Birth School Metallica Death - Vol I

by Paul Brannigan

  This Bob Rock did with both patience and determination. With the emotional skill-set of a behavioural psychologist, in relation to recording the sound of Hetfield’s voice the producer assumed the role of nurturer and surrogate father. In this the producer was aided by a blessing that arrived cloaked in heavy disguise. Following years of barking into microphones positioned both in recording studios and the stages of clubs, theatres and arenas, Hetfield had wreaked havoc upon his throat.

  ‘I went to [a vocal coach] who was a cantor,’ recalls Hetfield. ‘I walked in and I was so scared. He was sat there with a piano. [But] I looked up on the wall and saw gold records for a bunch of other bands and I thought, “Okay, I’ll give it a go.” And he got my voice into shape. He gave me a lot of confidence.

  ‘I didn’t end up singing like an opera singer, which I couldn’t do even if I wanted to,’ the front man is quick to add, before concluding, ‘I still sing like a sailor.’

  With Hetfield’s mind opened following his encounters with a professional singer, Rock expertly positioned himself in the thoroughfare of this slipstream and coaxed from the front man a vocal performance far in advance of what had gone before. Equipped with the natural capacity to carry a tune, the producer built the singer’s confidence to such a degree that by the end of their sessions what had been recorded amounted to as commanding and assured a performance as any in modern metal. While managing to accentuate Hetfield’s bite and snarl (at least when required), in the vocal booth of One On One Studios the vocalist had journeyed from angry young man to complex and multi-dimensional narrator. At least as far as the recording of Metallica’s upcoming album was concerned, it was Hetfield and Rock’s finest hour.

  ‘I wouldn’t be where I am today without [the producer’s] willingness to open my mind and push me further into different singing styles and moods,’ is the front man’s recollection of his long hours spent standing level with a studio microphone.

  Slowly, exhaustingly, the album began to take form. Pieces of tape were cut and spliced together; yet despite these technical sleights-of-hand, the songs recorded carried with them both an organic quality and a volcanic force. Cleared of clutter, the recordings swaggered with a gun-slinger’s groove and the bite of a rattlesnake.

  Away from One On One – and Little Mountain Sound, the studio in British Columbia at which finishing flourishes were added – Q Prime were beginning to marshal their forces in Metallica’s name. The organisation knew that the music industry at large held the band in patronisingly low regard as a niche group that had no commercial crossover appeal; Cliff Burnstein and Peter Mensch intended to fix this misconception in their cross-hairs and blow it to pieces. This emphatic repositioning would take place (poetically enough) in San Francisco, at a convention of America’s regional FM radio stations. It was at this event that record companies would present to the nation’s broadcasters their ‘product’ for the forthcoming season, a smorgasbord of sound from which each station would determine the order and nature of its playlists. Determined to prove to this gathering of programmers that in radio terms Metallica were about to become more than a faint blip on the edges of the radar, Burnstein and Mensch instructed Rock to prepare a snippet from the group’s as yet unheard album that could be played at the convention. This trailer would last just sixty seconds, and would be comprised of the opening minute of ‘Enter Sandman’. Prior to this, arguments had taken place between Ulrich and Rock as to which of the batch of new Metallica songs should be presented to the public as the album’s lead-off single. The producer believed this nomination should go to the wholly unsuitable ‘Holier than Thou’, while Ulrich – who held in his head a vision of his group’s fifth album before even a second of music had been recorded – understood as if by instinct that this honour should be presented to ‘Enter Sandman’. It took just one minute for the drummer to be proved correct.

  ‘Imagine the first sixty seconds of “Enter Sandman”,’ instructs Adam Dubin, who recalls the decision with resonant clarity. ‘You have the booming drums and the riff building up and building up and each instrument comes in and it builds up into that first vocal, and it’s huge. [The track] has one of the greatest [slow] building openings of maybe any song in the whole of rock. So Bob Rock spent a day or two setting the thing up and mixing it and then we sat there and listened to it. Just as a fan, as a person who loves music, I was hugely excited. I just knew it was dynamite. Whatever somebody’s conception of Metallica was before that, this song was about to shatter that preconception. So they took that song away and a few days later we heard back that it blew the doors off the room when they played it: everyone went nuts. You just had to know you had a hit on your hands. So that was a very key moment when that happened. I remember that as a very significant day.’

