Amped Album Of The Week

Let’s Set The Stage…

Tulsa, Oklahoma.
A mid-summer night in 1998 at the Admiral Twin Drive-In — yeah, that drive-in from The Outsiders. The kind of place that already feels like a movie before the movie even starts. We were there to see Armageddon, starring sweet Bruce Willy, powered by that Aerosmith banger we all know by heart whether we want to or not.

My dad had gotten a Discman for Christmas the year before, which meant it was basically mine whenever I could scrounge up a few AA batteries. No Spotify. No skipping tracks with your thumb. Just plastic, patience, and whatever CDs you could steal from your parents’ collection.

Earlier that day, Mom took my sisters and me to the store. Like always, we drifted straight to the music section — hunting for a new cassette for the car or a CD to soundtrack our legendary Saturday house-cleaning bonanzas. I was flipping through the rock section when I saw it.
That neon blue glow.
The band name lit up like a warning sign.
Lightning bolts charging an electric chair.

Eight-year-old me had never seen anything so cool in my life.

I grabbed it and ran to show my mom. She flipped it over, scanned the track list, and said, “Yeah, we can get this one.” At that moment, I felt like the coolest kid in the suburbs. While most kids my age were losing their minds over Hanson’s Mmmmbop (local Tulsa heroes) or the Backstreet Boys, I was walking out with this.

When we got home, I bolted for the stereo cabinet — and if you grew up in the ’90s, your dad definitely had the same one. I grabbed his Discman and made damn sure this CD was coming with us that night. I’m pretty sure I was tearing through toy bins or robbing batteries from my Game Boy just to make it happen.

Now, I already knew who Metallica was. The Black Album singles were everywhere. Radio staples. Familiar. Safe.
But my little prepubescent brain was not prepared for what was about to hit it.

Music had already been orbiting my life for as long as I could remember. My parents worked local venues in downtown Tulsa when my older sister and I were little, and sometimes there wasn’t a babysitter — so there were times we got to go too. The Brady Theater (now the Tulsa Theater). Cain’s Ballroom. Summer festivals like Mayfest.

My mom was a theater major. My dad was the long-haired rock-and-roll type before they ever met. Zeppelin. Ramones. Pink Floyd. Rush. Musicals. Live theater. All of it quietly laid the groundwork long before I had the words for it. They met, got married, had us kids — and somehow passed all of that energy straight down the line.

Anyway, back to the album.

We pull into the drive-in. Popcorn in hand. That electric excitement of staying up late, outdoors, staring at the biggest screen you think exists when you’re a kid. The sun still hadn’t gone down, so I knew it was time. I pulled out the Discman, slid the CD in.

Ready.

Set.

Play.

An acoustic intro.
And my first thought was, Ah man… This Is Lame!

Then — about forty seconds in — everything changed.    The guitars swelled in my headphones, and suddenly I was hit with the heaviest, fastest, most aggressive riff I had ever heard in my life. It didn’t sound like the radio. It didn’t even sound like the Metallica I thought I knew. This was something else entirely. Bigger. Meaner. Better.

I sat there through the start of the movie listening again. And again. And again. By the time the batteries finally died, I joined my family to watch the movie. But while Ben Affleck was trying to save the planet, all I could think was:

How do I learn to play guitar like that?

That was twenty-seven years ago. And I still catch myself drooling over those riffs — the sheer decimation this album delivers through my car speakers or basement studio.

Looking back now, it’s obvious. That wasn’t just the night I discovered an album. It was the night the future quietly introduced itself — and I never really stopped chasing that sound.

Final Thoughts

Ride the Lightning will always take me back to endless summers, random band facts my dad somehow knew by heart, and my mom’s steady stream of music recommendations — especially the punk bands I still love today. Something shifted in me the first time I heard this album. Even at that age, I knew I had to learn to play guitar, form bands, and write the heaviest songs I could dream up with my friends.

Bands come and go. Friends drift in and out as life keeps evolving. But that feeling never left. Looking back now, I see how that moment quietly pointed me toward a future I didn’t yet understand. Today, AmpedUpDad exists because of nights like that — to honor the albums that shaped us, the music that raised us, and the idea that growing up doesn’t mean turning the volume down. Ride the Lightning will always live in my heart as the album that started it all — and the spark I’m still chasing every time I plug in.