A Thursday post about a case of the Mondays

I'm an idiot. I meant to post this on Friday, but mistakenly put it up today. Oh well. It's a holiday weekend here in the US of A...so consider this your weekend fill.


Like most of you, I have my bad days. I know what you're probably thinking, that due to the popularity of this blog, my life is filled with endless parties and prestigious events to which I am driven to in my 62S Maybach. Well, that's all certainly true...but with that in mind, I must also tell you that I sometimes have a case of what overweight American women call "the mondays". Just this past Monday, I actually had a case of "the Mondays", one I simply could not shake. I tried the usual remedies for this condition, anything that would cheer me up. I listened to Obituary, but it didn't work. It merely reminded me of when I was younger, happier and got to hang out with Obituary in order for Donald Tardy to sign a drumstick for me. I tried listening to Dream Theatre, which usually makes me laugh for hours upon hours, especially that one song that has the salloon-music like piano part. But then I remembered that poor Mike Portnoy can only afford to live in a town called Coopersburg Pennsyvlania. Can you imagine playing that awful garbage to dozens of acne-scarred fans every night...and only being able to afford a pseudo-Mc mansion in Coopersburgh PA? Nothing was working, I was still bummed and feeling blue. It was time to take drastic action, so I brought out the big guns...the only thing that will always cheer me up and make me laugh. Am I talking about Megadeth's cover of Anarchy In the UK? No. Am I talking about the Megadeth tribute album entirely made up of French bands that I own. No. Am I talking about the entire Hanger 18 video? Nope. I'm talking about the Manowar commercial for German TV.





Even after watching it, I was still not feeling cheered up. As such, I instructed my driver Helmut to drive me around town in my Maybach so that I could find someone to laugh at. I thought surely there would be a pack of Juggalos somewhere out there, waiting to make my day brighter. Sometimes, god smiles down upon you...and last Monday was such a day. At one random intersection I saw the most amazing metal specimen known to man...a very rare one. Much like seeing the rare Pinta Islan Tortoise in the wild, catching a full blown, early 20s black metal douche bag (complete with full leather pants in a day when it was nearly 90 degrees) is a rare sight. At least around here. I mean, you know they're out there...and you can find them at shows and stuff...but to see one crossing the street is amazing.

I know this photographic evidence is poor at best, but you'll have to forgive my driver Helmut, as this was the best shot he was able to get for me.

The beast was majestic, complete with black plumage, combat boots, oversized backpack, portable CD player (did you just read that? Portable CD player...its 2009!), sunglasses and a Bathory shirt. Was it the mere sight of such a specimen that cheered me up. Not really. You see, in the picture above you can see a middle aged black woman, walking away from the young metal fan. This is where it gets good. Although I found myself a few feet away from the action, I could hear the exchange between these two pretty well. Originally the woman was standing next to Mr Bathory shirt, waiting to cross the street. The whole time they were standing next to each other, Mr Leather Pants was totally hitting on this chubby 40 something lady. He was dead serious, and was definitely using his A game to lure her back into his black metal lair. "Where are you going to now?" He asked her suggestively, as he looked her up and down, almost licking his lips. I felt bad for the guy, I was seeing him at his most vulnerable, and the woman was not even acknowledging his existence. I'm sure it probably reminded him of that other awkward conversation he once had with a woman. His mother. It went a little something like this:







So there he was, trying to hit on a much older woman...and being insanely persistent at it. "Where do you work? Come on, you can tell me." She was having none of it, and wouldn't even look his way. I couldn't hear everything he said to her, but his ongoing questions were met with complete disregard from the lady, a reply that most male metalheads know well. "You don't even want to look at me?" he asked. The woman suddenly turned around, looked at him, pausing on his leather pants. Once she looked at him, she walked away from him, angrily putting her bag over her shoulder and murmuring to herself. It was this moment that I caught, I mean...my driver Helmut, caught on camera. Feeling dissed by the lady, Mr Black Metal kinda' bobbed his head to the rhythm of the grim tunes on his sweet portable CD player, and fixed his hair and headphones as to say "ain't no thang". Upon seeing a black metal fan trying to pick up a middle aged lady on the street, and failing...I found myself suddenly cheered up. Everything was right with the world, I was officially in a good mood once again.

The day that Dave Murray blew me off

You have to love the reddish/orange skin color that british people get when they drink too much and are left out in the sun too long.

A few years ago, I was meeting up with a friend in the streets of Manhattan. It was an incredibly cold day, and I didn't have any gloves on. One of the things you have to love about New York (and there aren't many) is that you can basically go out into the streets nude, and within five seconds you can buy an entire outfit, a wallet, gold chains, a fake rolex and a Louis Vuitton purse for about $5...all from street vendors.




