An Ugly Metallica Shirt

I’ve an obsession with Metallica shirts and that extends to bootlegs. Here’s a nice amalgamation of their first 5 records, done up all-over-print style for people who are stuck in 2007 or just wanna be king of the trailer park. No judgment though. I’d wear this, as I dig graphic that just showcases a physical discography (see that one Lockin Out shirt that just has Revelation 1-10 on it). I found this on ETSY looking for quirky confectionaries to send as gifts to family members. 

We Love Lightning to the Nations and Never Needed Lars Ulrich’s Help

Though I wish I were alive during the nascent days of the NWOBHM, repelling women and strumming cardboard guitars, I cannot claim such a timeline and must admit that my first exposure to Diamond Head’s music was a cassette copy of Metallica’s $5.98 EP in the mid 90s. Hell, maybe there really are modern rock critics who can bring up Lighting to the Nations without mentioning that “M” word, but I’ve never read their work. We all know that history favors the victors, and though I can hang with a little hyperbole, touted cliches like “No Diamond Head = No Metallica” are as reductive as they are lazy...and don’t even get me started on Malc Macmillan’s “Ulrich Causality Theorem.” What I’ll say is this: with or without Metallica’s aping, Lightning to the Nations would still stand as one of 80’s UK’s most magnificent heavy metal artifacts and bearded journos and bloggers past and present would still champion its greatness and bemoan its underappreciation.

Indeed Lightning to the Nations shows Diamond Head at their most cohesive, a debut full length that nominally indicated hard rock’s seismic shift, showcasing more hooks than a barrel of pay-lake trout. It shouldn’t have surprised the rock press when it debuted on the heels of 2 hot singles (Shoot Out the Lights and Sweet and Innocent) in 1980, but methinks the deft interplay ‘tween Brian Tatler’s circuitous riffing and Sean Harris’s soaring vocals served as soothing balm for a nation balls deep in a vapid punk rock lie. Sublime, orgiastic crescendos nestled in middle passages of “Sucking My Love” and “Am I Evil?” interspersed with meat n’ taters anthemics like “Helpless” and “It’s Electric” offer listeners a full-bodied hard rock masterpiece, a casserole equal parts pomp and gristle, neither one overpowering the other. Gee-tar acrobatics? Check. Benign rock-god balladry? Check. A rhythm section a’la Colin Kimberley and Duncan Scott that simply will not quit? Check check check.

And while “Diamond Head” and “NWOBHM” go together like fanny-packs and Floridians, where contemps like Priest and Maiden stripped their riffs of all loose n’ bluesy excesses, Diamond Head had no bones with ‘em, freely sampling from ALL the great 70’s rock staples (Queen, Slade, Zeppelin, Leafhound, Rush, Bad Company) to cobble their own pastiche of hard glam, high octane thrills and gooey and melodic centers.  Of course, the band’s glory days were numbered almost as soon as they began, following up Lightning with a spate of lackluster full-lengths, unnecessary re-recordings and that acoustic EP that no one asked for, but what’s done is done, and we have the internet now.

“There are more good riffs in your average single Diamond Head song than there are in the first four Black Sabbath albums,” goes an alleged quote by in-on-the-ground-floor NWOBHM journalist Geoff Barton. It’s an extreme declaration perhaps, but one worthy of dissection, the kind I’d encourage everyone to engage regularly with some headphones and a spliff. What I can say is that  Lightning to the Nations and each of its 7 bombastic cuts stand, individually and combined, as grade A rock. “Mother” riffs from which all other riffs descend. Yes, it’s heavy metal. Yes it’s hard rock. Yes it’s full-to-bursting with nearly every silver-tongued rock n’ roll trope that’ll put hair on chests and wrinkles into brains. Moreover though, and I say this now, having just listened to the title track a whopping 18 times in a row:  it’s an album that transcends regional scenes, clunky acronyms and all the ‘Tallica-damaged retro-fitting you can heap on it.

