By: Chris Alfieri of Vattnet Viskar
In celebration of another one of Metallica’s “son who’s addicted to crystal meth but we keep enabling him by giving him money and letting him live at home” type follies, Loutallica, let us look back and decipher how we got to this post-rapture like state of Metalli-music, and why I’ve officially ended my relationship with Metallica’s self-titled 1991 album.
Oh, Black Album, where do I begin? Is it your artwork? Is it your subject matter? Is it your snare drum? I don’t know, but there’s something about you that sucked me in, and like that other crazy ex who brainwashed me for a few years too long, I thought you were sexy, strong, and confident. Hell, you even went well with a Naragansett Lager on a warm summer evening. But I wised up to your wickedness. Hindsight is 20/20 sir, and we need to get some closure. [MORE]