Hamming it up in a tribute act is to musicianship what spreading for a double-penetration scene is to acting: it's hard to be taken seriously as an artist afterward. (Also, you can't shit right for weeks, but that only applies to the latter.) Of course, there are those rare exceptions of both porn stars and glorified karaoke kings successfully going legit. Look at Traci Elizabeth Lords. She's no thespian but she's held her own on Profiler. Then there's Tim "Ripper" Owens. In 1996, his break came when a tape of his Judas Priest cover band, British Steel, was sent to the very same metal gods he had paid homage to in countless suburban bars.

Owens's fairy-tale story of being named Rob Halford's replacement in the Priest caught the attention of the New York Times. The subsequent article led movie executives to start sniffing around for the film rights to his tale. He recalls how fortunate he felt when Hollywood first came knockin', eventually turning the semibiographical account of his career into the 2001 Mark Wahlberg flop, Rock Star.

"I thought it was awesome," says Owens, who filled Halford's chaps for six years before the leather-clad screecher rejoined Priest in 2003. The singer, who today fronts the Florida metal quintet Iced Earth, is on the phone from Atlanta. "I thought, 'Man, I'm gonna make some money here.' "

Not so. For starters, the film became so loosely based on Owens that Judas Priest and the producers parted ways creatively. Consequently, Owens didn't get paid a penny. What's worse is the movie stank to high hell.

"My real life would make a better movie than some cheesy Spinal Tap--ish rock-star clichéd life," he says before taking a mental inventory of all the inconsistencies between his own experience and the caricature of himself. "He was making a lot of money, which I wasn't doing. They were selling out arenas, which we weren't doing. I think he slept with a man and his manager was a woman that peed standing up. That wouldn't have happened."

One similarity that Owens can't deny is that, as with the film's character, he was never given a fair shot at penning his own lyrics by his former metal colleagues. However, his Iced Earth bandmates let him have a stab at it before he officially joined the group. The result of his newfound creative freedom can be heard on The Glorious Burden, which was recorded while Owens was technically still a member of Judas Priest.

A concept album, the disc is meant to be a history lesson for headbangers. Each song is inspired by famous 19th- and 20th-century battles. Owens's contribution is "Red Baron/Blue Max", a grandiose metal track about an ace German fighter pilot in the First World War. The mother of all Fourth of July blowouts is "Gettysburg"; the 30-minute-plus three-parter (one for each day of bloodshed), kicks off with a marching band bagpiping through the "Star-Spangled Banner". About halfway through the first installation, guitarist Jon Schaffer patriotically rips into "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah". Most of the axe work belies vintage Metallica influences, but with the help of the Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, Iced Earth also captures the over-the-top flamboyance of Manowar. As for Owens's vocal styling, they are reminiscent of, who else, Rob Halford. But don't expect to hear Judas Priest covers when Iced Earth re-creates three days of the Civil War at the Commodore on Friday (May 14). They'll be too busy celebrating America's greatest bloodbath.