Kill ’em already, no?

When I was a pre-teen, some jerk stole my cassette-tape copy of Metallica’s Black Album. I wanted to rip their face off I was so pissed—and I was pretty sure it was my neighbor who jacked the tape. And I’m also pretty sure he did it to spite my interest in a band that he unequivocally abhorred, Metallica, what with their cocky angst, freeloading bluesy-metal shtick and MTV sellout ethos. Of course, my neighbor was a devout Pearl Jammer, so there you go. Anyway, in retrospect, I’m glad that Metallica left my life at a young age, because, man, post-Cliff Burton Metallica is like pre-prison Martha Stewart. (Do I have to qualify that analogy, or does it speak for itself? I digress.) At any rate, Metallica is still together 28 years later—like bloodsucking zombies, eh? And they’re still functionally dysfunctional, especially compared to other geriatric rockers: Lars Ulrich hasn’t pulled an Aerosmith and tried to kick out James Hetfield, Kirk Hammett still hasn’t hit puberty and that new bassist dude still is relegated to stage left in a cone hat. And soon, Metallica will at once be the worst and best band in Natomas, on December 8. Wrap your Napster download around that paradox, you degenerate music-stealing thief. (You know who you are.)