Geriatrica

Tonight I made the unfortunate mistake of watching “Some Kind of Monster”, a documentary chronicling Metallica’s decent into, if not verifiable arrival at, artistic irrelevance.  All of that notwithstanding it was pure embarrassment to watch the once mighty rock gods who obtained commercial success against all odds look like nothing more than a bunch of soft, contrived, millionaires straight up faking the intensity they practically invented. 

 

At some point a band has to realise that without a concerned effort to grow, they are nothing more than a caricature of themselves paving their way to obscurity or the headline slot at Casino Rama.   In this case Metallica decided that they would return to the their roots and make angry music.  What are they angry at?  Napster?  Their nannies?  The poor performance of the Mercedes 500SL?  It’s just embarrassing.  It’s like me writing an album about what it was like to be in the 1^st grade.  It’s simply been too long and I’d be guessing really.   This to me is Metallica’s relationship with struggle and anguish.  They last thing they struggled for was the respect of their fans after they shamelessly declared war on the very people who supported them when no one else would.

 

As I sat Shiva when Van Halen released that horrible album with Extreme front man Gary Cherone, I must now also declare that Metallica are done.  They are musically dead to me.

 

That being said I’d rather listen to their latest album for the rest of my life rather than hear even one more Nickleback song.  Although that’s not really a compliment, I’d also rather eat hot lava than sit through Nickleback.  Maybe I should be clear.  Nickleback sucks… says the guy sitting around in his boxers  in his 1 bedroom apartment day jobbing it as a corporate bootlicker.  Luckily I know everything.