When I look back in time, with the comfort of reminiscence, it would seem that the year 1986 has had quite the impact on me. So many fantastic movies were released, that left an indelible mark on my childhood and development into the odd bastard I am today. At the top of that list would be Top Gun and Aliens, two movies that to this day, I still enjoy watching. There are plenty of others, but not the time nor to space to mention them. Musically there was Peter Gabriel’s SO album, my first taste of his style. But in March, a certain band released Master of Puppets. At the time, I was too young to know what this album would end up meaning to me. And this brings me to an even that would have changed my future more than nearly any other.

On an icy and deserted road, in the wee hours of 27 September, a tour bus was making its way from Stockholm to Copenhagen. In the bus were four horseman of metal; four of the most influential musicians of rock and four of the most driven (for their age) guys to ever grow their hair long and bang the had that does not bang. A lot has been written about what happened to this bus – the black ice, the eerie quiet of the road and the tragic loss of a man in his prime, with so much more to offer, so much more to contribute and so many more lives to touch. It is shocking, saddening and depressing to think that such a strong energy was so flippantly turned off.

I have always known about Cliff Burton, and always enjoyed reading about people’s reflections on him, his life, his attitude and his general awesome-ness. I have read quite a few interviews with the other horseman of Metallica as well as others and recently got to watch Ray Burton, Cliff’s amazing father, give a speech on his son’s behalf at the band’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction. The shit that this man and his wife Jan suffered through is immense. When Cliff was 13 his older brother Scott died, and I know very little of how and why, but then 11 years later the Burton family suffered yet another “fuck you God” moment. It was inspiring and emotional seeing Ray up there, on his own now as Jan sadly passed. It was at this point, after seeing this that I made a pact to find out more about Cliff. Luckily a book was released recently that is the first comprehensive look at this iconic young man.

Joel McIver’s To Live Is To Die: The Life and Death of Metallica’s Cliff Burton is a startlingly detailed insight into the much too short 24 year life of Cliff. I am only up to the start of 1986 in the book, but already I feel so much closer to knowing the true impact that Cliff had on music, Metallica and me. It is one of the few books about bands that has actually really inspired me, as opposed to the debauchery of others. From reading this far I hesitate turning the pages as I fear reading about September 27. I know it is coming, I know what happens, and the way McIver has presented the story, I am scared to continue. Despite this feeling of ominous foreboding, the stories and quotes from those who were lucky enough to have met him really paint a wonderfully vibrant, positive and intriguing picture.

You just have to look at how Cliff dressed when playing gigs. His trademark bell-bottom jeans – to which the other members decided to pay out on, his metal shirts and flannels, coupled with that long mop of red hair, swirling and banging away. From all reports he was different to the other guys. Where James was a quiet and shy person that alcohol unleashed a monster, Cliff would prefer to drink a few and smoke a few. He never really went as crazy. Within the dynamic of the four horsemen he was never afforded the same level of control as James or Lars but his opinions and input would often be taken on as the right course of action. He held a position that no one ever did, could or has since.

I think the hallmark of a great biography is getting a feeling that you get to know the person on a deeper level. And so far, this book has managed to make me feel in many ways like I knew Cliff. So far I have come to know of such a wise man for early twenties. His musical knowledge of theory and harmony has left an absolutely enduring and permanent mark on Metallica. And in turn myself. He made Lars and James write better songs. He pushed Kirk to outdo himself. While doing this, he stayed true to his own beliefs and drive. One powerful quote from his parents was that he wanted to be the best bassist for his brother. As one with a lost brother and two others, this kind of comment resonated. He certainly was the best bassist but also seemed to have been the best person he could be.

The realisation that all this has had an impact on me in 2009 is enhanced when I realise the impact he had on Metallica and therefore, my world. The marks he left and the legacy made Metallica what they are today, and Metallica has played a massive role in the making of me. Every time I hear Anaesthesia, Ktulu or Orion I will have my respect for this man intensified. Good day to be alive indeed.

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