Gen X Reflex: Don’t Fear the Reaper
I Thought Blue Öyster Cult Was a Cult
Blue Oyster Cult. Source: WSJ
You hear the guitar.
That little riff starts circling.
You know it.
And then...
Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
Oh, stop it.
If you are a Gen Xer of a certain musical persuasion, your brain has already completed the assignment.
Blue Öyster Cult.
“(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.”
And because popular culture has forever ruined us, there is a very good chance that somewhere in the back of your mind Christopher Walken has appeared to inform you that he has a fever.
And there is only one prescription.
More cowbell.
Thank you, Saturday Night Live.
We’ll get to that.
But first, I want you to do something that has become surprisingly difficult in the years since that sketch became a cultural phenomenon.
Forget the cowbell.
Just for a minute.
And listen to the song.
Because underneath one of rock and roll’s most famous jokes is an absolutely gorgeous piece of music.
It is haunting.
The guitar circles rather than attacks. The vocal almost floats above the instrumentation. The rhythm carries you forward without overwhelming anything around it. Then the song opens into that extraordinary middle section where the guitar takes over and the whole thing becomes something bigger, stranger and almost otherworldly before finding its way home again.
It is not simply a catchy rock song.
It is a piece of art.
And when I was young, I was absolutely convinced it was evidence that Blue Öyster Cult was involved in something sinister.
In my defense...
They had the word CULT right there in the name.
What exactly was I supposed to think?
I Thought They Were a Cult
You have to understand something about growing up before the Internet.
Rumors had legs.
Really long legs.
There was no phone in your hand that allowed you to immediately ask whether something was true.
You heard things.
Someone’s older brother knew somebody.
Some kid at school heard something from another kid whose cousin supposedly knew somebody who worked at a radio station.
A parent heard something at church.
A DJ mentioned something.
And before you knew it, something that had absolutely no business being considered a fact had become established truth.
Rock and roll was particularly good at generating these stories.
One of the great ones from my childhood surrounded the Ohio Players and their song “Love Rollercoaster.” There is a scream in the recording. Somewhere along the way, an urban legend developed that the scream captured an actual murder occurring during the recording session.
Think about that for a moment.
Someone supposedly committed a murder in the studio.
The band accidentally recorded evidence of said murder.
And then everyone involved apparently decided:
Yeah. Leave that in. 😂
We believed some stuff back then.
Maybe someday I'll write an entire article about rock-and-roll urban legends because there were plenty of them.
But that was the environment in which Little Angel first encountered a band called Blue Öyster Cult.
There were strange symbols.
There was fantastical artwork.
There were songs about death.
There were monsters.
There were psychic wars.
There were rumors about dark forces, devil worship, sacrifices and whatever else frightened adults could attach to rock music at the time.
And then their biggest song was called:
“(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I had a case. 😂
About That Reaper
For years, I interpreted “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” much more literally than I probably should have.
There was death all over the thing.
There were references to Romeo and Juliet.
There was the Reaper.
There was mortality.
And because I had already been primed to think these people might be worshipping something dark, I heard all of it through that filter.
As an adult, I hear something different.
And once I learned what songwriter Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser intended, I appreciated the song even more.
This isn't a song encouraging death.
It's a meditation on mortality and love transcending death.
That's considerably more interesting.
Death is inevitable. We're frightened of it because we're human. But what if love isn't bound by the same limits we are?
That's a pretty heady idea for a song most of us now associate with Will Ferrell violently attacking a cowbell.
Which brings us to...
Fine. Let’s Talk About the Cowbell.
In 2000, Saturday Night Live aired the now legendary sketch featuring Christopher Walken and Will Ferrell recreating the recording of “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.”
Walken plays fictional producer Bruce Dickinson.
Ferrell plays fictional band member Gene Frenkle.
And Frenkle has one very important job.
Cowbell.
Lots and lots of cowbell.
The joke became so enormous that “more cowbell” essentially entered the cultural vocabulary.