  Over nine arduous months in Los Angeles and Vancouver, as the band and their producer squabbled over single seconds of music, the two parties were united in just one detail: a shared desire to achieve greatness. In a space as shorn of natural light as a Las Vegas gaming room, Metallica had finally showcased the full extent of their sound and talent on a record capable of seizing the attention of the mainstream and leading it astray. But as the sessions finally drew to a close, creative harmony and personal enmity did not unite in anything resembling a Hollywood ending.

  ‘It wasn’t a fun, easy record to make,’ recalls Rock. ‘Sure, we had some laughs, but things were difficult. I told the guys when we were done that I’d never work with them again. They felt the same way about me.’

  ‘In retrospect,’ concedes Ulrich, ‘the nine months we spent in [One On One] were pure hell.’

  Elsewhere in the summer of 1991 the American public were being presented with a touring package that had all the subtlety of swinging jackboot. Featuring co-headliners Anthrax, Megadeth and Slayer, the forty-eight-date Clash of the Titans tour was the most punishing metal bill ever assembled. With its three main attractions rotating their position on the bill on a nightly basis – although in truth neither Anthrax nor Megadeth relished following the God-in-tap-shoes thunder of Slayer – the tour drew audiences of up to 17,000 people a night in cities from Seattle to Miami.

  On July 14 the Clash of the Titans caravan arrived in New York City for an appearance at Madison Square Garden. The location was significant, for if the touring bands could be viewed as conquering revolutionaries, their presence within the walls of the Garden represented the storming of an Imperial Palace. Originally designed to stage boxing matches, since being opened in 1968 Madison Square Garden had become the site of a bewildering variety of events. For up to eight months each year the venue’s floor comprised an ice rink upon which the National Hockey League team the New York Rangers skated on up to fifty-seven occasions. The same number of fixtures could be played by the Garden’s other sporting tenants, the National Basketball Association’s New York Knicks. On other nights the arena was host to a wide variety of concerts, with its most frequent visitors being the Grateful Dead and Elton John. Perhaps most spectacularly of all, each April Madison Square Garden is the site for a residency by the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus, an extravaganza of such scale that each spring the Lincoln Tunnel (which connects Manhattan to neighbouring New Jersey beneath the Hudson River) is closed to traffic in order that elephants can walk to the most iconic of New York’s five boroughs.

  The appearance of Anthrax, Megadeth and Slayer at ‘the world’s most famous arena’ was a cause for celebration for those who enjoyed music unsuited to a hangover. It was, however, an occasion that would soon be robbed of its fizz.

  It was Elektra’s decision to book Madison Square Garden for the world première of Metallica’s fifth album; if the group required evidence that their record company were willing to go to extraordinary lengths in order to clear space for them at the very top of the musical food chain, this was it. But unlike the participants in the Clash of the Titans, the quartet did not perform at the grand arena. Instead the Garden merely provided the setting to which f
ans were invited to gather free of charge to listen to their forthcoming collection. Although James Hetfield believed it to be ‘weird’ that his band’s album would play Madison Square Garden before the band themselves had graced its stage, the event was precisely the kind of grand gesture one would come to associate with Metallica.

  With appetites whetted by the release of the album’s lead-off single ‘Enter Sandman’ earlier that same week, on the evening of Saturday August 3, 1991, no fewer than 10,000 people convened on 7th Avenue in order to be the first to hear the fruits of Metallica’s labours. Among this number were the members of that summer’s other most celebrated band: Nirvana.

  At 8 p.m. the Garden’s house lights faded to black. From the darkness the opening notes of ‘Enter Sandman’ eased their way from the public address system and began to climb to the wooden rafters of the ceiling above. Standing in the wings of the stage, his eyes scanning the arena, James Hetfield admitted that he had never felt more nervous. But as row upon row of the venue’s crimson and turquoise seats were tipped back to afford those gathered in Metallica’s name the space to bang their heads, pump their fists and shred the fretboard of imaginary guitars, Hetfield exchanged a smile with Lars Ulrich.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Like many a crackpot scheme, Birth School Metallica Death was born in a pub. This location was Big Red, London’s finest rock bar, situated on the Holloway Road in Islington. As we sat at a table crowded by empty glasses, the conversation turned to the possibility of two writers – one the author of This Is a Call, a best-selling biography of Dave Grohl, the other a working journalist of occasional high standing – collaborating over the writing of one book. ‘Capital idea!’ we both agreed. But about whom should we write? The answer was not so much staring in our faces as screaming in our ears: Metallica. If you’re going to climb a mountain, it may as well be Everest, no?

