The Rise and Fall of Rock Magazines

When Ink and Attitude Ruled the Scene

Before blogs, before YouTube, before algorithms served you soundbites, there was the printed page — loud, glossy, opinionated, and essential. Rock magazines didn’t just report on music. They curated culture. They made heroes, stirred scenes, and gave identity to every teenager with a tape deck and a dream.

From weekly newsprint like Sounds to underground champions like Metal Forces, and the excess-soaked gloss of Metal Edge, these magazines helped build the world we now call classic rock history. But like all empires, their time came and went.

This is the story of their rise. And their slow, sad fade.

In the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s, rock magazines were rituals. You’d head to WHSmiths or you local news agent, scan the covers, and grab your copy — heart racing at the promise of posters, lyrics, gig gossip, and controversial reviews.

Each mag had its own flavour, and its own loyal following. Lets start on our home turf: British Titans.

If Kerrang! was the wild child, Metal Hammer the international envoy, and Powerplay the connoisseur’s choice — then Sounds was the daddy. The blueprint. The rabble-rouser. The underground’s loudest mouthpiece and the mainstream’s sharpest thorn.

Launched in 1970 as one of the UK’s weekly music papers alongside NME and Melody Maker, Sounds never had the glossy polish of its rivals — but it didn’t want it. What it did have was edge, attitude, and an uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time, just before the scene blew wide open.

In August 1979, a relatively unknown journalist named Geoff Barton used the phrase “New Wave of British Heavy Metal” in Sounds — and unknowingly kickstarted a revolution.

That one phrase gave a name to the movement bubbling up in pubs, clubs, and youth centres across the UK. Suddenly, a legion of raw, DIY, denim-and-leather bands — Iron Maiden, Saxon, Angel Witch, Samson, Diamond Head — had an identity. A movement. A banner to rally under.

And Sounds was its front-line reporter.

They didn’t just cover the scene — they built it, week by week, gig by gig. It felt like Sounds wasn’t just reporting the news. It was creating it.

What made Sounds radical was its lack of snobbery. While the NME crowd sniffed at metal and the Melody Maker mob were chasing pop trends, Sounds gave equal space to punk, Oi!, post-punk, hard rock, and early industrial noise.

You might see Killing Joke on the front one week, Motörhead the next, then Sham 69 or Crass — with a mad little sidebar about some synth punks from Sheffield or a demo tape from Norway. The scene cross-pollination was incredible.

Sounds felt closer to the fans than its competitors. Its reviews weren’t afraid to get passionate. Its interviews didn’t feel like PR fluff. And the reader letters were gloriously unfiltered — angry, articulate, hilarious.

Writers like Garry Bushell, Sylvia Patterson, Jon Savage, Mick Wall, and of course Geoff Barton weren’t just reporters. They were characters in the story — beloved and hated, quoted and shouted at, week after week. This was music journalism as punk rock theatre.

By the mid-1980s, Sounds was losing ground to the rising gloss of Kerrang! and the expanding reach of American mags. The rock world was changing — more MTV, less Melody Maker. More Sunset Strip, fewer smoky London pubs.

In 1991, Sounds printed its final issue. No fanfare. No big farewell. Just a sudden full stop to the paper that had been the lifeline for a generation of British rockers.

“Sounds didn’t tell you who to like. It told you who was out there, in the dark corners, smashing it. It trusted you to listen. And that’s what made it great.”

From Maiden to Mötley, Nirvana to Slipknot, Kerrang! was the UK’s loudest cultural force. Hilarious, chaotic, irreverent, and unapologetically fan-first. Whether you worshipped Anthrax or adored HIM, Kerrang! had a cover, poster, or double-page spread that spoke directly to you.

The underground oracle. If Kerrang! was wild, Metal Forces was wired — dialled into death, grind, and the heaviest riffs from around the world. Pre-internet, it was one of the only places you’d read about demo-only acts from Scandinavia, South America, or Eastern Europe.

Rock Power

Often overlooked, but Rock Power delivered top-tier photography, international coverage, and thoughtful interviews. It sat somewhere between Kerrang!’s bravado and Raw’s slick presentation.

Powerplay

Arriving later (mid-‘90s onward), Powerplay became a haven for melodic rock, AOR, prog, and modern metal. While the majors chased trends, Powerplay held the line for the purists — and still does.

Across the Pond — American Voices

Circus

Big hair, big riffs, big headlines. Circus was the magazine of record for the US hard rock and glam explosion. If you wanted Poison, Ratt, or early G’n’R in full technicolour, Circus delivered.

Hit Parader

Sometimes messy, sometimes magical, Hit Parader loved excess. One month it would feature Ozzy, the next, some obscure shredder or proto-grunge band. You never knew what you’d get — but that was part of the fun.

Metal Edge

Slick, sharp, and laser-focused on the glam, hair, and arena metal of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. Metal Edge nailed band access, with Q&As, backstage shots, and photo spreads from the height of tour madness. It was a bible for Bon Jovi, Dokken, and Skid Row fans.

Rock Candy  

A retro revival mag launched much later (in the 2010s), Rock Candy is published by former Kerrang! writers and designers. It’s a tribute to the golden era, complete with long-form articles, deep-cut retrospectives, and a classic visual aesthetic. Think of it as the rock mag equivalent of vinyl reissues — lovingly made, beautifully packaged.

Creem

The original anti-magazine — and arguably the most influential of them all. Born in Detroit in 1969, Creem didn’t just cover rock. It snarled at it. Satirical, anarchic, and brilliant, Creem launched Lester Bangs, covered punk before it was cool, and made fun of bands it still secretly loved. Without Creem, there’d be no Kerrang!.

“Creem wasn’t a magazine. It was a boot in the arse with a Marshall stack.”

Magazines as Myth-Makers

They weren’t just periodicals. These were social lifelines. Posters became wallpaper. Review scores were debated for weeks. Letters pages connected fans before message boards existed.

Writers became trusted voices — tastemakers who shaped your identity.

And when you found a band in Metal Forces or Powerplay that no one at school had heard of yet? You felt invincible.

The Fall — Death by Megabyte

So what went wrong? The internet happened. News became instant. Access became free. Band interviews were streamed, not transcribed. Fans didn’t need middlemen — they had forums, blogs, and MySpace. Advertisers moved online, and print became unsustainable.

By the late 2000s, one by one, the mags folded or downsized. Kerrang! moved online. Metal Hammer faced bankruptcy. Others disappeared without farewell. A few — Powerplay, Rock Candy — soldier on, proudly niche, lovingly made.

Epilogue — Ink Never Dies

There’s still nothing quite like flipping through an old issue of Kerrang! from 1987. The smell, the layout, the excitement. Even now, those magazines pulse with life — capturing a world when discovery took effort, and when music fandom was physical, personal, and proudly obsessive.

If you’ve got a stack in the loft, don’t throw them out. They’re artefacts now. Sacred texts of the riff.

Which Was Your Magazine?

Got a favourite cover?

Remember a review that changed your mind — or a band you discovered in a footnote?

Still hoarding old back issues? Show us.

My Top 10 albums list was printed in the 2nd issue of Kerrang! Probably my proudest moment ever. And the cred that goes with that? HUGE

Drop us a comment, tag us on socials, or email your mag memories to the MOR Revisited team. We’d love to hear your story — and maybe feature it in an upcoming post.