My favorite metal album of all time is still Iron Maiden’s self-titled debut. It hasn’t lost an ounce of its energy over the years—the sound is still sharp, urgent, and surprisingly modern. And those harmonized guitars feel just as unmatched now as they did the first time I heard them.
There’s also a pretty vivid story tied to that album for me.
When I was 15, deep in my long-haired, heavy-metal, full-volume phase, I became obsessed with the idea of getting Eddie—the band’s iconic mascot from the album cover—tattooed on my arm. Not something small either. I had it fully mapped out in my head: a half-sleeve, from elbow to shoulder, based directly on the artwork. I even brought the album itself downtown in Toronto one Saturday, ready to show the artist exactly what I wanted.
A couple of my friends came with me. We were teenagers doing what teenagers do when they think they’re invincible—we’d had a few mickey bottles of vodka beforehand to “steel the nerves,” or so we convinced ourselves.
One of my friends went first and got a skull with a dagger through it. The other chose a flying Harley-Davidson eagle. It all felt very serious and permanent at the time, like we were making our identities official.
Then it was my turn.
The tattoo artist took one look at me, then another, and immediately clocked what I hadn’t fully considered: I still smelled like alcohol. He shook his head and said no. If I was serious, he told me, I’d need to come back the next day sober.
I didn’t go back.
At the time I was probably disappointed. Now, I’m honestly grateful. I can’t even imagine walking around with that exact tattoo today. What felt like the ultimate expression of who I was at 15 would have been something very different to carry for the rest of my life.
Funny how that worked out. I never got the ink, but I never stopped loving that album either. It’s still my favorite metal record, and it still hits just as hard every time I play it.
