All the baddest motherfuckers at my high school were into Metallica. I remember watching them stagger through the hallways (drunk, stoned, whatever) in their leather jackets and tight black jeans, making the sign of the devil and blatantly ditching class.

As a frightened nerd, naturally I assumed Metallica was just another part of the secret code among the terminally bad kids at school, something which I -- with still-married parents, with a house in the leafy suburbs, having never had sex or done drugs or been arrested (yet anyway) -- would never understand.

But I knew enough. About the time GN'R Lies came out, my mother -- sensing my burgeoning interest -- decided to school me on the evils of heavy metal. Axl Rose, she explained, was an anti-semite who hated gay people. The rest, including Def Leppard, Metallica, Poison and Megadeth were devil worshippers at best, and child molesting drug addicts at worst.

I was told never to listen to these bands, and most especially, I was not to hang around with heavy metal fans. Who knew what kind of trouble I would get into, she wondered.

Soon she found out. I blew out my father's prized JBL speakers one morning (Yes morning -- the folks were still sleeping. Very subtle) after discovering '...And Justice for All,' I started smoking cigarettes, I got a bad girlfriend who liked to slice herself up with razors -- specifically I remember a crude rendition of 'Metallica' on her ankle. No shit.

'One'


My initial reign of terror ended one summer night sitting in the passenger seat of a local motorhead's '72 Mustang in the local arcade parking lot. The police were there waiting for us. We were bashing mailboxes, stealing lawn trolls, pissing out the window, smoking pot and getting wasted. And yes, I remember Master of Puppets was playing on the stereo that night, which made me love it all the more.

I stuck with Metallica through the 'black' album in 1991 before losing interest, probably about the same time everybody else stopped caring about them. Yet no matter how bad they got, how sad their attempts to transform into the ultimate alterna-heshers, I always kept a cold, black, devil-worshipping spot in my heart for the old Metallica.

And then, recently, came the documentary "Metallica: Some Kind of Monster." The movie catches up with the band in 2002 as they try to shit out another album (what will become 'St. Anger') and somehow capture the old magic.



James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich have turned into lame, rich old pussies who constantly bitch and snipe at each other's \wounded egos, while poor, childless loner Kirk Hammett meekly attempts moderation. When tensions threaten to derail the new album, the band decides to hire a cable-knit sweater wearing therapist to help them sort out their feelings. There's just something wrong with that; it's an offense against the demon-gods of rock.

It's hilarious ... and crushingly sad.

Most bizzare moment: As part of therapy process, the shrink brings in Megadeth frontman and long-ago Metallica guitarist Dave Mustaine to confront Metallica about kicking him out of the band back in 1983. Keep in mind, that's 26 years ago. Let it go, Dave.

Shrouded by his luxurious nest of red hair and worked up to a rolling boil, Dave delivers the line you know he's been thinking up since they threw him out of the band: "I watched people around the world say what a great guitar player Kirk is and what a piece of shit I am."



Seems a little touchy-feely coming from the man who brought us 'Symphony of Destruction.' Incidentally, Megadeth does suck.