Every now and then this country surprises the hell out of me and does something that I can find no quarrel with. Metallica is my most favored collection of vibrational creationists and this kind of recognition draws a little sunshine onto a cloudy day for the musical world due to the passing on of Phife Dawg of A Tribe Called Quest (RIP). Master of Puppets has been added to the National Registry of Congress to be preserved for future listeners.
I owe two people mostly for being indoctrinated with Metallicaism. My first exposure to Metallica was from one of the King brothers back in high school. I remember it well. I was walking in the hall going between classes when I noticed one of the King brothers wearing a Ride The Lightning T-shirt. I stopped him and asked him who was Metallica, but I had pronounced it metal-leaka. He corrected my pronunciation with a laugh and told me that they were a new thrash metal band. I was intrigued if not only by the image on the T-shirt of the lightning bolt, and it wasn’t long before my friend, Joe the 3rd, had the Ride the Lightning tape stuck in his gray Sears and Roebuck boom box that he used in that little red Chevette that had no radio because it was an old mail car. We spent many an evening in our youth driving back roads while smoking shit weed and drinking dirt cheap beer. The music that we listened to played a huge part of our enjoyment of the experience. Thanks to Joe’s persistence, Metallica became a large part of that listening experience. The truth is, that at first, I didn’t like Metallica. When Joe pushed the play button my ears were subjected to something very foreign and weird. It wasn’t til about the third time through the album that my head started bobbing and the love affair with Metallica took root.
I would also like to make note of George Carlin’s Class Clown album being added to the registry. Here is the link to the full story on all the recent additions. (Link)
Snippet stole and pasted from congress link.
- “Master of Puppets”—Metallica (1986)
The third release by the band Metallica shows the group moving away from its thrash metal history and reputation and exploring new ideas. Thrash, a reaction against the pop metal of the early 1980s, aimed to renew metal by emphasizing speed and aggression. For example, the song “Battery” on this album—with rhythm guitarist James Hetfield’s galloping power chords, Lars Ulrich’s machine-gun drumming, and lead guitarist Kirk Hammet’s blinding tapped leads—is as rousing an example of the sub-genre as one could find and the technical proficiency is astonishing. However, other songs on the record break free of thrash orthodoxy. Cliff Burton’s clean bass lines, volume swells, and careful harmonies, for example, on “Orion,” set that song apart from the standard metal song. The title track starts unsurprisingly enough with a crisp power chord and catchy riff, but halfway through, the tempo slows and a clean arpeggiated progression, accompanied by cello-like tones, introduces Hetfield’s mid-tempo lead which eschews tapping, sweep picking and, other metal guitar techniques. Black Sabbath bassist and lyricist Geezer Butler has commented that Metallica’s 1980s output brought the music “back to the spirit of [Black] Sabbath” and, he further emphasizes, “If we started it, then [Metallica] reinvented it.”
“My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.
You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore’s glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly.
Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.”