There were 3 main reasons to cop Kerrang in the very early 90s : their resident metal Mystic-Meg bird Fire (she had that whole rock-gypsy type look down pizzack and can lay claim to being the source material for one of my very first legitimate wanks), the Mike Gitter reviews of various reissued hardcore classics which were being released on cd for the first time (as essential a guide to the history of American hardcore as issues of MRR and Thrasher), and the highly titillating letters pages. Always a source of amusement, the zenith of the Kerrang correspondence section was the tsunami of angry dispatches the mag would receive every time a metal musician fessed up to batting for the other side (the explosion of Nirvana somehow led to various metal musicians finally feeling comfortable enough to admit that they were partial to the cock), with tearful metal fanboys denouncing their love of the band the guilty musician was a member of and concluding that, since the gay band member in question enjoys cock up his arse, he'll probably enjoy the feet of disgruntled fans next time the band play live too. Sock it to 'im, boys.
Faith No More's aptly named Roddy Bottum was the first musician to step out of the closet and into the metal sin-bin, but the least suprising case had to be Rob Halford from Judas Priest, the Cliff Richard of metal in speculation about his sexuality terms, admitting he was gay. A declaration which clearly brought the O Rly Owl fluttering out of its nest :
You might expect a mature gentlemen such as Rob would only sport get-ups like the one above when morphing into Priest-mode nowadays, but, nope, even a saturday afternoon trip to B&Q is deemed worthy to yield the full metal jacket, chaps and leather cap outfit :
He may have a pair of Lee Coopers under his chaps but, according to Barratt, there was nada under that waistcoat other than 2 harnesses on some MC Eiht & CMW type shit :
MC Eiht & CMW - We Come Strapped
Bonus beats :
Since we're reminiscing about metal at the turn of the 90s, the law of Sodom dictates that we have to pay bumfluffed lip service to the provincial metal diety that was Chris Needham and his glorious BBC2 video diary In Bed With Chris Needham, a show which the BBC can forever use to justify the TV licence fee :
Authenticity is key, which is why the ironic mullets sported by twats during the last decade lack the natural bouffant/lank synthesis of Needham's Herculean mullet. Parts 2 to 6 can be found in the related video links on the 'tube.