Upon returning to Maryland, I’m just in time to help out at the House of Musical Traditions with inventory. Which means helping Amelia count her frog army.
Tonight I was a fool and watched “Some Kind of Monster”, the documentary about Metallica. I Love that band for what I Love it for and generally don’t want to know the rest. So why’d I watch? Not a clue. It was like a train wreck… and every once in a while you got to watch them play.
That’s POWER. Metallica has always been the most magnificent orgy of thrust I’ve ever had placed between my ears. Swooning to Kirk’s solos, learning the basslines, learning my scowls and growls from James Hetfield – I don’t want to hear about their whimpering diva-like inabilities of dealing with one another. I certainly don’t want to watch them go through the new age wonder that is therapy in the new millennium.
If I have to watch James Hetfield getting treated psychologically, it should be shock treatments and needles, screaming and tendon tautening, leather ripping and eyes crossing.
I guess things have gone alright. The article in Rolling Stone made them out to be happy family men who’ve figured out how to handle their differences. They fly home in private jets to avoid time on the bus together… it’s all so insane. I liked watching Rob’s initiation into the band, was glad that in essence the whole thing had a happy ending, but all in all it was too much like watching any one of a million of our current reality tv shows.
Tomorrow we’ll finish our last day tracking in the studio. Much more rationally than Metallica, writing from our own heads and bringing an almost completed object to microphones and tape, rather than winging it and writing off the cuff.
Like Heather said about touring with Dar: crazy to see how the other half Lives.
Cold days in Maryland. This is my Saturn completely encased in ice, shivering on the inside, unable to move on the outside. The ice storms upon our return were beautiful glazes of slippery, frosty Armageddon.
