Last week was a school break, so it’s a good time to spend a sunny day in a university library and read a book from my reading list cover to cover in one sitting because I can’t borrow it from the library. It was also break week for Northwestern, so I basically had the place to myself. For a few hours that day, I was in bibliophile heaven, reading a book in a forgotten corner (well, not really, because the building I was in was roughly circular, but you get the idea) of a research library at a name-brand institution. I was so focused, I didn’t even take a break to get lunch.
You’re likely familiar with this kind of book even if you haven’t read it. I think the first in the loosely defined series was Seinfeld and Philosophy and I know I read something like The D’oh of Homer: Simpsons and Philosophy when I was trying to understand my own undergraduate philosophy courses a little better. Although I appreciate the approach these books take, they never clicked for me. Sure, I’m a fan of METALLICA and The Simpsons, among other pop culture fare that have been featured in these books, and of course I am a huge nerd, so I’d love to read about the intersection of philosophy with these allegedly low-brow pop culture artifacts. Somehow, the combination of the two things was less than the sum of its parts; they were not two great tastes that taste great together. So, you may understand why I didn’t want to purchase this book when I could read it for free at the library.
As I previewed the text, I noticed that the series info page tells us “Thinking deeply about TV, movies, and music doesn’t make you a ‘complete idiot.’ In fact it might make you a philosopher, someone who believes the unexamined life is not worth living and the unexamined cartoon is not worth watching.” That was certainly reassuring. Not that I agree with the idea that pop culture and idiocy go hand-in-hand, mind you. I don’t need to give my favorite bands, books, shows, or movies an academic sheen to consider them worthwhile. It’s nice if I can but it’s kind of like the idea of a guilty pleasure; I’ll interrogate why I like something, but feeling guilty about it is a little weird.
You can probably imagine that METALLICA has been an important band in my life for quite some time. Basically, I’ve been interested in them since 7th grade. I was aware of them earlier, but I wasn’t ready for them until I was a young adolescent. And, of course, like most young adolescents, I had to express my interest in them through clothing. It seems that at least one of the authors had the same experience as me. In an essay on METALLICA’s message of nonconformity, individuality, and truth, Thomas Nys writes about being 14 years old and how, at the time, he “believed that wearing a METALLICA t-shirt provided the perfect expression of my rebellious nature. Nowadays, I believe wearing the t-shirt provided the perfect excuse for not talking to the beautiful girls I was secretly in love with (girls who would have nothing to do with such a rebel)” (p. 41). If that doesn’t hit home, I don’t know what does. It’s not just the recognition of the attempt at iconoclasm, but the later realization of the metal t-shirt as social kryptonite that resonates here. I’d be lying if I said I still felt the same way about METALLICA as I did when I first heard them, or that I’m even into the same songs after all these years. What’s interesting here instead is using the band as a kind of measuring stick of my own growth. There are different aspects of the band, let alone eras, that have appealed to me at different times in my life. It’s not a linear progression either. It’s like that old saying about not being able to step in the same river twice because the river has changed as much as you have. One change I was not ready for was the transition from hearing METALLICA on modern rock radio as a teenager to hearing them on a throwback or retro-focused station in recent years. As another chapter in this book brutally declares, “Eventually, even METALLICA will find rotation on only the oldies station” (p. 110). Even though I know that to be true and have witnessed it with my own ears, it still stings. When I consider that those words were written as early as 2007 at the latest, I feel the sting even more deeply.
I could go on about the autobiographical connections I felt to various moments in the chapters of the text, but what really excited me about reading this book were the new insights gained about a band I thought I knew so well. For instance, in a discussion of the importance of the band as community, Rachael Sotos shares how important the collective identity of we was for the band, especially in the early days. She writes, “If we consider in particular the first album, Kill ‘em All, it is truly remarkable how predominant the experience of the ‘we’ is at the beginning of METALLICA’s journey. In the lyrics of this album the word ‘we’ appears more times than on all the other albums combined. It appears and is repeated, again and again announcing the ‘we’ of the newly born speed metal community” (p. 90). That’s an incredible point to make and one that seems so glaringly obvious in retrospect. “Kill ‘em All” stands on its own, while their other albums have certain echoes, connections, or relationships that make them part of an era or music history moment. What Sotos argues here is that in addition to the sonic novelty of a ten-song album that essentially invented thrash metal as a genre, the importance of the album is in the collective nature of its expression. This was a mission statement from a band that saw itself as a crew. In contrast to a hardcore punk band that might have sang about an us-versus-them orientation to being pissed off at society at large, and, in so doing, draw the audience into community with it, METALLICA declares here that they are an unstoppable machine, so you’d best get out of their way. And here I was thinking I couldn’t love “Kill ‘em All” any more than I already do.
Those familiar with the band’s lineup might be scratching their heads at this point because they know of the infamous lineup changes that have been part of the band over the years. Manuel Bremer and Daniel Cohnitz have got you covered in their chapter on “Is it Still METALLICA? On the Identity of Rock Bands Over Time.” They take on the idea of the Ship-of-Theseus-like recomposition of a band’s lineups over time as they consider what counts as being the true or the original version of the band. Who is that we?, essentially. In their chapter, they offer a thought experiment from involving a “Mave Dustaine” who uses mad scientists to transplant his brain into Kirk Hammett’s body while Kirk is on the tour bus one night. So when Kirk wakes up with “Mave Dustaine’s brain,” the band is astonished that “he has forgotten how to play almost all of his solos, but he can play many songs by a band called Degameth. Is it really Kirk who woke up in Kirk’s bed with Kirk’s body but with Mave’s memories?” (p. ~186). This is a delightful exercise that gets at the idea of band’s identity. It also has the benefit of being hilarious—just try not to laugh when thinking of an alternate reality with someone named Mave Dustaine sings for Degameth, while Hames Jetfield’s band, Temallica (or Metal Mania, if they had chosen that name instead…) is considered the lesser band. Of course Dave Mustaine played a pivotal role in METALLICA’s development, and their choice to unceremoniously kick him out of the band because of his alcohol intake is notorious example of dudes not being able to talk through their problems with each other. They continued to use riffs and songs he’d composed for their first two albums, just as Kirk brought riffs and songs from EXODUS when they recruited him to replace Dave. Does that mean METALLICA is a revised lineup of EXODUS and MEGADETH a revised version of METALLICA? Not quite, but the argument over who can claim to be the originator of an idea is not merely a question from a compositional royalties standpoint.
On the topic of “what counts” as a band in terms of their lineup, I deeply appreciated Philip Lindholm’s chapter, entitled “The Struggle Within: Hetfield, Kierkegaard, and the Pursuit of Authenticity.” As lead singer, founding member, and rhythm guitarist, James gets plenty of attention in the band’s history. That said, it was very interesting to read how Lindholm traced Hetfield’s existential journey by way of his lyrics. The most intriguing part of the chapter was footnote, which is exciting in its own right. This one contains an excerpt from a 2001 interview with James from Playboy, where he mentions how his parents’ faith was socially alienating for him. I know they were Christian Scientists because it has been subject of METALLICA songs before. But, the detail that a young James “couldn’t get a physical to play football” (p. 72) when he was in high school makes my mind reel. To think that there’s a version of reality where James becomes a full-on jock and pursues sports instead of music is almost too much to bear. Would he have gone to college? Would he have been less of an outcast? Would he have been as interested in music? Who would Lars have connected with when he put an ad in The Recycler? James’ missed shot at competitive sports glory because of his parent’s religious beliefs eventually made METALLICA possible. It’s staggering to think of what almost wasn’t…
YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY THESE REVIEWS: