Meat Loaf

Behold Buffalo Exchange's Halloween banner, which references the iconic cover of Meat Loaf's album, Bat Out of Hell. 

I redrew the entire piece in Photoshop, tweaking the layout to allow my substitution of the motorcycle with a buffalo. I understand that bison seldom blast fire from their hindquarters, so I tried to adjust the flame to look more like a fiery geyser spewing the ungulate and his rider from Beezlebub's home turf.

As I drew, I tried to engage the spirit of the artwork by listening to some heavy-ish rock selections from my own library. My choices were few and largely inherited from my brother, who co-hosts a semi-ironic metal radio show at the University of Alaska called Larry and Harry's Heavy Hymnal. His name is Andrew. 

Me--I wasn't familiar with Meat Loaf's music. However, the name "Meat Loaf" and title of Bat Out of Hell, to say nothing of the typeface, inspired certain assumptions. As I culled a few music videos, I braced myself for roaring voices, guitar abuse, eyeshadow by the pound. 

Except for the eyeshadow part, my assumptions were way off. Inexplicably, the artist who styles himself "Meat Loaf" is something like a male version of Celine Dion. It was all tears, pianos, and chiffon-draped ladies with pale skin, just waiting to be deconstructed by Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Oh, Meatloaf, you have a powerful voice, and I would do anything for art, but I won't do that.  

I guess I had forgotten how sentimental 80s rock could be, with its oaths sworn and broken, tragic betrayals, and absolute language. How this all fits in with a suburban meal of bread crumbs and ground beef is a mystery to me. Also mysterious: that the cover should include a very flattering portrait of the lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who, I might add, resembles Meat Loaf no more than a buffalo resembles a motorcycle.

Aside from the motorcycle/bison swap, I made one other major alteration to the original. Behind our flaxen-haired renegade, a bat-winged demon rears menacingly from a tombstone. He (or she) immediately reminded me of Blucifer, whom I decided to draw instead.

Blucifer is the unofficial name of a statue that stands sentry to the Pena Blvd. entrance to Denver International Airport. I've included a few photos to furnish the full effect.

He stands, 32 feet of rippling cobalt muscles, glowing red eyes, and macabre art history. The sculptor, Luis Jiménez, died while building Blucifer when a piece of the sculpture fell on him in 2006. Undaunted, the airport installed the statue anyway in 2008. I'm having trouble imagining a roundtable committee voting to fund public art of this description, especially the red glowing eyes bit. However, Blucifer's uncanny presence fits into an motif of ominous at DIA. The airport also welcomes visitors with murals of men in gas masks and children in coffins. 

The art committee must have worried that the creepiness of even these works would wear off over time. To keep things fresh, Annubis, the Egyptian god of mummification, recently made a brief cameo not far from Blucifer's station. 

Side by side, Annubis and Blucifer must have confirmed the worldview of many a traveler with fear of flying.

How to explain this artistic choice? Desperate gambit for tourism? Tim Burton as an airport shareholder? It's easy to throw up one's hands and resort to conspiracy theory, and DIA has inspired many: subterranean lizard overlords, Masonic new world orders galore. 

Personally, I prefer to think that Jiménez built Blucifer to imprison an evil spirit. Once a year, the fiberglass sculpture becomes animate for 12 hours and unleashes devious plots on the mile high city. His plans might involve the corruption of his nephew, who stands on a chair outside the Denver Public Library as if to remain safe from any floods that Blucifer might provoke.

The foal's rescuer and our defender against Blucifer's machinations is the large blue bear that peers into the downtown Convention Center windows, a similarly-hued, protagonist counterpart. 

The struggle culminates at Civic Center Park. Clouds roll in and flicker. Red lasers emit from Blucifer's eyes 

(photo compliments of Blucifer's Facebook page)

and ricochet from the modern facets of the Denver Art Museum and the ancient(ish) pillars of the park ampitheater. Finally, the bear seizes the giant broom and dustpan sculpture, 

collects the infernal steed, and deposits him at his original perch. Imprisoned once again, Blucifer curses silently and resumes his hateful study of the airport traffic. 

That, friends, is what a Meat Loaf video should look like.