MetalSucks

I greet you Metalsucks readers this week with a somewhat melancholy blog entry, as I am here to announce the sale of one of my favorite guitars ever. I bought this Gibson L6-S a little more than a year ago and pretty much fell in love with it. It has an all maple body and neck, which means a brighter attack than the usual mahogany that most Gibsons have. This is also one of the most comfortable guitars I’ve ever played. This thing has been my main guitar since I bought it, meaning it’s been played at probably a hundred Intronaut shows, and was the guitar used on our last record.
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Having an outlet through a prominent web media site like metalsucks.net is a blessing in so many ways. It took a while for me to realize, but honestly having my shitty ideas read by thousands of shitty people is a power that I should harness and use to project something positive onto the metal scene. Since Metallica haven’t called me about ghost writing their next album yet, I figure I should still try to do some good for the heavy music community and turn you people on to some bands who don’t have a label buying ad space on Metalsucks. Here is a list of bands I am angry at the public for not liking:

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In the past while on tour, I’ve encountered many special things that I regret not having a video camera around to document. Last summer, we did have the foresight to bring one along, and it was totally worth it. We ended up whittling down close to six hours of footage into a ten minute “rockumentary” of that particular tour. However, some of the people we filmed along the way deserved to be seen in their fully candid, unedited glory, and here’s a particular character I’d like to share with you all.

We arrived to the show in Orlando, FL early enough to hang with the daytime locals at the bar we were playing. Not long after we sat down, this dude comes in announcing that he only has one dollar, but needs a beer. He got it, and proceeded to infiltrate our little clique, dazzling us with his sloppy redneck wit. I grabbed the video camera and let it roll.

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Recently, Metalsucks’ Vince wrote a very informative blog for young musicians aspiring to “make it” as a band. Well, I’m sure it was informative, I didn’t actually read the whole thing because, hey, I mean, come on…. right guys? Yeah! High five! It did however make me think of some other groups of people I deal with regularly who could use a written set of guidelines, like sound guys, or my roommates in regards to the kitchen sink. However, I think the group of people most due for a friendly verbal check are typically the lowest scum of the earth – promoters.

Being in a band who has toured quite often for the better part of two years with very minimal label support, I’ve felt the effects of dealing with shit promoters. As a touring band, there is no greater slap in the face than a promoter who stiffs you on money, a little simple hospitality, and, oh yeah, that word that’s actually in the job description, “promoting.” I’ve decided to break this down into an easy read for both veteran and aspiring underground show promoters.
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I’m going to talk about Metallica and their new record.  Now, I’m sure this topic has been beaten to death in metal social circles by now, judging from all the opinions on this site alone, but I am going to offer something that no one has so far – a solution.

I read Dallas Coyle’s recent blog on this very subject, and while I share his level of adoration for this band, I’m going to have to refute one main point he made; arguing that Death Magnetic is a good album.  It really isn’t, in my eyes.  It wasn’t in the eyes of many others either, based on a quick skim of MetalSucks.  But let me ask, did you really expect it to be?  The last time everyone liked the latest Metallica record, the first Bush was in office.  I haven’t expected anything resembling greatness out of this band in a long time, because I know that they’ve lost their edge.  That’s not an insult, its an ironic occurance in life, not unlike waiting twelve years to grow hair on your balls, only to lose it on your head fifteen years later.  Just like pretty much every once-great rock musician ever, that flame of inspiration has been blown out by age, money, Bob Rock, or whatever else that will make you a different person than you were when you wrote the good shit.

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