  Realising our idea wasn’t quite berserk enough, we decided to raise the stakes. ‘Let’s write a biography that spans two books,’ was the suggestion. ‘Brilliant thinking!’ came the response.

  So let it be written, indeed.

  The first volume of Birth School Metallica Death – a project that at times was more deserving of the title ‘Breakfast Metallica Bed’ – would not exist without the invaluable help of a cast of characters, all of whom provided their services with an uncommon degree of patience, and free of charge. The authors’ sincere gratitude goes to Michael Alago, Geoff Barton, Chris Bubacz, Michael Burkert, Rachel Cohen DeSario, Paul Curtis, Malcolm Dome, K. J. Doughton, Adam Dubin, Jerry Ewing, Andy Galeon, John Gallagher, Doug Goodman, Bill Hale, Martin Hooker, Gem Howard, Lisa Johnson, John Kornarens, Bobbie Lane, Joel McIver, Bob Nalbandian, Doug Piercy, Ron Quintana, Xavier Russell, Patrick Scott, Brian Slagel, Steve ‘Zetro’ Souza, John Strednansky, Brian Tatler, Kurdt Vanderhoof, Joey Vera and Jen Walker.

  The work undertaken by the indefatigable Scarlet Borg in sourcing and compiling the photographs that feature as part of this book’s landscape has been both diligent and expert. It is for these qualities and more that Scarlet has been a colleague and friend for more years than either party dares to remember.

  The authors are also indebted to a body of men and women who made this book possible. Our agent Matthew Hamilton of Aitken Alexander Associates acted not only as a superb representative but also as a good friend. As a man who first saw Metallica in concert in 1984, Matthew is also not short on bragging rights. Sally Riley from the same office protected us from those who would tap their watches and mutter darkly at a time of most need. On the continent to our left, our US agent Matthew Elblonk of DeFiore & Company lobbied on our behalf with sufficient aplomb that had we had day jobs we would have been able to give them up.

  The authors can count themselves fortunate that this book has been edited by two men who have not just provided sound counsel, but are also fans of Metallica. Ben Schafer at De Capo responded to the testing of his patience with a level of tolerance befitting a man who opens up his spare room to visiting punk musicians. A standing ovation goes to our British editor, Angus Cargill of Faber and Faber. A most supportive and thorough collaborator, Angus’s role in the gestation period of this book stands comparison with the work undertaken with Metallica by Bob Rock. Credit and thanks must also go to James Rose, Luke Bird, Anna Pallai and all at Faber for their invaluable input.

  We would also like to thank our European editors, Henrik Karisson at Forma in Sweden and Kristiina Sarasti at Like in Finland. Our sincere gratitude is extended also to Paula Turner at Palindrome and Sarah Barlow, our proofreader. Their eagle-eyed attention to detail and pin-sharp text editing spared our blushes in more than one instance.

  On a personal note, Paul would like to offer heartfelt thanks (and in many cases, sincere apologies) to the Brannigan and Kato families, the fabulous Sammy Andrews, Nick Knowles, Chris McCormack and Jen Venus, Ben Mitchell, Matthew Tibbits, the staff of Classic Rock and Metal Hammer magazines, and most importantly, my wonderful, beautiful, hilarious family – Hiroko, Yuki and Tyler – who rock my world each and every day.

  Ian would like to dedicate this book to my loving and supportive mother, Kathy, and to the memory of my late father, Eric, who would hopefully have regarded this collection as being ‘good stuff’. The author is also gravely in debt to the friendship of Dan Silver, Lawrie Edwards, Jonathan Winwood, Giles Ward, Sean Hogan, Wendy Ainslie, Alistair Lawrence, Paul Harries, Tom Bryant, Rod Yates, Tim Sledmere, George Garner, Dave Everley and Bettina, Fergus, Florence and Freddie McCall, all of whom were kind enough to offer words of support equal to anything available from the Samaritans. Special thanks go to Sylwia Krzak, whose patience in the face of a completion date that at times appeared unwilling to come down from the horizon remained unwavering.