And Blue Öyster Cult has been living with it ever since.
Imagine creating one of the most haunting rock songs of the 1970s.
Decades pass.
Generations discover it.
And humanity ultimately decides:
CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK. 😂
I love the sketch.
I love the joke.
But seriously.
Go back sometime and listen to the record.
The whole record.
Because that song is spectacular.
And Blue Öyster Cult deserves considerably more credit than the cowbell.
So Who Were These Guys Anyway?
Here is where Adult Angel discovered something Young Angel would have found absolutely fascinating.
Blue Öyster Cult wasn't a secret society of Satan worshippers.
They were something much more dangerous.
They were nerds. 😂
Really creative nerds.
Blue Öyster Cult grew out of the late-1960s Long Island music scene, initially under the name Soft White Underbelly. The band that eventually became BÖC developed through several incarnations before settling into the name Blue Öyster Cult in the early 1970s.
Manager and producer Sandy Pearlman was enormously important to the development of their identity.
And this wasn't merely about finding five guys, putting guitars in their hands and sending them onto a stage.
There was mythology involved.
Ideas.
Characters.
Symbols.
Science fiction.
Fantasy.
Occult imagery.
History.
Literature.
The band's famous hook-and-cross symbol added another layer of mystery to the whole thing.
For Young Angel?
Obviously proof of cult activity.
For Adult Angel?
Ohhhh. These guys were worldbuilding.
Now we're talking.
Rock ’n’ Roll for Nerds
The more I learned about Blue Öyster Cult, the more I realized that one of the things I had always liked about them was exactly the thing I hadn't known how to identify.
They were rock ’n’ roll for nerds.
And I mean that with enormous affection.
Their songs could take you into mythology, horror, science fiction and bizarre imagined worlds without losing the rock and roll.
They also had receipts.
Writer and critic Richard Meltzer contributed lyrics during the band's history.
Patti Smith collaborated with them.
And then there was fantasy and science-fiction author Michael Moorcock.
Yes.
That Michael Moorcock.
The man who created Elric of Melniboné wrote lyrics with Blue Öyster Cult.
So if you ever listened to one of their songs and thought:
This sounds suspiciously like someone let a fantasy writer into the recording studio...
They did. 😂
Which brings me to one of my favorite Blue Öyster Cult songs.
I Blame Heavy Metal. Again.
Apparently I'm going to have to write an article called:
Heavy Metal: The Movie That Apparently Built My Record Collection.
Because this keeps happening.
I saw the animated film Heavy Metal because I loved science fiction, fantasy and animation.
I did not understand that I was apparently enrolling myself in a rock-and-roll survey course.
Journey.
Black Sabbath.
Sammy Hagar.
Cheap Trick.
Nazareth.
Stevie Nicks.
Blue Öyster Cult.
Good grief.
One of the songs that stayed with me was “Veteran of the Psychic Wars.”
I didn't even know who Blue Öyster Cult was when I first heard it.
I just knew that song was epic.
It felt enormous.
Dark.
Weary.
Otherworldly.
Like something being sung by a person who had survived a war nobody else could even understand.
And there is a reason it feels like science fiction.
Michael Moorcock co-wrote the lyrics with BÖC vocalist and guitarist Eric Bloom.
There you go.
Rock ’n’ roll for nerds.
Receipts.
The song appeared on the band's 1981 album Fire of Unknown Origin and found a perfect home inside the strange universe of Heavy Metal.
Years later, I would realize that one of my favorite songs from that movie belonged to the scary cult people.
Oops.
One Night, the Radio Got Me Again
If you've been reading Rock ’n’ Roll Angel for a while, you are probably beginning to notice a pattern.
Young Angel.
Bedroom.
Dark.
Radio.
😂
The radio was my friend.
It was also apparently determined to turn me into a rocker whether I cooperated or not.
One night, my DJ played something new.
Blue Öyster Cult.
