By Isa Jones
By Mary Willson
By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
Unfortunately for Owens, there are few similarities between his life and that of his big-screen counterpart -- a corn-fed boy who attains a sort of Rip Magazine version of rock-and-roll nirvana in his newfound frontman status. While the thirty-something native of Akron, Ohio, admits that he expected to be living in a mansion shortly after being tapped to fill Halford's biker boots, he's long since realized that it will take a lot more hard work before he begins reaping such rewards. The biggest surprise during his tenure with Priest, which began with the 1997 release of Jugulator, has been the rather unseemly makeup of the band's crowd.
"All we draw is ugly guys," Owens says. "We're not breaking any records with bringing in the women, I know that much."
Such comments reveal just the sort of Brian Johnson-like self-deprecation you'd expect from a divorced father of one who's landed one of the most sought-after gigs in the rock firmament. (Owens is quick to note that his recent second marriage supersedes any interest he may have had in indulging the metal-god lifestyle.) Yet beyond somewhat disappointing audience demographics, one suspects that the most nettlesome aspects of Owens's newish membership in Judas Priest is the relative creative chokehold that's been placed on him by the veteran leadership of guitarists Glenn Tipton and K.K. Downing who, along with stalwart bassist Ian Hill and drummer Scott Travis, complete the group's current lineup. Specifically, Owens was forbidden from releasing any solo material during the three years between Jugulator's release and the unveiling of the band's latest long-player, Demolition. Although he appreciates his cohorts' position in this regard, Owens states, "I don't agree with that whatsoever." Should such a hiatus occur again (which appears unlikely in light of the favorable reception Demolition is receiving), Owens adds that, at this point, he couldn't afford not to pursue side projects.
For now, though, the singer says, "I live and breathe Judas Priest." Actually, Owens was inhaling the band long before he was invited to become part of it: As recounted almost faithfully in Rock Star, he played the Halford part in an Akron-based Priest tribute band called British Steel, crafting an impersonation that was so dead-on that observers could have been forgiven for mistaking him for the original, leather-clad vocalist. Owens's longstanding devotion to Priest might explain his disappointment over not being able to contribute more to the writing of the band's current material, the vast majority of which was assembled by Tipton, who also produced the group's new CD. "They're letting me put my two cents in. But when it comes down to making money off album sales, you have to be a writer. So I would like to put a little bit more than my two cents in" next time around. Perhaps as a concession, a version of the CD tailored for the Japanese market includes an Owens ballad called "What's My Name."
Occasional creative chafing aside, Owens, who had the Priest logo tattooed on his arm a decade ago and takes his nickname from the band's classic, "The Ripper," isn't about to bite the hands that feed him, particularly when they belong to some of the most influential instrumentalists in heavy-metal history. "Since Glenn and K.K. write such great songs," Owens says, "I really have no problem if they don't want to use my stuff."
Fortunately, the admiration appears to be mutual. According to Tipton, the chemistry between the new singer -- whom the band discovered after watching a tape sent in by fans of British Steel -- and the band started off strong. And since then, it's gone "through the roof...It's really a small miracle, better than anything we ever expected. We wanted to continue playing Judas Priest music. And we wouldn't have continued if we didn't think we'd found someone stupendous. I can't sing his praises enough," raves Tipton.
Clearly, the group has come a long way since the mid-'90s, a period so bleak that Tipton released a solo album while Priest's future hung in the balance. After considering thousands of applicants -- including a woman and an undertaker -- the bandmembers spotted Owens on a video that had been sent to Travis at the last minute. One transatlantic flight later, Owens delivered the first lines of "Victim of Changes" so impressively that Tipton knew they had their man.
Some observers outside the band, however, required convincing. While Owens's ability to conjure Halford perfectly was what ultimately got him the job, it smacked of a worrisome lack of identity.
"The problem is, I have the same style of singing [as Halford]," Owens says. "You've got to go on stage and sing the classic songs just like they're supposed to be sung. So you're not going to go out and get a singer who sounds really different. You can't." As for his sometimes uncanny sonic similarity to his predecessor, with whom Owens had a cordial meeting at Halford's behest at an outdoor venue in Ohio, Owens asserts, "That's just my voice. People that know me can go back through all my singing and tell you I've always sung this way. I think I've got a wider range: I still have the same high notes, but heavier low notes."