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be problematic.” But as soon as your paws instinctively clutchthe steering wheel with nature’s biological death grip, everything kicks into overdrive: The vehicle suddenly moves in three different directions at once, there is a horrific metallic sound coming from somewhere, and every fabric of your existence is pushing the brake pedal into the floorboard. The impact happens in half a moment. And then—just as suddenly—everything stops. And then you freak out. That’s when it feels like your heart is going to explode, and you feel your hand shake as you inexplicably turn off the radio (which, for some reason, is always the first thing I do whenever I crash). The scariest part of any car accident is the first thirty seconds (when you realize you’re not dead).
    However, I’m guessing this might not be true if the seat belt lops off your arm at the shoulder, which is what happened when Def Lep skinbeater Rick Allen rolled his black Corvette Stingray on New Year’s Eve in 1984. I’m guessing he probably just went into shock, which would explain why he was found wandering around the Sheffield countryside, searching for the severed appendage that had once pumped out the fills for “Rock of Ages.”
    At this point, I am tempted to say something highly stylized and sensational, such as “News of Allen’s tragic mishap crossed the Atlantic with supersonic immediacy.” However, that would not be accurate. Oh, I suppose it technically did (I’m sure I could locate an Allen snippet on the AP wire from 1-1-85 if I looked hard enough), but this incident never seemed like “breaking news” to anyone I knew—and I knew a lot of Def Leppard fans. It was more like a weird rumor that was almost crazy enough to be true, and—of course—it was.
    To be honest, I remember a lot more conversation about the wreck Vince Neil had caused three weeks earlier, which killed Hanoi Rocks drummer Razzle Dingley (I’ll discuss that fiasco at length when we get to 1991, and—I assure you—my decision to place this event six years in the future will make sense when we get there). I suppose Allen’s situation made me wonder what would happen with Def Lep’s next release, although the conceptof Allen staying in the group never seemed remotely possible. And the fact that he eventually did overcome such overwhelming, unbelievable adversity should have blown my mind; it should have made me think that Def Leppard was the greatest fucking band in the world. However, this did not happen. What I mostly remember about Allen’s stunning recovery is that I immediately started to hate Def Leppard, because I felt they had quit making heavy metal.
    I’m guessing that most readers are now asking some fairly reasonable questions: “Huh? Wazzuh?” This leads to a whole new battery of abstract inquiries: Here again, what exactly are we referring to when I say “heavy” metal? Moreover, what qualifies a band as metallic? What makes a metal band “glam”? Can a “glam metal” band also be a “speed metal” band? Is a “death metal” band always a “speed metal” band? And—perhaps most importantly—is there a difference between being a “rock” band and being a “metal” band (because musicians certainly seem to think so)?
    Few people understand the magnitude of these debates. Back in little old Wyndmere, there were four hot-button issues that could never be settled without someone getting shoved: Chevy vs. Ford, Case-IH vs. John Deere (that’s right, an argument about tractors, if you can fucking believe it), whether or not the Minnesota Vikings sucked, and whether or not Def Leppard was a “metal” band or a “rock” band (the latter term being an insult). Looking back, the answer seems completely obvious: Of course Def Leppard was a metal band. If an alien landed on earth