Uh-oh.
Then the song started.
“Burnin’ for You.”
Wait.
This was...
safe.
It wasn't brutally hard.
It wasn't frightening.
The vocal was wonderful.
The melody was immediately accessible.
The guitar did exactly what it needed to do without swallowing the song.
The bass drove it.
Everything fit.
And I loved it.
So naturally I did what we did back then.
I went out and bought the 45.
Then I played it.
And played it.
And played it.
I believe I eventually went through three or four copies of that 45.
But here's the ridiculous part.
I didn't really tell anybody how much I liked Blue Öyster Cult.
Why?
Because somewhere in the back of my young mind there was still this concern that people might think...
I was in the cult.
😂😂😂
Please understand that I was very young.
Also understand that I owned their music.
Played their music.
Loved their music.
And somehow still didn't consider myself a Blue Öyster Cult fan.
We will return to this obvious case of denial later.
Then Someone Told Me About Godzilla
At some point, another BÖC song finally came into focus for me.
And this one...
Oh, this one tickled my little monster-loving heart.
“Godzilla.”
That's the song.
That's the subject.
Godzilla.
Not Godzilla as a metaphor for complicated relationships.
Not Godzilla as an allegory for corporate America.
Not Godzilla representing the existential crisis of modern adulthood.
No.
Big monster.
Tokyo.
Problem.
😂
I grew up watching rebroadcasts of old monster movies. I loved horror. I loved science fiction. I knew Godzilla.
And here was a rock band singing about him.
The song even leans into the monster-movie experience with sound effects and dramatic warnings.
It is ridiculous.
It is wonderful.
And that's another thing I eventually came to love about Blue Öyster Cult.
For all the mythology, intellectual ideas and darkness surrounding their music...
these guys could have fun.
They didn't always take themselves too seriously.
Sometimes you want to contemplate mortality and whether love transcends death.
Sometimes you want to explore the psychological exhaustion of a veteran fighting wars across dimensions.
And sometimes...
GODZILLA IS ATTACKING TOKYO.
Go, go, Godzilla. 🤘😂
The Secret That Wasn’t Really a Secret
Then there was Soft White Underbelly.
Blue Öyster Cult performing as Soft White Underbelly at the Old Waldorf, San Francisco, March 17, 1979.
Image created by u/Artie-B-Rockin, via Reddit r/BlueOysterCult.
Remember that name?
It was one of the band's earliest identities before Blue Öyster Cult existed.
But here's where it gets fun.
Years later, BÖC occasionally resurrected the name for smaller club performances.
And if you were paying attention...
you knew.
This was before social media.
Before push notifications.
Before an artist's mailing list landed in your inbox announcing a secret show.
The radio DJ was part of your information network.
So every once in a while, you'd hear the DJ mention that some little band called Soft White Underbelly was going to be playing a local club.
And there would be that tone.
That little verbal wink.
Soft White Underbelly will be playing Friday night at...
Wink wink.
Those who knew?
Knew.
Blue Öyster Cult was coming to town.
I loved that.
There was something wonderfully tribal about rock and roll then.
Information traveled through people.
DJs.
Record stores.
Friends.
Other fans.
You had to listen.
You had to pay attention.
You had to know the language.
And apparently, despite everything I've told you so far...
I still didn't go see them.
Because remember:
I wasn't really a Blue Öyster Cult fan.
Sure, Angel.
Sure.
Decades of Not Being a Fan
Time passed.
I owned Blue Öyster Cult music.
I had their greatest hits.
I had albums.
Eventually I had them on Spotify.
I played them.
My family heard them.
I sang along with “Veteran of the Psychic Wars.”
I knew “Burnin' for You.”
I knew “Godzilla.”
I knew “(Don't Fear) The Reaper.”
I knew songs I didn't even realize I knew.
But in my mind, Blue Öyster Cult remained one of those bands I liked.
I wasn't a BÖC girl.
I had never even seen them live.
