How I Met Dio (Sharyl Lidzhan Sapari)

It was a typically hot afternoon in 1986. The sun was high in its full glory, casting blazing hot rays of light that seem to burn into your skin. The air was heavy with stifling heat and hot gusts of wind almost blind my eyes. With the nauseating smell of exhaust fumes, and the blaring traffic, I was thankful to my mum, for pulling my arm away from the sickly city bustle, and into the cool, air-conditioned arms of Joo Chiat Complex.



Mum was on her monthly shopping trip to buy cloth for her outfits at the shops with loud cloth salesmen hawking even louder coloured fabric. "Organza!" shouted one, *Thai silk!" shouted another. "Four dollars per yard!" another said. Mum was strong enough to resist the temptation just for a while as she dragged me to the barber shop at the back of the Complex.

It was called Sri Dewa, and it was a joint run by Malay rockstar wannabes with long unkempt hair. Even at that age, I noted the irony of it, but I didn't care. The guys were cool, gave me sweet candy, spoke to me like I was a man, and played the coolest music in the shop. I remember Metallica's 'For Whom The Bell Tolls' being blasted on the radio once, and Wings' 'Hukum Karma' on another day.

But it was a quiet day at Sri Dewa. Lead barber Ghani was almost falling asleep on the couch, his long, black hair falling lazily over his face. Fahmi, was sweeping the floor, with his thick, wavy, Bon-Jovi-esque hair flowing freely over his shoulders, his bangs falling over his eyes. Two scoundrel-looking, but good-hearted men ultimately, which is why mum didn't hesitate to dump me in their care as she went on to do her shopping.

"Oh and cut his hair while you're at it," mum said casually as she sped off to the waiting arms of retail therapy. Fahmi picked me up and plonked me onto the barber's chair, propped with a plank to get me to a comfortable height for him to snip my locks. To be honest, I quite enjoyed having my hair cut. I love the smell of powder and aftershave that lingers about like a house guest who never wanted to leave. Even without aircon it was always comfortable there. Maybe it was the laid-back vibe chilling out at the worn sofas. The black and white posters of models from the 60's with hair from the 50's that hung on the walls like shadows, or windows into a time where guys wore suits, and posed instead of just standing. I love the ticklish almost painful sensation of the electric razor on my skin, and the almost sadistic way Fahmi pushes my head into place for him to get the right angle.

Being a child at that age, I would get restless really quick. It was only a matter of time before I got used to the painful jabs on my skull Fahmi had to make to keep my head in place. But Fahmi, ever the mellow guy, never lost his temper, and never shouted at me. In fact, he indulged me as if I was his son. He would let me pick things up from the counter and always had an answer to my questions. And it was that day, when I picked up the album cover of Dio's Holy Diver album.

And I was fascinated by the image of a monstrous demon, showing the sign of the horns in one hand, and killing off a Catholic priest with the other. I couldn't take my eyes off the cover, and Fahmi was predictably elated that I was finally subdued. I asked him what is this, and he replied with a terse, "I don't think your mother would approve of you listening to these kinda songs boy."

"But she's not here what, she'll never know! Please please let me see what this is about." I implored.

So Fahmi threw the cassette in and soon enough the eerie, atmospheric one-minute intro to Holy Diver egan oozing out of the speakers in the barber shop. What followed next was five minutes of pure face melting, ear-impaling, fingernails pulling, bone crushing metal! I was stunned, and in awe of the powerful voice that commanded me to sit still and eat, drink, breath each and every word it sang. Complimented with the heavy guitars of Vivian Campbell, the fat bass of Jimmy Bain and the earth shattering drums of Vinnie Appice, "That my boy, is Ronnie Jame Dio, the greatest metal singers ever!" Fahmi said to me.

I sat back down on the barber's chair jaws gaping open at the sheer power and intensity of the song and Dio's voice. That gave Fahmi some time to finish off the haircut, before he stopped the player and pressed the forward button. I protested but he said, "If you like the last song, you will LOVE this next one, wait abit."

