding, ominous quality that complements its dark subject matter. The instrumentation remains restrained, allowing John’s vocals to carry the weight of the song’s despair. The composition lacks the soaring melodies or grand arrangements often associated with his work from the 1970s, opting instead for a more stripped-down, almost cinematic approach. This choice enhances the tension, mirroring the cold detachment of the lyrics. The song’s structure builds on repetition, with the word “Madness” becoming a mantra that reinforces the inevitability of destruction. In comparison to other songs in this article, “Madness” stands out for its depiction of societal insanity rather than individual psychological torment, making it a harrowing addition to this exploration of the theme.
Though not released as a single, “Madness” remains a chilling and overlooked entry in Elton John’s catalog. Its bleak portrayal of chaos and destruction, combined with its haunting repetition, captures a unique perspective on the theme of insanity, framing it as something far larger than one person’s descent into madness. While A Single Man leaned toward more introspective and melodic compositions, this track serves as a stark reminder of how easily civilization can unravel when driven by unchecked rage and violence.
“Insanity” was recorded by Oingo Boingo for their final studio album, Boingo, which was released on October 18, 1994. This album marked a significant departure from the band’s earlier sound, as frontman Danny Elfman moved away from the ska and new wave influences that had defined Oingo Boingo in the 1980s, embracing a darker, more orchestral approach. Recorded at Ocean Way Recording and The Complex in Los Angeles, the album was produced by Elfman and Steve Bartek, with band members including John Avila on bass, Warren Fitzgerald on guitar, and Johnny “Vatos” Hernandez on drums. “Insanity” was released as the album’s lead single and encapsulated the band’s shift toward grander, more theatrical compositions, reinforcing themes of paranoia, societal decay, and the overwhelming influence of media and religion.
Lyrically, “Insanity” is a scathing critique of societal manipulation and mass delusion, using religious imagery, media influence, and psychological horror to paint a picture of a world spiraling out of control. The lyrics, “Let’s imitate reality / Let’s strive for mediocrity,” mock a culture that rewards conformity while suppressing individuality. Elfman delivers a manic vocal performance, alternating between sinister whispers and explosive, almost sermon-like outbursts, as he embodies different voices of authority—televangelists, politicians, and moral crusaders—who preach righteousness while embodying hypocrisy. Lines such as “The alcoholic bastard waved his finger at me / And his voice was filled with evangelical glee” expose the contradictions of those in power, drawing a direct parallel between insanity and blind obedience. Unlike other songs on this list that explore personal madness, “Insanity” broadens its scope to depict an entire civilization consumed by ideological extremes and mass hysteria.
Musically, “Insanity” is one of the most elaborate and dramatic compositions in Oingo Boingo’s catalog. It features bombastic orchestral flourishes, industrial rhythms, and a relentless intensity that mirrors the song’s lyrical descent into chaos. The song builds tension through unsettling crescendos and abrupt shifts in tempo, creating a sense of unpredictability that keeps the listener on edge. Elfman’s background in film scoring is evident in the cinematic scope of the arrangement, with sections that feel as if they belong in a horror film rather than a rock album. Compared to other tracks in this article, “Insanity” stands out for its theatricality, using grandiose musical elements to heighten the sense of derangement and societal collapse.
Although Boingo was not a commercial success, “Insanity” remains a defining track of the band’s later years, embodying the growing cynicism and experimental ambition that Elfman would later channel into his film scores. The song’s music video, featuring nightmarish visuals and surreal, distorted imagery, reinforced the song’s themes of media-induced madness and manipulation. In the context of this list, “Insanity” presents a unique perspective on madness—not as an individual affliction but as a collective phenomenon, where the real lunacy lies in the institutions and ideologies that dictate reality.
Few bands tackled dark subjects with the same blunt, irreverent humor as The Ramones, and “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment” turned the harrowing reality of psychiatric treatment into a frenzied punk anthem. Recorded for their second studio album, Leave Home, the track was laid down at Sundragon Studios in New York City and produced by Tony Bongiovi and Tommy Ramone. The song featured Joey Ramone on vocals, Johnny Ramone on guitar, Dee Dee Ramone on bass, and Tommy Ramone on drums, delivering a performance that lasted just over a minute and a half but packed in relentless energy and biting satire. Though never released as a single, “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment” became one of the album’s most infamous cuts, reflecting the band’s ability to find absurdity in the bleakest corners of life.