Life Matters in Metallica Tees

My collection of t-shirts has been a constant conversation starter throughout my life. I'm sure that my decision to don a Hawkwind In Search of Space tee to a fateful college BBQ is what got me my dream gig in the University library and I initiated 3 of my most important post high school friendships by wearing (or commenting on) certain T-shirts (S/O to OG Combat Rock tour shirt from '82 and a Destruction Sentence of Death long-sleeve).

Collecting shirts, and the constant hassle of finding bigger and more appropriate containers to house them, has often made me feel like the maligned subjects of TLC's "Hoarders" series. This fear wasn't allayed in 2011 when I finally ponied up for a storage locker in downtown SLC. I tried to justify the expense by luring my brother and girlfriend into the proposition, saying we could use it to house all our stuff, but really, I was sick of packing all my T-shirts every time I’d move (5 times from 2012-2014). Here’s the thing about hoarders though: they’re not just supremely passionate about T-shirts or newspapers or cats or nazi paraphernalia or fingernails or whatever they fill their homes with. They're obsessed with eliminating risk and uncertainty from their lives. They truly cling to the belief that every single thing they retain holds the unique potential to one day save a life, avert a natural disaster or secure them an unfettered contentment otherwise unsecurable if said item wasn't being hoarded. Like that line in Fight Club where Edward Norton talks about IKEA furniture. When I was balls-deep in band tees, I knew that no matter what happened to me in my life, my T-shirt situation was well taken care of.

So when I stopped collecting them two years ago, thinning out a ghastly assemblage of 250 (mostly band) T-shirts to a (semi) respectable 50 wasn't anything quick or easy.

Of the shirts I kept, most were for either reasons of nostalgia, comfort or some mixture of both.

Ex:
Nostalgia: a starchy red BSA tee proclaiming my completion of a 50 Miler on the Appalachian Trail in 2002.
Comfort: the pale yellow Ralph Lauren pocket tee with a worn collar and pinholes in the pits.
Both: E-town Concrete "E-pocalypse" tee from 2001, formerly black XL, fade-shrunk down to a loose and breathable size L charcoal pajama shirt.

There were 5 great Metallica shirts in my assemblage and I sold two of them. Those I kept were unanimously for reasons of nostalgia. ("The pain of an old wound" - Don Draper, "The Slave Becomes the Master," James Hetfield). Most significant is that which I bought from a friend ("TS") in Salt Lake City. TS was a good guy who'd occasionally get salty when I'd slag bands he liked on Twitter. I am a fan of Bullshit Monthly fanzine. Not everyone is. He did let my stupid band borrow his amp even though we blew its fuse and took an unreasonably long time to get it fixed. Car trouble put this t-shirt on the auction block and in a rare show of intuitiveness and determination, I snatched it on my (very reasonable) first offer and have never looked back. I first saw the tee on his Instagram, but I really would've bought it sight-unseen had anyone simply texted me the following:

It features a bald Eagle, perched atop a distinctly Pus-headed Earth flanked by a red Metallica logo, dripping blood from each letter.

The back features another Pushead jumbo skull and "Nowhere Left to Roam '94", one of many ominous Metallica Tour names from the 90's (Runners up include 1992's "Wherever we May Roam" tour with GnR and late-1994's "Shit hits the Sheds" tour with Alice in Chains and Candlebox [yuk]) carved into it. Keen coremen will note the lettering's marginal reminiscence of the famed Schism logo.

The shirt is tangible proof that even in Metallica's WORST critical eras ('94 was still a good 2 years pre-Load) they were making white hot merchandise. I'd encourage interested parties to seek out their tee from the abominable Woodstock '99 festival for it simultaneous nod at, and complete lack of, self awareness.

TL;DR I've never seen the shirt anywhere else, and as a self-respecting fan of this big stupid band, I needed it in my possession. 