And he pressed play, and the player ripped into my consciousness with the intro to Rainbow In The Dark. And when Dio sang the first words of the song, "When there's lightning - it always bring me down Cause it's free and I see that it's me, Who's lost and never found" I felt goosebumps rising and a swell of emotion overwhelming me and I started jumping, banging my head and almost instinctively stuck my tongue in the air, and emulated the demon on the album cover with the sign of the horns. And when Vivian ripped into the solo I was floored! I was literally lying on my back with my body pulsating and shaking to every note of the guitar solo before I was pulled to my feet by the majestic voice of Dio.

Seeing how I was moved by the song, Fahmi took the cassette tape out of the player, and gave it to me saying, "Here you can have this, it will change your life forever."



And life was never the same again. Something about Dio's voice and music spoke to all of me. His words made me want to have a better vocabulary so I can understand what he sang, his music stirred my emotions and appealed to the beast within me. His voice was a soothing beacon of light in a tempest, providing with solace and succour in my darkest of times, the vilest of rage and in the ecstasy of love. The charisma, confidence and strength that is his voice lifted me higher more than anything else could.

I saved whatever pocket money I could to buy all of Dio's albums I could find, and with Fahmi's guidance, I ended up buying Sacred Heart, and also Rainbow's "Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow" as well as "Long Live Rock 'n' Roll". Broke, and with nowhere to go after school and on weekends, I threw myself into the music sang by Dio. I banged my head to Long Live Rock 'n' Roll, danced to "Man on the Silver Mountain" and found tender, soul searching moments in "The Temple of the King".

Soon enough I discovered "Heaven And Hell" as I felt the very same swell of emotions rising up as the riff to Heaven And Hell tore through my earphones before Dio's voice came on to calm me down. Dio, as he always did, took my hand gently, and brought me along for a wondrous musical ride that lasted till today.



As time went by, newer acts came by that made me turn my head and appeal to my musical ears, but none moved me the way Dio did. And even as I became preoccupied with other big acts of the time, like the Guns and Metallica, and other big acts of yore like Slayer, Dio's Holy Diver, Sacred Heart, Heaven And Hell, Die Young, I, Long Live Rock N Roll, Temple Of The King never left my musical consciousness. Dio has always been a musical frame of reference, an audio benchmark for other bands vying for my fan-age, and while many failed to live up to the majesty of Dio, many have also come close enough. But none of them can ever be as big, unique and powerful as Dio.

Imagine how happy I was when it was announced in 2008 that Black Sabbath and Dio will be performing in Singapore. There I was, a 31-year-old man being transported back to the Sri Dewa barbershop in 1986 at the sound of Dio's voice. I saw a much older Dio than I remembered, but, as was I. And yet his voice still has the ability to empower me, to inspire me to do and be better than I am, and to move me.



At the end of the concert, Rachel and I decided to stake out the backstage exit as the band left. Tony Iommi shook our hands, Geezer Butler walked on by, Vinny Appice waved shyly, while Scott Warren cruised on by into the waiting van. Dio, ever the showman, strode out, screamed in his trademark metal voice, waved to everyone, showed the sign of the horns, slapped his hands on the small sea of palms waiting for a handshake, and brushed briefly on mine.



I know it wasn't much, but for a second, all that I am, all that I ever was, and all that I am going to be, converged into that one moment Dio brushed his hand on mine, and it made my year. It still makes my day when I think about it. And it always takes me back to that fateful day at the barbershop.

The day I met Ronnie James Dio.

So how did you meet Ronnie James Dio?

Rest in peace uncle Dio.

(The author is a liberal non-practicing narcoleptic who has had stints at Singapore Press Holdings, Singapore International Foundation and a contributor to the Singapore Kopitiam. Currently single, he is renowned for his exceptional navigational skills especially in Thailand and was last seen blastbeating to Holy Diver at Toa Payoh Swimming Complex in preparation for the YOG)