The Guardian of Records
The first album, the first guitar, and the guy who knew rock's future.
For many months, Jaimos (Jay-mos) would wait for the clock to turn from Friday to Saturday so he could jump into his parents' car and only get out when they reached the bookstore. In the late '90s, these havens of books, magazines, CDs, and loud conversations still attracted people searching for the latest releases. It was, in many ways, the most important place for the young boy who still lived under his parents' care, but who, upon entering the store, would run straight to the back—where all the musical wonders lived: new releases, collector's box sets, and those marvelous headphones that let him listen to everything he could.
He would spend an hour or two there. There was always a steady flow of adults of all kinds, but few children, as most kids stayed in the children's book section. The staff in the music department already knew him; it wasn't common to see young grasshoppers like him around, and the employee in the blue uniform always knew what to recommend to Jaimos each week. He wasn't just an employee but a human encyclopedia. He looked like he had stepped right out of a '90s band—long hair, a spiked bracelet, and an encyclopedic knowledge of lyrics and trends. He could predict which albums would be released in the future and even what their covers would look like.
"Today you're going to listen to an Iron Maiden album released long before you were born, Somewhere in Time. I know you wouldn't do this, but promise me you won't skip any songs? You'll get goosebumps from this sound! Let me know what you think afterward."
"Alright, sounds cool. I like the CD cover!"
"I knew that would catch your attention."
The music hit hard the instant he put on the headphones. Dave Murray's guitar imprisoned him inside that album for over an hour, not because the album was that long, but because he repeated it, and then repeated two songs that had hypnotized him. During the first track, he noticed something strange in the bookstore, a guy who resembled Iron Maiden's mascot listening to something at the front display. A somewhat cadaverous face that would frighten and disturb most children, but not Jaimos.
Like any curious child, he analyzed every feature of that man's face. It barely seemed real. Just like on all Iron Maiden albums, there was the same face stamped in various forms, some cooler than others. The man wasn't staring at him but just standing there listening to music, just like him. Before the second song finished, the man had vanished without a trace, but he'd dropped a sticker on the floor that read "Your friends from Iron Maiden." At that age, Jaimos hadn't yet learned to read a word of English. He didn't understand anything his favorite songs were saying; the lyrics made no sense to him, but that hardly mattered when he was listening to the albums recommended by his long-haired friend. The only thing that mattered was the sound, the noise of all that metal crashing somewhere in the music that he couldn't quite identify, though he'd become very good at distinguishing instrument sounds. Ever since he'd developed an interest in music, which boiled down to rock and heavy metal, he would dissect each instrument in his young mind. He knew what and who played the bass; he not only distinguished guitars from other instruments but knew how many guitars featured in a song, whether it was the rhythm or lead guitar, the latter creating thunderous solos in every song. He had never played drums, but he knew where each component that made up the whole was.
He signaled to the long-haired employee a few meters away, who gave him a thumbs up. When he immersed himself in that sound cave and sat on the floor for comfort, there was a guitar beside him. An exact model of the Jackson that Adrian Smith frequently used in concerts. Beautiful and white, without a scratch. For the first time in months, Jaimos removed his headphones in the middle of a CD.
"Sir, can I play this guitar?" he asked the long-haired employee.
"Sure, you know how to play at your size?"
"No, but if I try, I think I can reproduce Adrian Smith's guitar sound."
"Go for it, just keep the guitar alive."
"What did he mean by 'keep the guitar alive'?" wondered the boy. He put the headphones back on, returned to the previous song, positioned the guitar on his lap, and turned on the amp. The second time he listened to the same album, exactly on the song "Wasted Years," he played the guitar. He was on stage with his band mates, and everyone was jumping during the song, except the drummer. They released Eddie on stage, Iron Maiden's mascot, and he walked around, chasing the band. The sound was loud—louder than in the headphones—and people were singing, screaming; everyone was in ecstasy. When the solo came, Jaimos played it perfectly. Each note hit his left fingers without a hint of error. He knew how to play guitar; somehow, he'd learned from those people he religiously listened to every Saturday.