Then one day, many years later, Blue Öyster Cult came to play at our local county fair.
My spouse knew how much I listened to them and suggested we go.
Absolutely.
Why not?
I liked Blue Öyster Cult.
You know.
Casually.
😂
So off we went.
“Who’s the Biggest Blue Öyster Cult Fan?”
We got to the amphitheater.
I was excited.
A promoter came out before the show and started working the crowd.
Then she asked:
“Who's the biggest Blue Öyster Cult fan?”
And apparently decades of pretending I wasn't one disappeared instantly.
I yelled.
I screamed.
I jumped up and down.
MEEEEEEEEE!
😂😂😂
She pointed into the crowd.
Some adorable young woman nearby thought she'd been chosen.
No.
The promoter pointed again.
“You.”
Me?
“You!”
So I went running up.
She told me I'd won a front-row seat.
Then she asked if I was there with anybody.
Yep.
My spouse.
And just like that...
we were in the front row.
Kings and queens.
Waiting for Blue Öyster Cult.
The band I wasn't really a fan of.
Apparently, I Was a Blue Öyster Cult Fan
Then they started playing.
First song.
I knew it.
Next song.
Knew that too.
Another.
Yep.
Another.
Oh, I LOVE this one.
And somewhere during that concert, sitting in the front row, singing along to song after song, something became painfully obvious.
I knew every damn song.
😂
My spouse told me afterward that one of the best parts of the concert was watching me.
Because apparently the grown woman who had walked into that amphitheater disappeared.
And Little Rock ’n’ Roll Angel came out.
I sang.
I bounced.
I screamed.
I geeked out.
I got a T-shirt thrown at me.
And I had an absolute blast.
All those years.
All those records.
All those late-night radio sessions.
Heavy Metal.
“Veteran of the Psychic Wars.”
“Burnin' for You.”
The 45s.
“Godzilla.”
The Reaper.
The mythology.
The science fiction.
The album covers.
The secret Soft White Underbelly shows I never went to.
And after decades of insisting that I merely liked this band...
there I was in the front row.
Apparently...
I had been a Blue Öyster Cult girl all along.
Fifty Years of Weird
And that's something worth celebrating.
Blue Öyster Cult has survived more than five decades of changing musical tastes, changing lineups, changing technology and changing generations.
They helped create a corner of rock and roll where things could get weird.
Smart.
Dark.
Funny.
Literary.
Fantastical.
A little scary.
And very loud.
They could write something as haunting as “(Don't Fear) The Reaper,” something as wonderfully ridiculous as “Godzilla,” something as accessible as “Burnin' for You,” and something as strange and literary as “Veteran of the Psychic Wars.”
They gave rock monsters.
Mythology.
Psychic warriors.
Reapers.
Symbols.
Science fiction.
And yes...
a cowbell.
They became part of what made rock and roll rock and roll.
And somewhere along the way, they became part of my soundtrack too.
I just took an embarrassingly long time to notice.
Maybe that's the funny thing about finding your tribe.
Sometimes you don't join it.
Sometimes you don't cross some ceremonial threshold and announce that you've arrived.
Sometimes you look around one day and realize...
you've been one of them all along.
So, Young Angel, wherever you are...
Relax.
They're not a cult.
You can buy the record.
Nobody is coming to initiate you into anything.
Probably.
😂
And to everybody else...
Don't fear the Reaper.
Don't forget the Godzilla.
Keep an eye out for Soft White Underbelly.
And for the love of rock and roll...
somebody get that man some more cowbell.
🤘❤️
**
Thanks for taking this trip back with me.
What do you remember? Were you there too, or did this story bring back a memory of your own? I’d love to hear it. Share your stories in the comments, and if this made you smile, laugh, cringe, or turn up an old favorite song, share it with someone who remembers too.
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Until next time...
Keep the memories alive. Keep the stories coming. And whatever you do... turn it up.
— Dr. AY Heath (Angel)
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