On that day, I went up to a street vendor who looked to be Middle Eastern, and asked him how much he wanted for a pair of gloves. "Five dollah for glove. But for you my friend, four dollah. You need lady gloves." Okay, I should tell you that I'm a rather short man, a manchild if you will. People often think I'm a good bit younger than I am...and now this guy was saying I needed women's gloves because of my size? Oh, hell no. After he said it, he chuckled a bit. I was insulted. I mean, is there anything lower than a street vendor? I was getting made fun of by the lowest form of life. I disregarded his comment, and tried on the men's gloves in order to show him that my man-sized hands needed man-sized gloves. Sadly, he was right. They were gigantic on my small child-like hands. With my tail between my legs, I gave him four dollars and took the smaller, women's gloves.

Why on earth am I telling you this story? Because much in the same way that a street vendor once made fun of me, the other lowest form of human life that exists on this planet also made fun of me once...and in a very inventive way. I am talking, of course, about Dave Murray of Iron Maiden.

Can you tell which of the pictures above is of the Cryptkeeper and which one is of Dave Murray? I sure can't.

Dave Murray, or the Crypkeeper as I like to call him is a dick. Let me tell you why. Some years ago, Mr. Awakening (a founding member of M.I. who is now too good to post anymore) and I went to see Iron Maiden. We had pretty good tickets, and were excited to see the show. As we walked around and looked for redneck metalheads to make fun of, we were elated to find an unusual surprise in the midst of the audience. There, for no reason at all, walking around the crowd was none other than Rick Ta Life. This was unusual, as this concert was not taking place near New York City, New Jersey or any other places were such creatures are often seen in the wild. It was as majestic as seeing a cheetah in its native environment.

Nice bullet proof vest, I guess. I wonder if he knows that it looks like he's an umpire behind home plate, or that he's wearing an apron so he can get some baking done at his mom's house.

Okay, so let's put Rick To Life aside for a minute, because that's not what this story is about. There we were, enjoying ourselves, listening to Motorhead play from afar. I was talking to some people, showing them my new phone. I was a relatively late adapter of cell phone technology, and was rather proud of my Sony Ericsson handheld device. In retrospect, the phone was a piece of crap, and Mr Awakening had the same phone as I did...only he kept and used his until last year! The phone looked a bit like this one, but crappier and older.


The one function I loved the most about the phone was its camera. This being a long time ago, the camera was actually not integrated into the phone. Weird, I know. The camera was actually a small device that you plugged into the phone in order to take pictures. Anyway, as I was showing off my cool new phone, I saw an unmistakable sight off in the distance. I saw a tall man with a huge orange pumpkin face. The pumpkin-faced man had a head as round and large as a tortilla, and he proudly wore what looked like lace-up boxing boots and spandex pants. I asked myself, who is this man? Spandex? Pumkin face? Is it Lance Armstrong with a pumpkin on his head getting ready to box someone? I was confused by this dadaist creature. As I looked more closely, I saw that it was certainly Dave Murray of Iron Maiden. His dried up hair resembled straw, and his crater-like acne scars were visible all over his disgusting pumpkin face.

Who knew that british guys in metal bands were into Tommy Bahama clothing? If you like Dave's shirt, please look here, for more great fashion statements courtesy of Tommy Bahama.

Since I was so excited about my new camera phone, I told everyone that I was showing my phone to that I was about to go get a picture with Dave. I started to walk up to the toritlla-faced cryptkeeper. I should tell you that I was doing this as a bit of a joke, being that I also have pictures with the likes of Manowar and Danzig. Anyway, as I went up to him, I clearly saw his backstage passes, his Maiden shirt, his receding hairline, and finallyl got a better view at his huge jackolantern face. I saw him there, standing quietely, looking off into the distance. He was drinking a beer by the hot dog stand, looking bored. Wasting no time, I went up to him and said "Hey, can I get a picture?" I showed him my awesome Sony Ericsson phone, to clarify what I meant. Quickly, and without much thought he responded in a British accent with a slight lisp (another clear sign that it was indeed the pumpkin faced Murray.) "No mate, I'm not Dave from Iron Maiden." At first, I thought he was joking. I hadn't even said who I thought he was, and yet he knew I wanted a picture with "Dave from Iron Maiden." I said "Ah come on. I have a new phone, I want a picture." He looked at my phone and said "Nah, everyone thinks I'm Dave Murray...but I'm not. Sorry mate." Perhaps he was offended by my crappy phone? I didn't know what to make of his response. Did all British people seriously say "mate" that much? I was confused.




