night . . . what do you call them here, a bachelorette party? Yeah, for one of Bootsyâs friends.â
â
Diabolus in Musica
at a Bar Mitzvah?â
âOh, back then we changed our name more often than we changed our pants! We were
Rue Morgue
, like the Poe story . . . then
Howler
. Oh, and
Houston to Delanceyâ
I think Simone had come up with that, she was always writing letters to Rick with suggestions for improving the band. Trying to make us avant-garde. For a long time we were called
Fetish
. Probably Samâs contribution, canât remember.â
Adrian turned the page. âAh yes. Cue the lovely Simone. She arrived the fall of that year to study at Queen Mary University. Straight from New Yorkâs Upper East Side to Londonâs East End, but that didnât seem to faze her. She fell right in with us. Adam had joined as our drummer, and we had moved to London by then. Rickâs parents funded a flat for us, so long as Rick enrolled in University there.â
âSo were you officially Corroded Corpse by then?â
Adrian nodded. âWe were hanging out in the flat, drinking and listening to records, when Rick picked up the cover to Iron Maidenâs brilliant debut. He gestured to the artwork, which featured a gape-mouthed zombie-like creature, and scoffed that we could do better than some corroded corpse on our album cover. We all just looked at one another and it clicked.â
So with the name and lineup firmly established, and shortly thereafter a demo under their belt, the band began playing regular gigs around London, gaining an impressive loyal following of denim-clad teens, their leathers covered in badges and pins to prove their allegiance to the various bands of the era. The U.K. youth in the London heavy metal scene were a recognizable force by 1981. In fact, there wasnât much difference between those on the stage and those in the audience. Digger was 18, and knew the ins and outs of almost every club in town as both a musician and a concertgoer. His reputation led to secondary jobs as a stagehand and guitar tech at larger venues like the Marquee and the Rainbow.
âWere you a roadie?â I asked him.
âI was more like local crew for the clubs. Not only did I get to see a ton of quality shows, buckshee and front and center, but I also met a lot of musicians, managers, and A&R blokes from various record labels. Every connection was a step closer to discovery. But it was a chance meeting in a pool hall that led us to our manager.â
The edge in his voice was palpable. Several of the bookâs glossy pages crumpled beneath his death-grip. I smoothed my hands across his, soothing as I moved up his arms.
âIt was Wren who suggested Rick shorten his somewhat âethnicâ surname to Rotten. When we moaned that it sounded like a blatant rip-off of the Sex Pistolsâ Johnny Rotten, Wren pointed out, âDo you really think Chaim Witz would have gotten very far leading KISS?â See, he just knew all these bizarre rock facts, like Gene Simmonsâs birth name. He could recite how many albums a band had sold or what a venueâs capacity was without batting an eyelash. And when that eighty-page contract from the label was couriered to our doorstep, he was able to offer up valuable points of advice, like âGet a feckinâ lawyer so we can sign this thing!ââ
âWow. How did your parents . . . and Rickâs . . . react?â
âRickâs parents had been ever-supportive of us, so long as Rick continued with school. They always expressed interest, even attended shows when they could. I hadnât seen either of my parents since moving to the big city.â He waved his hand to dismiss the memory. âI couldnât be arsed; I had a contract with my name on it! We took it straightaway to my brother, who was in law school. We didnât exactly have the money to put a