Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Tied to the bells, such a sweet, sweet addiction when she's under that spell

When it's late at night I like to put my headphones in and basically rock out to songs with my music on shuffle. I stopped for a while, I don't know why I'm clearly crazy because this is mighty good fun, and I recently started to again and I think this is what's contributing to the overflow of posts; my brain is getting shaken enough to make me want to verbally vomit all over the internet and not care humans will read whatever stupid musings I come up with. My usual pick for this activity is anything with a good beat and loud drums so it's usually 80s metal. With Duran Duran occasionally getting thrown in there. Tonight, as I was indulging myself, a song came up and I kind of stopped to try to identify it. I couldn't be bothered to check the stupid machine so I stood there trying to place what Motley Crue song it was, pounding in my ear holes. It was "Look What the Cat Dragged In." By Poison. I just mistook Poison for Motley Crue. Big fucking deal you say? I say fuck you, there's a huge difference. Thunder growling and the electricity going out practically at the same time as this realization reeeally didn't help with my horror. Yes, I was horrified. Horrified enough to sit down and go to my old bible, Metal Sludge.

All through high school and college this website was my best friend. I would visit it maybe twice, three times a day. It's devoted entirely to 80s metal of the hair variety and updates on recent news they're in. It also had a staff of the most acerbic, bitter, foul-mouthed, well-versed anonymous people ever. They knew everything about everyone, had an attitude and a condescening nickname for those they didn't like, and were just so entertaining to read. I swear they invented internet flame wars because they would spew shit, people would get mad and yell at them for hiding behind their anonymity and lamely try to threaten them, and they would just fire back with witty, cutting remarks that not only defended themselves but called out the offended party as an extremely dim asshole. I loved it. I loved it so much. In the last couple years it's just become another music site with updates on the same bands as before like Faster Pussycat and Pretty Boy Floyd, as well as other metal bands, but the owner of the site came forward (Stevie Rachelle from Tuff) and with that some of its fire kind of fizzled. None of the individual voices write anymore and I don't know if they were all the same person or not and I'd rather not know because I never wanted to know whose brainchild this site was in the first place.

It used to be so fun, people slinging verbal shit at each other not to mention the Penis Chart that had accurate, anonymous but still firsthand, descriptions of practically everyone in music and their bedside manner as well as their bedside acoutrements. I think this is in fact the source that spawned my curiosity and love for groupie stories and groupies. Not to mention, all the interviews and reviews posted on the site were the best I'd ever read. They never followed a boring, standard formula but asked questions I'd actually want answered like if the guitarist of Lillian Axe could smash his guitar on any rock star's head, who would it be? Jani Lane, from Warrant by the way. There were always interesting, off-beat, original questions and the reviews were damn funny. I can still remember the one for the movie Rock Star with Mark Wahlberg. I think it was a link to that, that actually lead me to this site. It was refreshing to read a regular person, albeit a razor-tongued and unforgiving one, reviewing something with nary a pretentious term in sight. But there isn't any of that much anymore. Maybe on the gossip boards but though I'm a member I don't really check it out. In fact, I check the site out maybe once a month now because half the news on it I get elsewhere beforehand.

But this is the place that taught me all about Enuff Z'Nuff and Quiet Riot and Shotgun Messiah and every other band that I sort of adore. I used to dream about writing for Metal Sludge and so after my metal no-no tonight I decided to go back and visit it. I found an old post for The Last Living Slut... ,which I also reviewed a couple posts down on this blog, and that along with just being back on it skimming articles and thinking about how it used to be made some old feelings come to the surface.

I used to want so desperately to be a part of this world. To know these people personally and intimately, to be counted amongst them. This community, the Metal Sludge community, was cooler than any clique or club you could possibly throw at me and I used to sit and read enviously about their site organized gatherings and parties and even tours. They even had a Sludgette and Sludgeaholic, a female and male respectively, chosen each month. You had to wear a Metal Sludge shirt and answer some questions and of course the hot chicks always got featured but sometimes you'd just get a really loyal fan and it would prove what a close-knit little group this way. They even had dumb little competitions like if you get a picture takem with Sebastian Bach (whom the site hated and the feeling was quite mutual) while wearing a Metal Sludge shirt, you'd win a prize.

To get back on subject, it was just something that I really wanted to be part of. Even the Slut chick got to be a part of this world but see I don't want that. I don't want the groupie aspect, just the belonging one. I'm moving further away from music and all that and augh, it makes me sad because I loved it so dearly for so long.

So here's my open letter to Metal Sludge and any person, musician or otherwise, who was a part of it.

Dear Metal Sludge,

Oh Metal Sludge, first of all, let me tell you how much I love you. I can still remember the day my Hey! That's What I Call Sludge CD arrived in the mail. It brought pure, golden joy to my ears and heart to hear all those people you talk about singing especially for you and for me by default. Glory Hole UK's, "Misery," is still one of my favorite songs. And the time you were posting reviews for the Motley Crue tour and you posted my review of the Boston show. It made my heart just pitter-patter seeing it on there and I don't care that you posted any review that came in. So I do Metal Sludge, I love you.

Oh Metal Sludge and Mr. Stevie Rachelle, I remember when you called me personally when you had no shirts in stock and we actually talked and then you sent me a bunch of free CDs. I think, "Tied to the Bells," and, "Another Man's Gun," are by far some of the best songs to come out of that era and I even featured it as the song my main character has sto strip to in one of my scripts. I may have actually told this to you on the phone but you were in a hurry, because your baby started crying, and had to go. Thank you for Kings of Sunset Strip Volume 1 though, I still have it in my iTunes library.

Oh Metal Sludge, how I long to press you to my bosom. If that translates to pressing your old staff writers then by all means, come to my waiting arms so that I may show you my gratitude. But alas not in the classic girl-like-music-people way (no sex, please now I have a boyfriend, let's show some manners). I've even written to you on lonely nights when I had no friends and you didn't have enough updates so let us allow our physical feelings to flourish.

Oh Metal Sludge, remember the days when you cared? When you cared enough to hide who you were through clever manipulations of famous names like Bastard Boy Floyd and Ozzy Stillbourne? When you cared enough to play April Fool's jokes on us, your loyal readers, like when you removed all the links on the main page and we couldn't access anything? Those were the days my old friend.

Oh Metal Sludge, I have embarked on a new path now. I write and I try to make my way into the world of publishing but will you do me, your most loyal follower a favor? Can you wait until I am a big shot editor or something along those lines and then come seek me out for any book needs or writing woes you have so that I can meet you and join your world? We could make sweet, sweet love aka awesome biographies and tell-alls and put all those other music ghost writers (I'm looking at you Anthony Bozza, you hack) to shame. Let me in. I can help you just like you've helped me.

Oh Metal Sludge, though we are not as close as we used to be, I never eschewed you for another. You are still the lone music site on my Bookmarks bar and though the heart grows older, it doesn't get colder. I still have you in my heart. Will you take me?

It's all the way to heaven with you,

Okay, anyone in a hair band looking for help writing their biography? I'm right here. Just chilling. Hanging out. Don't want to rush you, or crowd you but I'm just saying, we could be friends? Yes?

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