…And Garbage for All

If the members of the heavy metal act Metallica decided to make and release their own peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, it would take the band much, much longer than anyone would guess was possible. Using their reality-TV-show-turned-documentary from 2004 as a roadmap, this is about how things would go:

First, the band’s management would purchase every type of sliced bread, peanut butter, and flavor of jelly available on the market and deliver it to “Sandwich-Making Headquarters.” Then singer James Hetfield and drummer Lars Ulrich—both of whom are well into middle age—would sit in a room together for many hours a day and apply adolescence-fueled sandwich-making techniques. This would typically involve hurried and somewhat arbitrary combinations of the aforementioned ingredients, drawn-out tasting sessions for each resulting sandwich, additional hours spent struggling to note any differences that may or may not exist when compared to previous sandwiches, and regular outbursts of frustration and contrived angst interspersed with obscenities.

After about a month of this, there is a strong likelihood that a therapist would be called in for moral and psychological support due to the increasing frequency of exclamations like “Hey, making sandwiches is really fucking hard!” along with each band member having many near-realizations of “What the hell are we doing?” and “Why are we even still around?”

Occasionally, guitarist Kirk Hammett and Bass Player X would be invited to share whatever ingredients they use for their own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but most of these contributions would be outright dismissed, and those that weren’t would be discarded shortly thereafter.

This process would continue until an apex of frustration and exhaustion was reached, but also after most of the requisite parts of a sandwich were cobbled together. The ensuing disinterest in the project would signal to everyone that it is time to stop working and start being rock stars again, which is really what it’s all about for these guys. Of course, this means headlining an 18 month worldwide tour in support of the brand new Metalli-Sandwich, which at this point is long anticipated by fans.

In the end, Metallica’s latest creation would look and taste exactly how a PB&J should to John Q. Metalhead. Yet former fans and/or musicians not under the band’s spell are quick to notice that something is wrong with the taste of this sandwich, sort of like drinking a glass of milk after it started to sour in the fridge. Regardless, it would be a smashing success, and the many members of the Metallica Corporation—not just James, Lars, and Kirk—would make oodles and oodles of money, just like they always do when a new product is branded with the Metallica name.

So this holiday season, don’t forget to buy a Metalli-Sandwich for your loved ones, along with these other fine wares from Metallica (AKA the Wal-Mart of heavy metal):

It’s Your Turn Now

Shine icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 (track 11 from the Hvel LP by Árstíðir icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 )
“Shine” Song Lyrics icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12

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Cannon icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 (track 08 from the Hvel LP)
“Cannon” Song Lyrics icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12
Unfold icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 (track 12 from the Hvel LP)
“Unfold” Song Lyrics icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12

Please Don’t Feed My Television Screen

TV Casualty icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 (track 02 from the Static Age LP by Misfits icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 )

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There are paint smears on everything I own
The vapor rub is lying on a table of filth
Christmas cards to which I never reply
My eyeballs absorb only blue filtered light

TV casualty
We’re alright!

I wish they’d put Prince Namor on the tube
Hold on, I think I have to puke
There’s a spot in the corner where I always go
I like to feed the flies that I know

Please don’t feed my television screen

TV casualty
We’re alright!

Babies in prison, they call it a womb
Nine month sentence, no parole
Slivers of steel stuck in your lungs
Breathe deep, we need a donor for blood

Jaguars at the cemetery
Cadillacs grazing at your grave
Zeniths grazing at your grave
Sonys grazing at your grave

TV casualty
We’re alright!

Why Can’t We Just Admit It?

Vicarious icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 (track 01 from the 10,000 Days EP by Tool icon-external-link-12x12 icon-search-12x12 )

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Eye on the TV because tragedy thrills me
Whatever flavor it happens to be
Like
     Killed by the husband
     Drowned by the ocean
     Shot by his own son
     She used a poison in his tea and kissed him goodbye
That’s my kind of story
It’s no fun until someone dies

Don’t look at me like I am a monster
Frown-out your one face, but with the other stare like a junkie into the TV
Stare like a zombie
While the mother holds her child
Watches him die
Hands to the sky crying
“Why, oh why?”

Because I need to watch things die from a distance
Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
You all need it too, don’t lie

Why can’t we just admit it?
Why can’t we just admit it?
We won’t give pause until the blood is flowing

Neither the brave nor bold were writers of the stories sold
We won’t give pause until the blood is flowing

I need to watch things die from a good safe distance
Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
You all feel the same so why can’t we just admit it?

Blood like rain comes down
Drum on grave and ground

Part vampire
Part warrior
Carnivore and voyeur
Stare at the transmittal
Sing to the death rattle

Credulous at best your desire to believe in angels in the hearts of men
Pull your head out of your hippy haze and give a listen, I shouldn’t have to say it all again
The universe is hostile, so impersonal
Devour to survive
So it is, so it’s always been

We all feed on tragedy
It’s like blood to a vampire

Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
Much better you than I