Rob Halford: “I Am Now a Believer, Please Don’t Judge”
For much of my life, I wore armor that wasn’t just leather and studs. It was the kind of armor you can’t see but you feel—thick walls built around the heart and mind, forged out of fear, shame, and the endless pressure of trying to live up to an image. As the frontman of Judas Priest, the “Metal God,” I carried not only the sound of a genre but also its expectations. People looked to me for strength, for rebellion, for that commanding voice that could cut through arenas and shake the soul. But inside, I wasn’t always the invincible figure the spotlight suggested. Inside, I wrestled with doubt, identity, and the nagging weight of secrets.
When I say, “I am now a believer, please don’t judge,” it comes from that journey. Belief, for me, isn’t just about religion or philosophy—it’s about finally accepting that I deserve to live free of shame. For decades, I hid the truth about who I was, terrified that the fans, the press, or even my bandmates might turn their backs if they knew I was gay. In the macho, leather-clad world of heavy metal, I convinced myself that acceptance was impossible. So, I buried it. I drank. I numbed the pain with drugs. I let the mask of the “Metal God” do the living for me while the man beneath the mask quietly suffered.
But there’s only so long you can live split in two. At some point, you either collapse under the weight, or you break free. My breaking free came later in life, but when it happened, it was liberating in ways words can barely capture. To stand before the world and say, “This is me, unapologetically,” was terrifying—but it was also the most honest scream I’ve ever given. Louder than any note I’ve ever hit on stage. Rawer than any lyric I’ve ever sung. It was my own rebellion, my true heavy metal moment.
Now, when I say I am a believer, I mean I believe in authenticity. I believe in forgiveness. I believe in music’s power to heal—not just the fans, but the ones who create it. Heavy metal has always been about truth, about pushing back against conformity, about finding strength in the very things that make us different. For years I couldn’t see that I already embodied the essence of metal simply by existing as I am. Today, I see it clearly.
Of course, there will always be judgment. The world has a way of pointing fingers, of deciding who deserves acceptance and who doesn’t. But I ask—no, I plead—please don’t judge. Not me, not the kid in the crowd who feels different, not the outcast who uses our music as armor against loneliness. We are all carrying something. We are all trying to believe in ourselves, in love, in the idea that tomorrow can be better than yesterday.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that survival is not weakness—it’s strength. To face your demons, to come clean, to embrace vulnerability in a world that worships toughness, that is the true definition of being metal. And so, yes: I am now a believer. I believe in life after fear. I believe in the unifying power of music. I believe that authenticity, however scary, is worth everything.
Please don’t judge. Instead, join me. Believe too.VC