When I first moved to New York City I wore the shirt to a friend's birthday party in Brooklyn. Outside a deli, the kinda weirdo my girlfriend's uncle would describe as "a fluorescent pencil-neck," ran up to me and shook my hand, pointing to my shirt while shrieking "OHMIGOD METALLICA. LOOK! THAT'S AWESOME. DUDE THAT'S AWESOME. I TOLD YOU PEOPLE LIKE METALLICAAAA!" He said this all to another guy dressed in equally fluorescent Brooklyn clothing. I'm certain he was drunk, but his inebriation didn't muddy my relishing the idea that this weirdo had, (barring this all being an elaborate joke on me) finally found one person on this planet who rightfully understood him and his unique interest in an American "hard rock" band that's sold 400 Quazillion records.

I wore it again the other day in "my" neighborhood of Astoria while walking my dog Lemon with a pink leash. At the corner, I could hear a guy singing to himself "blackened is the end! Winter it will send. dun dun dun." He was dressed in a maroon sweatsuit and walking with a young child, and he sang the couplet six or seven more times, like Beavis would on catching a rare groove, with gusto and a Greek lilt to his voice. At this point, I really couldn't tell if I was really hearing a guy sing "blackened" in the wild or if I was just catching a late-morning Allergy Med buzz, but I intervened at the crosswalk's end to make sure. When I stopped (Lemon decided that this was her most opportune chance to take a shit), I turned so that he'd have to pass me, making eye contact with the shirt. His eyes got wide and he stopped mid sing-song to jam his hand toward me. "OHMIGOD BROTHER. I HAVE TO SHAKE YOUR HAND RIGHT NOW!" Clearly he wasn't worried about my pooping mini schnauzer or her pink leash.

Before I moved to New York City—hell, before I even moved to Salt Lake City, I had an old band in Provo, Utah called Tijuana Bible. LW, our guitar player, was the only one of us who could really play, and he repped a distinctly "metal" look to boot. Think '85 Bay area, tight jeans tucked into white hi-top sneakers. This was fine and good, but it meant I had to hold myself back from going totally Svengali on him, constantly pressuring him to join me in making the spiritual third Carnivore LP. I lobbied for at least one face-melting solo in every one of our songs, and considered umlaut-ing our name. My heavy metal redecorating was met with general disdain by our bassist (the resident punk, ergo resident idiot) who usually defaulted on us doing boring "1-2-feck-you" fare to get him in good with Provo's burgeoning garage scene. I fought a damn good fight though, steering us to open with "Hell's Bells" a bunch (mostly to troglodytes in Ogden who didn't appreciate it), to cover mid-period Black Sabbath and even laid stylistic claim to LW's heavy metal wardrobe. I’ll always have special memories of his Heavy Metal Parking Lot style Kill 'em All baseball tee, a distinct proto-hesher cut, the kind that, had Dazed and Confused taken place 10 years later, would be strapped across Matthew McConaughey’s waify body. In the band's best moments, LW would walk on "stage" clad in a leather motorcycle jacket and sunglasses, completely expressionless. Once into the set, he'd fling his pointed guitar about him as if trying to decapitate any audience member in the front row while I bellowed Venom's refrain "Lay down your soul/ to the gods rock and roll," In those moments, we couldn't have been better if we'd taken the stage to Morricone's "The Ecstasy of Gold." Also, I felt rightly euphoric claiming membership in a band that made people bang their heads in unison with the GD guitar player.

Walk All Night

The photo above depicts us in our element, weeks before hitting our zenith and then exploding and dying like a huge, retarded star that wanted people to love it more than it wanted to make memorable music. I sleep at night knowing I had fun and made a tape with a Pentagram on it. You'll see me here, chubbier and wearing some (too short) BYU shorts pilfered from the gym along with a Walk All Night Records tee. Many of you never got your Cold World EP's when you ordered them, but I've got this shirt (thanx KL). Also, the photo highlights a baby (!) in the audience who's not at all threatened by us, our music or Lynn's grotesque looking BC Rich. And you’ll note LW's Tallica tee. A tee so crispy that long after the band died, I bought a replica which now permanently resides in a parental basement in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Can you imagine the LP we'd have written if given the months (and psychotropics) to do so?