At this point, there was little I could do. The people I was with were looking at me from afar, wondering what was going on. I had to walk away, and forget the whole thing. So I did, or at least I tried to. As I left the large shadow that his huge head created (sans picture), I heard a female voice say "Oh my god, are you Dave Murray!", I then heard Dave respond "Oh yes I am!" I turned around to see Dave hugging two forty-something moms in leather pants, posing for a picture with them. I stood there in disbelief. Apparently Dave was not aware of the motto that all men should abide by. Bros before Hos. After he posed for a picture with them, he talked to them briefly and took them through a gate into the backstage area. Although I fully understood that he had a sudden man-urge and needed to be with these aging metal mamas, I was also aware of how badly I had just been blown off. I briefly pictured the aging women kissing his acne scars, as well as the crackling sound that his brittle hair made as the leather clad rednecks ran their hands through it. I was pissed. When I got back to our group of friends I retold the story, and they all laughed at me. Perhaps what made it worse was that I wanted the picture as a joke. I was not a mad fan who had to have a picture with Mr Tortilla face, I just wanted a funny picture I could send to friends. Half an hour later, Maiden hit the stage...and there was Dave Murray, wearing the Maiden shirt, spandex pants and boots I had just seen him wearing as he escorted the ladies into his love lair.




To this day, when I see a picture of Dave Murray I recoil in horror, and not just because of his Garbage Pail Kids-like bulbous face, his acne scars or his receding hairline. I recoil because like the street vendor, he managed to mock me for no reason at all...when in reality I'm clearly higher up in the food chain than both of them. I mean, aren't I? Perhaps not. Perhaps both stories actually prove that I'm below both of them in the grand scheme of things...and maybe that's why I'm so pissed.

Because I'm still confused about this ordeal, and I don't know how to end this post, I will leave you with this video of the "manualist" playing some Maiden. He's really just an extra from The Sopranos sitting on his camouflage couch in Jersey, but perhaps he can help us all reach some closure. Enjoy.

Metal Inquisition wishes all of you a Heavy Christmas

In the words of 220 Volt, we wish you a heavy Christmas. From all of us, to all of you.

We hope baby Jesus brings you all the gifts you asked for. In the case of our beloved Metal Inquisition receptionist Dorothy, that meant a case of Bud Light. Don't drink it all at once Dorothy!

Dorothy, our hard working administrative assistant and receptionist. When you call our 1-800 number, this is the lovely lady that will greet you at the other end of the line.

While we're on the subject: Madonna Covers Pantera

Madonna playing Pantera's "New Level" live? Oh yes. Not only is there video of it, but different internet accounts back it up. Perhaps this is due to Monte Pittman, who played with Prong, now playing in Madonna's band. What's next? Sweet scalp tattoos? The Anselmo undercut? A black metal project? Sideburns? Having your guitar player shot? Who knows. Watch and enjoy.

Girl bands I like

I'm not really big on chicks starting bands, because usually they're just crappy versions of a dude band and even though they try hard, they're never really that good. Sort of like the WNBA, or when a woman is your boss. That said, there are a few chick bands that don't disappoint.



13
The first time I heard 13 was on "Cry Now, Cry Later" almost 15 years ago, but they released a few records, all of which were excellent and predated the current "stoner" trend by over a decade. I had no idea until the other day that the singer for 13 is now apparently in Electric Wizard (if they are still a band), and pretty hot to boot.

The one on the right could be an American Apparel model.

Mythic
Man, people joke about this band, but I think they were great. They were brutal as fuck, like a way more sludgy, downtuned version of Winter or something. I seriously think they were an awesome band, although no matter what I say this will probably sound sarcastic since nobody takes them seriously. And you know what? I don't want to live in a world where Mythic is a joke! Fuck this place.

Anyway rather than describe them myself, I'll use the words of Anus.com:

Post-apocalyptic misery metal crafted from simple chromatic scales of power chords and rumbling basic drumbeats, rubbery bass distorting the rest in an avalanche of distorted scalatures reverberating between polar counterpoints of foundation to the interval space of chromatic gesture that form the harmonic basis to each song.

I couldn't have said it better myself! That guy is a genius!!



Nuclear Death
Like most everybody reading this blog, I have listened to some pretty fucked up music in my day, but I honestly don't think anything compares to Nuclear Death. Lots of bands try hard to be shocking (yawn), but Nuclear Death's lyrics had the weird, unhinged quality that only the truly insane can create.

What's a bit disappointing is that Lori Bravo has several YouTube videos that are not very brutal, and I am no longer sure how much I like Nuclear Death. For example, in this one she pets her kitten and talks about Wal-Mart, getting a new social security card, and making dioramas. Also she does acoustic covers of Cat Power and John Frusciante... oh how the mighty have fallen!! Making dioramas?! Come on!!