The Amazing Mr. Loaf

This is how I began my preface to “The Legendary Toad’s Place: Stories From New Haven’s Famed Music Venue,” the book I co-wrote with Toad’s owner Brian Phelps: “My earliest memory of Toad’s Place is from the fall of 1977 when I beheld the spectacle of Meat Loaf on stage. He was sweating profusely and roaming back and forth while clutching a long red scarf and belting out ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light.’”

“Bat Out of Hell,” Meat Loaf’s debut album that became one of the best-selling of all time, was newly released when he came to Toad’s. (He would re-appear there four more times). At first “Bat” sold poorly and Phelps remembers only about 100 people were there for that first Toad’s performance.

Something crazy always happened when Meat Loaf was around, and here’s what went down during the sound check that day, as Phelps recounted it: “Meat Loaf was pacing around and lost track of where he was. We heard this big crash — he had fallen off the stage! There was a moment of silence while we all held our breaths. Then we heard this voice cry out, ‘I’m okay!’ He climbed right back up, the sound check continued and that night he did a killer show. Years later, after he hit it big and still played at Toad’s, he grabbed me backstage, got me in a headlock, rolled up his pants and showed me a scar on his left leg. He told me, ‘You see that? This is from my first gig ever after releasing “Bat Out of Hell.” This is what I did! Right here at your club!’”

Ever since I awoke last Friday morning to the dismal news that Meat Loaf had died, at 74 (cause not disclosed), I’ve been remembering how much fun he gave us, how that fun was all part of the ‘70s — a much happier, carefree and sexier time than now.

“Bat Out of Hell” is one of the funniest albums you’ll ever hear. Yeah, for audiences watching Meat Loaf perform “Paradise” with Ellen Foley (at Toad’s that night it was Karla DeVito) this was always a hoot. But Jim Steinman’s lyrics put it over the top.

“Paradise” is an eight-and-a-half-minute epic of teenage lust, the tale of two kids going at it as they’re parked by a lake. Early on we learn the song title’s meaning:

“Though it’s cold and lonely in the deep dark night

I can see paradise by the dashboard light.”

At first things are rolling along nicely with our two young lovers as they sing together: “Ain’t no doubt about it, we were doubly blessed. ‘Cause we were barely 17 and we were barely dressed.”

Yes, and the guy tells her: “Open up your eyes, I got a big surprise.” He exults: “We’re gonna go all the way tonight.”

Cut to — Phil Rizzuto, “the Scooter”! It’s the former Yankees shortstop turned broadcaster and he’s doing a play-by-play of their moaning love-making! He’s telling us about a daring young ballplayer stretching his hit to second base and then stealing third and heading toward home plate on a “suicide squeeze” bunt. Rizzuto’s final words: “Holy cow, I think he’s gonna make it!”

But oh no! The girl suddenly shouts: “Stop right there! I gotta know right now! Before we go any further — do you love me? Will you love me forever?…Will you make me your wife?”

The poor desperate boy, stopped in his tracks, sputters: “Let me sleep on it. I’ll give you an answer in the morning.”

She ain’t having it. “I gotta know right now! What’s it gonna be, boy? Yes or no?”

And so he gives in, being so horny he swears on his mother’s grave he’ll love her “to the end of time.” This leads to a time much later at the end of the song when he’s “praying for the end of time, so I can end my time with you.”

His sad parting words: “It was long ago and it was far away and it was so much better than it is today.”

Kind of a metaphor for our times, eh?

But here’s another funny story. In 1981, four years after I saw Meat Loaf at Toad’s, I interviewed “the Scooter” for the New Haven Register at the University of New Haven. I asked him about his key role on “Paradise” and he told me Meat Loaf hadn’t informed him what the song was all about when Rizzuto did the voice-over. He found out eight months later when he son brought the record home.

“It took me six times listening to it before I realized what ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light’ meant. I couldn’t believe it! I said, ‘Holy cow! That huckleberry, that Meat Loaf!’ I got a lot of letters from priests and teachers, saying, ‘How could you lend your name to that?’”

Meat Loaf was also tons of fun when he played Eddie, the ill-fated delivery boy on a motorcycle in “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” He sang “Hot Patootie — Bless My Soul,” with the refrain “I really love that rock ‘n’ roll” and then was murdered for his brain (irony) by the cross-dressing Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Tim Curry).

That movie became a cult hit in the ‘70s. I spent many happy nights at midnight showings of “Rocky Horror” at the Yale Law School Auditorium (you didn’t have to be a Yalie to get in). A big part of the fun was movie-goers shouting lines at the screen because we’d seen the film so many times. And so during the scene when the gang is eating poor old Eddie’s corpse at the dinner table, we all shouted out: “Meat Loaf again?”

Oh, and years later, when I was a soccer dad and my wife and I took our kids to a tournament in Massachusetts, the parents got together at a club for a karaoke night, guess what song I chose for my number? Trust me, I had everybody in the room mesmerized — especially at the climactic moment when I slid into an imaginary home plate. Safe! Safe at home!

My kids loved it too! Why should they have been embarrassed?

I can’t remember who sang the Ellen Foley part with me. My wife had left the room.

She doesn’t really dig Meat Loaf for some reason. Over the past weekend I played my “Bat Out of Hell” album in its entirety as well as my “Rocky Horror” soundtrack LP down in my man cave.

It still holds up!

The New York Times did Meat Loaf justice, putting his obituary on page one. The long write-up noted he was born Marvin Lee Aday. (The Associated Press reported he allegedly changed his name in honor of a favorite dish served up by his mom).

In its obituary the Times stopped calling him “Mr. Loaf,” as they had done in previous years. In the second references he remained Meat Loaf — a fitting final tribute to a fun boy, a true American original.