“If you don’t go over the top,” Meat Loaf ’s long-time songwriter Jim Steinman was fond of saying, “how will you ever see what’s on the other side?”
When I was 13, my older sister gave me a copy of Bat out of Hell on vinyl for Christmas, and I played it over and over again until the grooves went flat.
And nearly 30 years on, it’s because of that epic, heroic, violent, balls-to-the-wall theatricality - laced with a jet-black sense of humour - that his records are still the soundtrack to most of my days.
Meat Loaf was a born storyteller, and a rock showman of the calibre only Freddie Mercury has ever come close to.
He was so committed that he would frequently stumble off the stage after a three-hour-plus live show, collapse to the floor and have to be revived with an oxygen tank.
The one time I met him - briefly - he’d been signing autographs for four hours in a stuffy room above a shop.
But he was warm, charming - bristling with excitement about the release of what would turn out to be his final LP.
(He also noted we shared a “cool name” - he had chosen Michael as his legal name back in the 80s.)
Whether it was a live show, a film role or just a brief chat with a star-struck fan, Meat Loaf never gave anything less than 100% of everything he had. That’s how I’ll remember him.