The lights turned toward him, the stage trembled like an earthquake, but it was just people jumping non-stop, making the ground shake. They were jumping for him, for the solo, for an entire generation of rock and roll. The song ended, and he returned to the bookstore, still sitting with the guitar on his lap, listening to each song again as if it were the first time. Theoretically, the second time is an improved first time. The second time becomes the second time after you've listened to an album twenty times, when the songs sound natural to your ears, when each guitar note flows through your fingers.That's when the second time truly takes shape.
"What do you think of this album?" asked the long-haired employee.
"It's awesome! I just came back from a concert where I played 'Wasted Years' on guitar and even did the solo."
"You're the man."
"Can I listen a little more?" Jaimos asked shyly.
"Sure! I want to know what you thought of everything afterward."
The long-haired employee turned and left. Once again, the little metalhead put on the headphones and continued listening to the music. Now he would listen for the third time, but only to the songs he liked. His parents would probably call for him in a few minutes. Those songs were "Wasted Years" and "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner." They were the slowest twelve minutes of his life. He paid attention to every detail he hadn't noticed the first two times he'd listened.
He examined the cover with a sniper's focus, looking through each window, inside the store on the cover. He studied the musculature of future Eddie, who held a futuristic gun and seemed to be fighting or running from someone. There were Chinese writings, and Eddie wore glasses that looked like some kind of people-detector, or something. His second favorite song began, and he flipped through the album's liner notes to see the images, read the lyrics he didn't understand, and absorb more of the essence of what would be one of the best albums he had ever heard in his eight years of life.
When that song ended, before removing his headphones, the long-haired employee came over to ask what he thought of the experience. Not that he wanted to sell the disc to the boy, that wasn't up to him, and the mini wallet the boy carried only had Monopoly money and the sticker that the Eddie-like man had dropped. That employee always appeared when he finished listening to a disc.
"So, did you like it?"
"One of the best I've ever heard," Jaimos said ecstatically.
"If you liked this one, you're going to love the album they'll release in May 2000, 'Brave New World.'"
"How do you know that? We're at the end of 1998."
"I think I dream about these things. Don't you dream too?"
"Sometimes I dream. Today I was playing the second song from the album at a concert with the band."
"That's cool! See, dreams shape a lot of things. Maybe you'll be in your own band one day."
"Yes, I even know how to play guitar."
"I know that," said the long-haired employee, happy to hear that he liked the Iron Maiden album. "Now I need to go, they're calling me. See you next Saturday?"
"For sure!"
"I'll introduce you to an amazing Kiss album," the employee turned and left.
Jaimos's father came to get him.
"So, what did you listen to today?"
"A guy recommended this Iron Maiden album to me. It's really cool."
"Creepy cover," his father examined the disc in his hands, front and back. "Want to take it? Your birthday is coming up, and I want to give you this album as a present."
"Of course I want it! You'll love it too."
At the checkout, the cashier asked who had helped him, and Jaimos pointed to the music section and said the long-haired employee had shown him the album. The woman looked confused—there was no one matching that description in the store. She didn't think much of it and listed the salesperson as "undefined."
"I even played guitar while listening to the album," Jaimos told his father as they headed toward the exit.
"But there aren't any guitars in the store. Where did you get that from?" he asked, confused.
"There was one. There was a white Jackson just like Adrian Smith's, and I played it," he moved his little fingers while air-guitaring his solo.
"You're a true rock star!"
In May 2000, just as the long-haired employee had predicted, whom years later Jaimos would recognize as having Robert Plant's face, Iron Maiden's "Brave New World" album was successfully released. His friend was never wrong. Ever since he kept the sticker left by Eddie in his wallet, it was as if he had a ticket that took him weekly into every concert of every rock band in the world.