By: Jake Harrison
Updated: Aug. 2, 2016
Originally Published: Oct. 29, 2005
Def Leppard’s debut album, High ‘n’ Dry, was my all-time favorite during middle school—no shame in that! I still find myself jamming to it today. I get that some might cringe at the thought of pairing Def Leppard with “favorite,” given their later transformation into a typical hair metal band and their role in birthing the somewhat regrettable pop-metal genre. But High ‘n’ Dry was released before all that—before the trend of using psychological terms for album titles (hello, Pyromania and Hysteria), before “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and before drummer Rick Allen’s tragic accident. It was just pure, unadulterated rock ‘n’ roll, and I adored every note.
What drew me in was the sheer volume. Prior to discovering High ‘n’ Dry, my playlist was dominated by bands like Journey and Styx. This album was a game changer. The very first guitar riff, filled with distortion, jolted me awake, urging me to grab something heavy and start smashing things—well, in a lyrical sense. It opened the door to a new realm of musical expression, one filled with edge, rawness, and power.
The lyrics were equally captivating. To my preteen ears, they felt shocking. In the title track, lead vocalist Joe Elliott boasts about drinking all day, enjoying whiskey, wine, and a woman, declaring, “this time the lights are going out” because it’s Saturday night and he’s living it up. Was that okay? Should someone be calling the authorities? This was a far cry from any Journey love ballad. It felt primal and exhilarating. I didn’t cross any lines with my air guitar antics, but it sure felt like I had.
Growing up in New York City, I was fortunate enough to catch many amazing concerts. Every band I loved graced the city, except for Def Leppard. There was a time in the early to mid-1980s when I would have willingly traded my Clash, U2, and Replacements tickets just to see them live (and yes, I feel slightly embarrassed about that).
So, it should come as no surprise that when my wife and I were cruising along the 101 near Paso Robles, California, and spotted a billboard for a Def Leppard concert at the California Mid-State Fair, I nearly swerved off the road. I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me; could this finally be my chance to fulfill that long-held dream?
Everything seemed to be falling into place. We were staying in Paso Robles that night, and although we initially planned to drive back to the Bay Area, we had no reason to rush home. Our son was off at sleepaway camp, and my wife, an academic, had her summer schedule perfectly aligned. I could take a day off work without a second thought. What better excuse could there be? (Rhetorical question, of course.)
With our son temporarily out of the picture, my wife and I slipped back into our pre-parent selves, saying yes to dinner invites without worrying about babysitters and even catching weeknight movies. After I got over the initial pangs of seeing other dads with their kids, it was blissful. We could indulge in corn dogs, ride the Ferris wheel, and see Def Leppard rock the fairgrounds.
But then, when morning came, the excitement had vanished, like cotton candy melting away. Something was holding me back. It was reminiscent of the iconic scene from Animal House, with Middle School Me urging me to seize the moment, while Adult Me cautioned that I had responsibilities, that festivals made me anxious, and that Tesla was opening for Def Leppard.
Despite Adult Me having the more rational arguments, I couldn’t shake the feeling of letting go of something I really wanted. As a father, I’ve felt this tension numerous times. Since my son was born, I’ve often attributed the things I’ve “given up” to the demands of parenthood. As author Rich Cohen states, becoming a parent means you’re no longer the lead character in your own story; instead, you become part of a larger cast, and your desires must often take a backseat.
However, my choice to skip the Def Leppard concert wasn’t merely a sacrifice for fatherhood. The pressure I felt stemmed more from adulthood. These days, I need a solid reason to stay out late—not just because parenting is exhausting. It was Middle School Me doing a double-take at that freeway billboard. Adult Me didn’t want to forfeit a workout due to a late night or waste a vacation day to see a once-beloved band decades past their heyday.
While I initially mourned the loss of Middle School Me, it was liberating to realize that fatherhood wasn’t the root of my hesitation. That was just an excuse. The truth is, if something truly matters to me, I can still pursue it, regardless of my parenting role. In the end, I discovered that seeing Def Leppard no longer holds the same significance for me.
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Summary:
In a personal reflection, Jake Harrison shares how his fondness for Def Leppard’s High ‘n’ Dry shaped his teenage years and continues to resonate today. He recounts a near-miss opportunity to see the band live, highlighting the tension between his desires as a parent and the realities of adulthood. Ultimately, he learns that fatherhood doesn’t hold him back; rather, it’s about prioritizing what truly matters and acknowledging the changes in his interests over time.