I’m unsure if there’s an appropriate place for metal after you’ve been kicked out of mom’s basement. There’s a 0 percent chance of you actually playing in front of real people, or girls for that matter, so you have no shot at finding a venue. If you were able to play music for girls you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, because metal would be the last thing on your mind. You’d have a warm couch to sleep on at the very least. And it’s not that you couldn’t find a venue if you really wanted to. I’ve just noticed the majority of metal heads tend to have absolutely terrible stage fright, life fright, and general fright. All the posturing in the world won’t make up for the moment when you step onstage, stare into the audience, and projectile poop yourself into another dimension.
Then again, wearing a sturdy diaper can usually counteract any on-stage defecation issues — unless that’s part of your act. In which case, poop everywhere and see where that gets you. At least you’ll be known as that guy who ripped off his pants and dumped all over the stage instead of that guy who plays a guitar that sounds like a chainsaw that needs a tuneup.
I know many musicians sell their soul to the Devil in exchange for fame and fortune, but this guy really takes it to the next level. He doesn’t appear to want fame, fortune, or anything else worth having for that matter. He evidently doesn’t want good looks, and he certainly didn’t wish for less body hair, so what does he want? I’d ask Satan to weigh in on the question, but he no longer answers my calls. His secretary puts me on hold, and I have to listen to Highway To Hell on a loop until I give up and douse my phone in holy water to get it to stop.
If I had to guess, I suspect this fellow is trying to melt faces with his blistering speed, like the last scene in Raiders of The Lost Ark, only with fewer Nazis and more potted plants.
Brace Yourself For An Intense Bout Of Air Drumming And Head Banging
Rock music isn’t dead yet, but it’s about to be brutally murdered by whoever the hell these people are. Where did they come from? Where are they going? What do they want? The world may never know, but I’m pretty sure they came here for one thing. To rock your socks off — and to advertise some sort of hair-care product. Damn that hair looks silky.
I find music confusing and annoying. Not all music, but most music. By most music I mean all music. Unless it’s Ride of the Valkyries, the 1812 Overture, or anything by Herman’s Hermits — that is acceptable. Everything else is garbage.