Lyrically, “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment” presents insanity through the warped perspective of a narrator who views electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) as a quick fix for his deteriorating mental state. Lines like “Heard about these treatments by a good friend of mine / He was always happy, smile on his face” drip with irony, suggesting an artificially induced happiness that masks deeper suffering. The repetition of “Happy-happy-happy all the time” reinforces the theme of forced conformity, echoing the way institutions often prioritized controlling behavior over true rehabilitation. In contrast to the desperation and fear found in Ozzy Osbourne’s “Patient Number 9,” which portrays the experience of psychiatric confinement from a much darker, more personal lens, The Ramones strip away any emotional depth in favor of punk’s signature detachment. Rather than dwelling on madness as a descent into horror, the song treats it like an absurd joke—one that ends before the listener has time to process its implications.
Musically, “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment” follows The Ramones’ signature formula of three-chord aggression, machine-gun drumming, and unrelenting speed. The breakneck pace reflects the song’s lyrical theme—there’s no room for contemplation, only the rapid-fire delivery of institutionalized insanity. This approach differs drastically from the theatrical, bombastic style of Oingo Boingo’s “Insanity,” which leans into elaborate orchestration and a slow-building tension. While both songs use insanity as a metaphor for societal control, The Ramones strip it to its barest essence, making the listener feel like they’re trapped in the same mechanical cycle as the song’s narrator.
As one of the many high-energy blasts from Leave Home, “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment” did not achieve the same level of recognition as some of The Ramones’ more widely known tracks, but it remains a perfect example of the band’s ability to deliver unsettling subject matter through humor and relentless pacing. While other songs in this list explore insanity with introspection or theatrical horror, The Ramones make it feel like an inescapable joke—one that hits just as hard decades after its release.
Few songs have captured the chaotic, spiraling thoughts of anxiety quite like “Basket Case.” Written by Billie Joe Armstrong about his struggles with panic disorder, the song transformed personal paranoia into a high-energy anthem of self-doubt and existential dread. Recorded for Dookie at Fantasy Studios in Berkeley, California, in late 1993, the track featured Armstrong on vocals and guitar, Mike Dirnt on bass, and Tré Cool on drums. Rob Cavallo, who produced the album, helped shape its clean yet aggressive sound, which would become a defining characteristic of the pop-punk explosion that followed. Released as the third single from Dookie on August 1, 1994, “Basket Case” propelled Green Day into mainstream consciousness, peaking at No. 1 on Billboard’s Modern Rock Tracks chart and becoming one of the most recognizable punk songs of the decade.
Lyrically, “Basket Case” immerses the listener in the racing thoughts of someone questioning their own sanity. The opening lines—”Do you have the time to listen to me whine / About nothing and everything all at once?”—immediately establish the narrator’s frantic mental state, oscillating between self-awareness and emotional unraveling. Armstrong’s lyrics reference therapy, medication, and paranoia, with lines like “I think I’m cracking up / Am I just paranoid? Or am I just stoned?” blurring the line between genuine psychological distress and substance-induced confusion. Unlike the satirical take on institutional treatment in The Ramones’ “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment,” “Basket Case” conveys a more personal, internal struggle, making it a rawer and more relatable depiction of insanity.
Musically, the song’s relentless energy mirrors the turmoil in its lyrics. The rapid-fire power chords, shifting dynamics, and Armstrong’s urgent vocal delivery create a sense of nervous momentum, as if the song itself is trying to outrun its own anxiety. Compared to the theatrical horror of Oingo Boingo’s “Insanity,” which leans on elaborate orchestration and grandiosity, “Basket Case” is stripped-down, immediate, and punk-driven, using simplicity to amplify its emotional punch. The song’s enduring popularity, fueled by heavy rotation on MTV and its now-iconic video set in a mental institution, cemented its place as one of the defining songs of the 1990s.
“Basket Case” was instrumental in Green Day’s rise to fame, helping Dookie sell over 10 million copies in the U.S. and win the Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Album in 1995. Its influence on pop-punk remains undeniable, as countless bands have since attempted to channel the same blend of humor, anxiety, and high-energy catharsis. Within the context of this article, “Basket Case” stands out as one of the most personal and relatable explorations of madness—less about external forces imposing insanity and more about the terrifying realization that one’s own mind may be the enemy.
Talking Heads explored paranoia and mental fragmentation with surgical precision in “Crosseyed and Painless.” Recorded for their fourth studio album, Remain in Light, the track was laid down at Compass Point Studios in Nassau, Bahamas, and Sigma Sound in New York City in 1980. The band collaborated closely with producer Brian Eno, who helped craft the album’s polyrhythmic, Afrobeat-inspired sound. The song featured David Byrne on vocals and guitar, Jerry Harrison on keyboards, Tina Weymouth on bass, and Chris Frantz on drums, alongside guest musicians such as Adrian Belew on guitar and Jon Hassell on trumpet. While “Crosseyed and Painless” was released as the album’s second single in the UK, it did not chart, though it became one of the band’s most acclaimed deep cuts, often performed live and featured in multiple retrospective collections.
Lyrically, “Crosseyed and Painless” is a disorienting descent into paranoia, detachment, and the futility of logic in a chaotic world. The opening verse—”Lost my shape / Trying to act casual / Can’t stop / I might end up in the hospital”—immediately throws the listener into a state of cognitive collapse. Byrne’s fragmented lyrics depict an unraveling mind struggling to grasp objective reality, culminating in the song’s mantra-like repetition of “Facts are simple and facts are straight / Facts are lazy and facts are late.” Unlike the raw, personal anxiety expressed in Green Day’s “Basket Case,” which captures the experience of panic from a first-person perspective, “Crosseyed and Painless” takes a broader approach, examining the dissolution of truth itself. The song mirrors the way madness can manifest as an inability to trust one’s own perception, reducing existence to a meaningless collection of disconnected facts.
Musically, the track is built around a relentless groove, with the influence of Fela Kuti’s Afrobeat evident in the layered percussion, hypnotic bassline, and interlocking guitar rhythms. Byrne’s delivery grows increasingly frantic as the song progresses, matching the lyrical theme of a mind spiraling out of control. Compared to the aggressive, two-minute bursts of punk energy in The Ramones’ “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment,” Talking Heads stretch their exploration of insanity over six and a half minutes, using repetition and sonic tension to simulate an extended psychological breakdown. The track’s frantic energy also contrasts with the calculated theatricality of Oingo Boingo’s “Insanity,” which leans more into performance-driven horror. In “Crosseyed and Painless,” the breakdown isn’t just a theme—it’s embedded into the song’s very structure.
Though Remain in Light was not initially a major commercial success, it became one of Talking Heads’ most celebrated albums, often cited as a groundbreaking fusion of new wave, funk, and world music. “Crosseyed and Painless” remains a critical part of that legacy, embodying the band’s ability to turn existential dread into something danceable. Within the context of this article, the song stands out for its cerebral approach to insanity, framing it not as a moment of emotional collapse but as an intellectual and sensory overload where logic itself ceases to function.
Metallica explored psychological torment and loss of control with relentless force in “Sad but True.” Recorded for Metallica (commonly known as The Black Album), the song was tracked between October 1990 and June 1991 at One on One Recording Studios in Los Angeles. Produced by Bob Rock alongside the band, the track showcased Metallica’s shift toward a slower, heavier sound that emphasized groove over speed. The lineup featured James Hetfield on vocals and rhythm guitar, Kirk Hammett on lead guitar, Jason Newsted on bass, and Lars Ulrich on drums. Released as the album’s fifth single on February 8, 1993, “Sad but True” became one of Metallica’s signature tracks, demonstrating their ability to convey psychological horror through crushing riffs and menacing lyrics.