My final "keep" was a Metallica fan club only shirt, from an ill-fated time in my life (mid college) as well as theirs (Death Magnetic lulls them in, LuLu shits them out). It features another Pushead/earth drawing and the deathless tagline, "Fifteen Years Infecting the Planet." As if whoever made these was also titling a japanese pro wrestling Pay-Per-View. You'll notice the requisite Metallica Ninja stars flanking their questionable typeface, a vestige of their "Alternica" period which is also their obnoxious way of saying, "Don't forget that even though we wrote Master of Puppets, we also did a lot of TERRIBLE stuff that we're not going to let you forget even if you try!" Still, when I call myself a "card carrying Metallica club member," the shirt is my proof.

Lo, I no longer harness a closet full of T-shirts, but I shall always appreciate each and every one of them. Some of those I've retained will outlive me and some will not, and those who don't will be cherished as dust rags as they were once cherished wrapped around me. Others will go on to fund road trips, new car parts and maybe even rent. I'm grateful for them, but I don't need them any more.

I've taken to high-end socks as a new way to get my collecting jollies. They're relatively cheap, pack well and (concealed 'neath pant legs) go with any outfit in virtually any setting. It's also unlikely that I'll ever need to buy a storage locker to keep them in. I wore a pair of Jim Phillips "Screaming Hand" Santa Cruz thermal knee-highs to a work trip and got a raise on that same weekend. Is this what growing up is? Will those Cro-Mags Age of Quarrel socks ever actually get made? No telling, but a quick Google search informs me that Metallica sells socks with the pun/lyrics "Holier than Thou" on them. Good, because I’ve already designated a spot in my top drawer.

Dylan Chadwick is a writer who sometimes pays his bills as an illustrator. He tweets bad story ideas at @drugdogs and Instagrams his own shitty artwork @drugdogs. He wrote his college thesis on Metallica.

Gratitude Fanzine #1 + Ride the Fury #3 (Weekly Seizure - 11.24.13)

I got to live out a middle school obsession and see Monster Magnet this week. If you happen to be a fan of the Magnet, get in touch. I'm thinking about starting a usenet forum. This week I got a few zines, namely Edgegazer and Gratitude, and the ever growing stack on my desk of things to review just keeps getting less and less tamed.

1) Ride the Fury - Pro Wrestling Zine #3

I caught this one on the last go-around and liked it enough to order again. Many of you already know I'm a wrasslin' fan across the board, and I'm glad that there's some ink being dedicated to the similarities between the cultures. I'm also prone to buy things which have "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan on them.

USA! USA!

The zine also came with a homemade Ring of Honor DVD which I haven't watched yet, but is from a good era of that promotion. I'm stoked on this zine but have a few gripes. There's some really great purely wrestling zines right now (Atomic Elbow here in the states, and Calling Spots in the UK). The layout is a little too "indesign" ish, to the point where the interview with Jam of Code Orange Kids is almost unreadable due to weird spacing errors. However, it saves itself with a few gems. One being an interview with Tom Sheehan in which he tells a story about Indecision touring with Milhouse and Silent Majority and how they gave a shirt to Perry Saturn at a rest stop. I'm also a big fan of the question "If your parents said you could bring back one wrestler who passed away to come back to life to eat Thankgiving with you, who would it be?" Bummed no one said "Ravishing" Rick Rude though. That's my answer, no question.

Nope, that ain't NYC Mayhem-era Tommy Carrol. RIP Brother

Overall, it's sick, the DVD is a nice flourish and I loved issue 2. The fuzzy layouts may seem like a persnickety gripe, but my eyes suck and it was kind of a stumbling block here. Much respect to the back cover image though, a full on HBK tribute mural.

Barbershop Window

DVD's, zines, demos and anything else related to Ride the Fury records (including the above reviewed zine) at their bigcartel. 

