Funny how the news can color old memories. One of my favorite bands from the 80s is Anthrax. For those of you who don't remember these guys, they were the East Coast's answer to Metallica (and way back in 1983, the two bands were both signed to Jon and Marsha Zazula's Megaforce Records). Heavy (as opposed to glam) metal with songs that were more likely to pose political and philosophical questions than the more prosaic "Can I get in your pants?" kinda fare embraced by the radio.

Perhaps best known for foisting the "NOT!" craze among the youth of America with "I'm the Man" back in 1987 (this truly annoying slang lurked for years until the movie Clueless burned it into the skulls of people everywhere), Anthrax was one of the few metal bands of that time to not quite make it big. I remember reading an interview with Scott Ian, the band's rhythm guitar player. It may have been an op-ed piece he wrote for Billboard Magazine. I can't recall exactly. Point is, the guys always got plenty of press. In the piece (however it appeared) Ian said he was flying somewhere and a little old lady asked him his job. He said he was a heavy metal guitar player (one of the first metal guys to shave his head, Ian really looked nothing like a prototypical rock god), and then proceeded to flabbergast the woman by telling her that his true musical passion was rap.

Indeed, while Anthrax's profile bubbled along the crest of the underground, Ian made a name for himself as a speaker and promoter of rap music. He convinced his bandmates to record a cover of Public Enemy's anthem "Bring the Noise," complete with blistering riffage and guest vocals from P.E.'s Chuck D. The guys even went out on tour with one of the strangest triple bills of all time: Anthrax, P.E. and gothmeisters Sisters of Mercy. Makes sense now, but not ten years ago.

Truth be told, Anthrax was just a hard-working rock band that made good, but not great, money. Beginning in 1985, they cranked out about an album a year, each a little more impressive than the previous one. This culminated in 1990's Persistence of Time, which for me is one of the five greatest metal albums of all time. There are real ideas on that album. If you've always disdained metal as an intellectually bankrupt backwater in the rock and roll swamp, that record will change your mind.

Unfortunately, Persistence was the high water mark for Anthrax. The band, which was always more famous than popular, went through the usual clash of egos and political infighting. Ian and drummer Charlie Benante were good friends with Armored Saint singer John Bush, and when that band hit the skids, Ian and Benante asked Bush to wail for Anthrax. Right about the same time (late 1991 or early 1992), the band was negotiating a deal to shift from Island to Elektra Records--the proverbial jump to the major leagues, at least as the guys saw it. What I heard (from reputable sources) is that the band signed the deal and then asked permission from the label to replace singers. Once getting the okay from above, long-time singer Joey Belladonna got the axe. Belladonna's public take on the whole thing was that ever since he'd replaced Neil Turbin in 1984 he'd felt like an outsider, and so when the situation was presented to him as a fait accompli he had no choice but to simply walk away. Angry and bitter, of course.

Anthrax's first Elektra album, The Sound of White Noise, sounded like an Armored Saint record. Which is not a bad thing (Armored Saint was one of the great little-known metal bands of the 80s), but the disc didn't excite old Anthrax fans and didn't win over any new ones. True to its nature, Anthrax soldiered forth, issuing one more album for Elektra and one for Ignition before throwing in the towel and putting out a greatest hits album last year.

I really liked Anthrax. One of the great metal bands of all time. One of the few bands from that era that I can listen to today without even a hint of embarrassment. Indeed, these guys influenced a ton of bands, from Biohazard to Ministry (Al Jourgensen even remixed a single from White Noise) to Rage against the Machine and more. Now, of course, the word "anthrax" has a whole new cultural meaning, even for me. Anthrax's 1985 album is titled Spreading the Disease. Back then, it was cute. Today, well, it just seems unfortunate. That's just too bad.

Jon Worley hopes that some terrorist doesn't get a hold of the deadly Neil Young and Crazy Horse microbe and start sending it out to aging hippie rock stars. That would really piss him off.