Lyrically, “Sad but True” presents an unsettling dialogue between an individual and an oppressive, controlling force. The song’s opening lines—”Hey, I’m your life / I’m the one who takes you there”—immediately introduce a sinister presence that manipulates the narrator’s every move. As the verses progress, this entity asserts dominance, coercing the narrator into submission: “Do my work / Do my dirty work, scapegoat.” The ambiguity of the lyrics leaves room for multiple interpretations, with many listeners reading the song as an exploration of addiction, self-destruction, or an internal battle with one’s darker impulses. Unlike the detached, observational approach of Talking Heads’ “Crosseyed and Painless,” which examines insanity through fragmented thoughts, “Sad but True” places the listener inside a personal struggle for control, where the line between victim and perpetrator dissolves.
Musically, the song’s slow, punishing tempo enhances its sense of inescapable doom. The main riff, tuned down a whole step for extra weight, is one of Metallica’s heaviest, creating a suffocating atmosphere that mirrors the lyrics’ themes of manipulation and psychological imprisonment. Compared to the frantic paranoia of Green Day’s “Basket Case,” which portrays anxiety as a fast-paced, spiraling experience, “Sad but True” depicts insanity as a slow, crushing force that erodes free will over time. The song’s relentless groove, combined with Hetfield’s commanding vocal delivery, makes the listener feel trapped in a cycle of submission—unable to resist the force that controls them.
Though Metallica was a stylistic departure from the band’s thrash roots, “Sad but True” became a defining moment in their career, reinforcing their dominance in heavy metal. The song has remained a staple of their live performances, often accompanied by its ominous, stadium-shaking riff that underscores its lasting impact. In the context of this article, “Sad but True” stands out for its depiction of madness as an external force invading the mind, offering a chilling contrast to other songs that frame insanity as an internal collapse.
Pink Floyd composed “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” as a sprawling, nine-part suite that served as both a tribute and a lament for their former bandmate, Syd Barrett. Recorded between January and July 1975 at Abbey Road Studios in London, the song bookended Wish You Were Here, with Parts I-V opening the album and Parts VI-IX concluding it. Produced by the band and engineered by Brian Humphries, the recording featured David Gilmour on vocals and guitar, Roger Waters on bass and vocals, Richard Wright on keyboards, and Nick Mason on drums. The track’s ethereal introduction, featuring Wright’s sustained synthesizer chords and Gilmour’s weeping guitar, set a haunting tone, mirroring the themes of Barrett’s mental decline. Though never released as a single, “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” became one of Pink Floyd’s most celebrated compositions, deeply intertwined with the band’s history and Barrett’s tragic descent into madness.
Lyrically, “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” portrays insanity through the lens of loss and remembrance. The opening lines—”Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun”—recall Barrett’s early brilliance, only to contrast it with later verses that describe his mental collapse: “Now there’s a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.” The lyrics present Barrett as a “target for faraway laughter” and a “seer of visions,” depicting both his creative genius and his eventual detachment from reality. Unlike the internal panic of Green Day’s “Basket Case” or the external manipulation in Metallica’s “Sad but True,” “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” approaches insanity from a distance, observing it as an irreversible transformation rather than an immediate personal struggle. The imagery of childhood dreams colliding with the pressures of fame suggests that Barrett’s madness was not solely an internal affliction but something exacerbated by the industry and those around him.
Musically, the song’s structure reinforces its themes of disconnection and fading identity. The extended instrumental passages, particularly Gilmour’s melancholic guitar solos, evoke a sense of longing, as if reaching out for someone who has already drifted away. The track’s gradual build from a single sustained note to a full orchestration of guitars, keyboards, and saxophone mimics the slow unraveling of Barrett’s mind. Compared to the frantic, looping paranoia of Talking Heads’ “Crosseyed and Painless,” which disorients the listener through jittery rhythms and fragmented thoughts, “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” is meditative, allowing its sorrow to unfold over twenty-six minutes. The song doesn’t just describe insanity—it lingers in it, stretching time in a way that makes the listener feel the weight of its subject’s absence.
“Shine On You Crazy Diamond” remains one of the most emotionally powerful explorations of mental decline in rock history. As Wish You Were Here became one of Pink Floyd’s most acclaimed albums, the song’s significance only deepened, forever linking Barrett’s legacy to the band’s mythology. In the context of this article, the track stands apart for its perspective—it is not about the experience of madness itself, but about those left behind, watching someone disappear into it.