2. Gratitude #1

I don't feel even remotely hyperbolic by calling this the best zine of 2013. As a means of disclosure, I actually contributed the Rampage centerfold, but my bias isn't any issue. Gratitude takes after the zenith-era of brilliantly written core culture zines Lockin Out #1 Fanzine and Trumbull Escapades. These zines were insular, obsessive and academic in ways few other zines were, and at times even genius. I won't sell this one that hard. You're either into the aforementioned zines and therefore 'get it' or you don't. I am going to leave this, my favorite quote in the entire zine because it absolutely articulates my position on Metallica better than anything I've ever managed to pen...and i wrote an entire 60-page senior capstone project on them in college. (Not a joke:

What's cool about Metallica is: everything. I revel in seeing them bum people out by doing things they sincerely think are great. Sometimes I don't even know if what they're doing IS great, there's just too much history there for me to make heads or tails of it. The world's finest authors couldn't make up a character like Lars Ulrich if it was their life opus - the closest we have is Pete Campbell from Mad Men. God bless them both. --Leah Geragosian (@diahleah)

Top notch content and contributors, excellent art, footnotes (!) and the best Free Spirit interview I've ever read. There's a few of them here at the Mosher's Delight bigcartel. Get on the right wagon, bunko. 

Me and the dog will show you who's hard

Metallica - The Wait* (Dylan's Dumb ipod #6)

Originally by Killing Joke blah blah blah. I don't need to talk about my obsession with Metallica. Any male that didn't come up on this stuff...well he's probably perusing Ikea catalogs and/or writing Fan Fiction for some cut rate shit-com like Psych.

A few thoughts:
A) "Killing Joke" is a name that Metallica drops a lot. Critics (like Mick Wall in his book Enter Night: a Biography of Metallica) say that it was supposed to broaden their appeal, and prove that they weren't just brainless metal boner biters. However, like a moth to a freshly squeezed cake of goat dung, it's around this time that Lars Ulrich would do everything in his power to alienate fans, and James Hetfield would start growing his facial hair out in weird patterns (and Mullets...just look to the left).

B) It was also around this time that Metallica started messing around with a lot of punk covers. Hetfield admits to liking punk songs because "they're all about me. Not about dudes riding on horses wielding sabers." (Note to self: Write a HC LP specifically about dudes riding around on horses wielding sabers).

C) Hetfield's vocals sound like they were recorded over a prison phone that's been submerged in a pool of mouthwash....I like them a lot.

D) Kirk Hammett's solo is pretty heavy on the whammy bar (per usual) and a good indication of the kind of stuff he'd do on the Black album (and those thereafter) a few years later.

E) This is a (not very) produced attempt at initiating Jason "Newkid" into the band, and they slapped it on their $5.98 Garage Days Revisited EP. It's pretty much the same cracker-dry production they'd use on ...And Justice for All and further drive Jason into emotional devastation.

F) It was used in that dumb Jack Black movie where he molests all the kids and has a Fugazi sticker in his van. Truth be told, I don't really hate the movie because that montage with the Ramones song is pretty bitchin.

G) The intro is really eerie, and it's just one of the fifty Metallica riffs that hardcore bands should start pilfering for their own intros. Thus far, I've only ever seen "For Whom the Bell Tolls" (by Frostbite on the Posi Numbers '03 DVD) and "Seek and Destroy" by a metalcore band that I dare not name.

H) Does it not baffle anyone else that an EP composed entirely of covers managed to chart? That's fairly incredible to me.

I) Final thoughts: Metallica makes the tune their own. I didn't look too far into the lyrics, because Killing Joke lyrics are usually stupid. This is kind of the beginning of the end for good Metallica, but I'm a glutton for punishment, so I tracked the cassette down last time I was at Amoeba in Hollywood.

There are a few live versions of this song, but they're usually from the crappy "Madly in Anger with You" tour, and I'm not tryna make you any angrier at this band than you already are.


Song is copyright 1987 Elektra/Vertigo. Don't download it or Lars will be bummed. Low hanging fruit. I grab it.