  The authors first interviewed Metallica half a lifetime ago. In the twenty-one years that have elapsed, we have found ourselves in the band’s company on scores of occasions. Theirs is an operation that runs with a militaristic might, but it is also one staffed by courteous and helpful people in the name of a quartet the members of which are never less than gracious. Thanks, then, go to James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett, Robert Trujillo and Jason Newsted, as well as Kas Mercer at Mercenary Press and Sue Tropico and Peter Mensch at Q Prime Management. A tip of the hat also goes to Dave Mustaine, whose candour and articulacy helped drag several of the book’s chapters out of bed.

  There is a select number of bands whose music resonates with a clarity and emphasis sufficient to provide the soundtrack for an entire life. Metallica are one of those bands. This book, then, is also dedicated to any reader who has made the group a permanent fixture of each waking day.

  SOURCES

  All quotations are taken from the authors’ interviews, except as noted below.

  introduction the ecstasy of gold

  ‘If Radiohead does it …’ David Fricke, ‘Metallica: The Biggest Bang’, Rolling Stone, May 31, 2012

  1 no life ’til leather

  ‘That alienated me …’ David Fricke, ‘Don’t Tread On Me: Metallica’s James Hetfield’, Rolling Stone, April 15, 1993

  ‘I am so glad …’ Mick Wall, ‘James Hetfield: My Life Story’, Metal Hammer, June 2009

  ‘Everybody has sung about …’ Metal Mike Saunders, ‘A Dorito and 7-Up Picnic with Black Sabbath’, Circular, September 1972

  ‘Sabbath was the band …’ Dom Lawson, ‘Forever Blackened’, Metal Hammer, May 2012

  ‘Music was a way …’ Terry Gross, ‘Fresh Air’, NPR, November 9, 2004

  ‘I liked being alone …’ Ben Mitchell, ‘James Hetfield: Iron Man’, Guitar World, November 2009

  ‘My ear was developed …’ Arthur Rotfeld, The Art of James Hetfield, Cherry Lane Music, 1999

  ‘It was like “Who’s this guy…’ Terry Gross, ‘Fresh Air’, NPR, November 9, 2004

  ‘We watched my mom …’ Ben Mitchell, ‘James Hetfield: Iron Man’, Guitar World, November 2009

  ‘We had no idea …’ Poundi
ng Pat O’Connor, ‘Shockwaves’, www.hardradio.com, 1996

  ‘He is a sort of gargoyle …’ Mark Kram, ‘The Not-so-melancholy Dane’, Sports Illustrated, April 7, 1969

  ‘I grew up pretty quick …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2007

  ‘My dad had a room …’ Dave Grohl, ‘Musical Memories with Lars Ulrich’, Sound City film trailer, 2012

  ‘I probably travelled …’ Steffan Chirazi, ‘The Conversation: Lars and Torben Ulrich’, So What!, volume 12, no. 2, 2005

  ‘There was a tennis …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2007

  ‘Once Sounds showed up …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2013

  ‘All through the Seventies … Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2007.

  ‘Where I grew up …’ Howard Stern, ‘The Howard Stern Show’, September 13, 2011

  ‘I’d been there …’ Jens Jam Rasmussen, Forkaelet med Frihed: Lars Ulrich – og hans band Metallica (Spoiled by Freedom: Lars Ulrich – and his band Metallica), Lindhardt & Ringhof, 2004

  ‘Nobody in America …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2013

  ‘I’d been in America …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2013

  ‘Because of my last name …’ Joe Berlinger with Greg Milner, Metallica: This Monster Lives, Robson Books, 2005

  ‘I’d heard the single …’ Neil Perry, ‘Yikes! It’s Metalli-Head!’, Kerrang!, July 24, 1993

  ‘Mötorhead were obviously …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2013

  2 hit the lights

  ‘He was incredibly shy …’ Ben Mitchell, unpublished Lars Ulrich interview, 2007