Queen took an unusual approach to the theme of insanity with “I’m Going Slightly Mad,” blending surrealist humor with an underlying sense of melancholy. The song was recorded for Innuendo, the band’s fourteenth studio album, at Mountain Studios in Montreux, Switzerland, and Metropolis Studios in London between early 1990 and November of that year. Produced by the band and David Richards, the track featured Freddie Mercury on lead vocals, Brian May on guitar, John Deacon on bass, and Roger Taylor on drums. Released as the second single from Innuendo on March 4, 1991, “I’m Going Slightly Mad” stood out for its theatrical delivery, marked by Mercury’s deliberately exaggerated vocal performance and the song’s cabaret-like arrangement.
Lyrically, “I’m Going Slightly Mad” presents madness through absurdist wordplay and whimsical imagery, masking a darker subtext beneath its playful exterior. The verses introduce a narrator slipping into insanity with lines like “One thousand and one yellow daffodils begin to dance in front of you” and “I think I’m a banana tree,” using nonsensical statements to illustrate a detachment from reality. As the song progresses, the humor gives way to a deeper sense of unease, reinforced by phrases such as “You’re missing that one final screw” and “Unraveling fast, it’s true.” Compared to the anxious spirals of Green Day’s “Basket Case,” which conveys paranoia and self-doubt with rapid-fire delivery, Queen’s song leans into a more theatrical, detached portrayal of insanity—one where the absurd becomes unsettling.
Musically, the song’s slow, lurching rhythm and atmospheric keyboard layers create an eerie, dreamlike quality. The descending chord progressions contribute to the sensation of gradual mental deterioration, while Mercury’s vocal phrasing adds to the song’s eerie charm. This contrasts with the crushing heaviness of Metallica’s “Sad but True,” which depicts madness as an external force controlling the narrator’s actions. In “I’m Going Slightly Mad,” insanity is presented as something almost self-inflicted—an inevitability that arrives not with terror, but with a resigned smirk.
The song’s music video further emphasized its surrealist qualities, featuring the band dressed in exaggerated, gothic-inspired costumes and engaging in absurd antics. Despite its humor, “I’m Going Slightly Mad” was deeply significant within the context of Innuendo, as it was one of the last songs Mercury recorded before his death later that year. The song’s playful facade took on a bittersweet quality in hindsight, making it one of Queen’s most unique explorations of psychological unraveling. Within this list, it remains one of the most theatrical and darkly comedic representations of insanity, proving that madness can be just as unsettling when delivered with a smile.
Alice Cooper, originally the name of the band before Vincent Furnier adopted it as his stage name, delivered one of rock’s most unsettling depictions of madness with “Ballad of Dwight Fry.” Recorded for Love It to Death, the band’s third studio album, the track was laid down in 1970 at RCA Mid-American Recording in Chicago and produced by Bob Ezrin. The lineup for the recording featured Vincent Furnier (Alice Cooper) on vocals, Glen Buxton and Michael Bruce on guitars, Dennis Dunaway on bass, and Neal Smith on drums. “Ballad of Dwight Fry” was never released as a single, but it became one of the band’s most defining compositions, frequently performed live with theatrical flair, reinforcing its disturbing themes of psychological decay and institutional confinement.
The song’s lyrics unravel the mental breakdown of a man confined to an asylum, blending first-person desperation with horror-inspired imagery. The unsettling opening—featuring a child’s voice asking, “Mommy, where’s daddy? He’s been gone for so long”—immediately frames the protagonist’s absence as something tragic and mysterious. From there, the narrator details his deteriorating state: “Held up in the intensive care ward / Lyin’ on the floor,” conveying a sense of isolation and helplessness. As his condition worsens, he fixates on escaping, chanting, “I wanna get outta here!” in an increasingly frantic tone. Unlike the fast-paced neurosis of Green Day’s “Basket Case,” which uses punk energy to capture the feeling of spiraling anxiety, “Ballad of Dwight Fry” takes a slow-burning approach, portraying madness as a drawn-out descent into delusion and despair. The song’s title references Dwight Frye, a classic horror actor known for playing mentally unstable characters in Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1931), further solidifying its connection to themes of insanity.
Musically, the song transitions between eerie acoustic sections and explosive bursts of hard rock, mirroring the protagonist’s unstable mental state. The whispered vocals and creeping instrumentation in the verses create a sense of dread before the song erupts into distorted guitars and raw, unhinged screams. This dynamic shift sets it apart from the crushing heaviness of Metallica’s “Sad but True,” which presents insanity as an external force, whereas “Ballad of Dwight Fry” places the listener inside the mind of someone losing their grip on reality. Compared to the detached, satirical approach of Queen’s “I’m Going Slightly Mad,” Alice Cooper’s song leans into theatrical horror, making the descent into madness feel suffocating and inescapable.
As the closing entry in this article, “Ballad of Dwight Fry” serves as a fitting final statement on the theme of insanity in rock music. Its theatrical storytelling, psychological torment, and macabre delivery encapsulate the raw fear of losing one’s mind, making it one of the most compelling depictions of madness ever recorded. Over five decades later, it remains a haunting fixture in Alice Cooper’s catalog and a chilling example of how music can bring the horrors of insanity to life.
The ultimate song about Insanity that stands all on its own
“They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” – Napoleon XIV
Napoleon XIV delivered one of the most unsettling novelty hits of all time with “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” Released on July 4, 1966, the song was recorded at Associated Recording Studios in New York City and produced by its creator, Jerry Samuels. Using only drums, tambourines, and sound effects, Samuels manipulated tape speed to create the song’s unhinged vocal delivery, amplifying its demented tone. The track quickly climbed the charts, reaching No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 4 in the UK, but its success was short-lived—many radio stations pulled the song after backlash from mental health advocacy groups, who criticized its portrayal of insanity.
Lyrically, “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” presents madness as an escalating monologue, delivered by a narrator who is rapidly unraveling. The song begins with a seemingly standard breakup lament: “Remember when you ran away and I got on my knees and begged you not to leave because I’d go berserk?” From there, the narrator’s grief twists into mania, culminating in the repeated, manic chant of “They’re coming to take me away, ha-ha, ho-ho, hee-hee!” The lyrics depict a complete mental collapse, where reality and delusion blur, and the protagonist finds himself being institutionalized against his will. Unlike the theatrical horror of Alice Cooper’s “Ballad of Dwight Fry,” which tells the story of an asylum inmate desperately trying to escape, Napoleon XIV’s song unfolds like a slow-motion breakdown, where the protagonist fully embraces his own descent into madness. The repetition, combined with the progressively warped vocal effects, mirrors the disorientation of losing one’s grip on reality.
Musically, the song’s sparse instrumentation relies on rhythm and vocal manipulation rather than melody, making it unlike anything else in this article. The song’s structure is intentionally monotonous, reinforcing the theme of obsession and insanity. Compared to the dark humor of Queen’s “I’m Going Slightly Mad,” which masks its bleakness with surreal wordplay, “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” is far more direct, using absurdity as a weapon to unsettle the listener. While Green Day’s “Basket Case” channels its narrator’s anxiety through high-energy punk, Napoleon XIV strips everything down to a hypnotic, percussive chant that leaves the listener trapped inside the mind of the song’s unraveling protagonist.
As a bonus track in this article, “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” belongs in its own category. While other songs on this list explore insanity through introspective lyrics, shifting melodies, or dramatic storytelling, this track embraces madness in its purest form, both sonically and thematically. Its initial chart success and subsequent controversy only reinforced its disturbing nature, making it one of the most infamous novelty songs ever recorded. Over five decades later, it remains an eerie, unforgettable depiction of psychological collapse—one that listeners either find hilarious or completely terrifying.
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Rick Springfield landed his first and only No. 1 single with “Jessie’s Girl” in the summer of 1981. While some artists have said they had no idea they were about to have major success, the Australian singer-songwriter fortunately had a different viewpoint.
“I always thought every song I wrote is going to be a hit,” he shares in a new interview on the UCR Podcast. “You have to think that, otherwise, I won’t finish the song. If I think [something] is album filler, I won’t finish it. Back then, I was certainly writing songs that I would love to hear on the radio.”
He credits his tireless work ethic, even then, as something that contributed in a helpful way to the vision he had for his music. “I love to write and play,” he says. “I would have a commercial element [in the things I was writing], but I thought there were way better songs on Working Class Dog than ‘Jessie’s Girl.'”
Springfield was in the process of going over material for the album that became 1981’s Working Class Dog. It was his manager, Joe Gottfried, who also owned Sound City, the legendary studio where he was recording, that suggested perhaps he should look to work with producer Keith Olsen (Foreigner, Pat Benatar, Fleetwood Mac) on a couple of songs. The pair had a bit of history, as Olsen had done some production work on Springfield’s Beginnings album, which was released in 1972.
The Origins of ‘Jessie’s Girl’
“He listened to all of my demos. I do very thorough demos and back then, I was using cushions for drums,” Springfield recalls now. “I had an old bass that I got for 20 bucks from a pawn shop. It all fit into the Teac four-track [recorder] that was kind of standard for home songwriters. I had 10 songs that I was really happy with. I went to Keith’s house and played them and he listened to them all and picked ‘Jessie’s Girl,’ I go, ‘Why?’ I thought there were much more commercial songs on there. But he was right and you can’t fault that.”
Watch Rick Springfield’s Video For ‘Jessie’s Girl’
The guitarist had written the song near the end of the ’70s and when he eventually recorded it with Olsen, the producer made some changes. “There was a big long solo in the middle of the song on the demo. I’d vamp on A and play a two-minute solo,” he says now. “As Keith was listening to it, he was making a cutting motion. So I learned from him to be very concise in my writing. That’s probably the main thing I learned from him. You know, make it short and sweet and hit the good spots and leave the stuff that people are going to start yawning about out. I’ve tried to follow that all along with my career.”
Springfield will be back on the road this summer, headlining a bill that also includes John Waite, Wang Chung, Paul Young and John Cafferty. The concerts will showcase music from his newest record, Big Hits: Rick Springfield’s Greatest Hits, Vol. 2, which highlights some of the best material from the albums he’s released in the past 25 years. The collection features several songs that are previously unreleased or hard to find, including a new song, “Lose Myself.”
He also went back and recorded a new version of “Jessie’s Girl” to include on Big Hits and admits that it was an adventure revisiting what he’d done at the beginning of the ’80s on the original version. “The initial guitar sound was a tough one to [replicate],” he shares. “Because it was two amps — two old Marshalls with an Eventide between them. So you’d lower the pitch of one and it created this really unique sound. As soon as you hear the riff on the radio, you recognize that sound. Matching that was pretty tough.”
Listen to Rick Springfield on the ‘UCR Podcast’
Totally ’80s: The Pictures That Take You Back
Take a nostalgic journey through the ’80s with these iconic photos—capturing the fashion, toys, and unforgettable news events that left a lasting impact on a generation. Keep scrolling to relive the moments that defined the decade.
“In light of your incredible responses and the demand for the Becoming Led Zeppelin film from those of you that have either viewed it at the IMAX or during its general cinema release, I must say that feedback from fans is just humbling and inspiring,” says the Zeppelin man. “Thanks to everyone for your enthusiasm – and here’s the trailer for those of you who haven’t seen it yet.” [Trailer Below]
Becoming Led Zeppelin premiered earlier this month and has since taken over $6M at the box office worldwide after grossing $3M during the opening weekend. The film’s $2.6M opening in the US represented the biggest-ever opening weekend ever for an IMAX-exclusive music release.
While Jimmy Page has now reacted to the reception afforded to Becoming Led Zeppelin, the other members of the band have not publicly commented, and Page was the only member of the band who attended the film’s original premiere at the Venice Film Festival in 2021,
Elsewhere, the official Led Zeppelin social media accounts have not mentioned the film at all. The band’s Facebook/Instagram and Twitter/X pages have been dormant for nearly two years – the last post on each platform shared news of a clear vinyl reissue of Led Zeppelin IV in April 2023 – while the band’s most recent post on TikTok was the previous month, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the band’s 1973 album Houses Of The Holy.
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