Read Online Birth School Metallica Death - Vol I by Paul Brannigan, Ian Winwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Brannigan, Ian Winwood
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Blade has brought uncompromising acts such as Slayer, Armored Saint, Behemoth and Cannibal Corpse to international prominence, and one month shy of his label’s thirtieth anniversary of operation, the fifty-one-year-old’s passion for uncovering and encouraging new bands remains undiminished.
Slagel’s inspiration for the
Metal Massacre
compilation came, somewhat inevitably, directly from the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, specifically the Iron Maiden-fronted
Metal for Muthas
New Wave of British Heavy Metal compilation, a collection overseen by Neal Kay and released by EMI Records in February 1980. As 1981 neared its end Slagel was working as a buyer for Oz Records in Woodland Hills. By night he ran his own metal fanzine
The New Heavy Metal Revue
, which he would print and sell at local concerts. Looking at the bands featured in the pages of his own publication, Slagel wondered why emerging metal acts from Los Angeles could not be showcased on a compilation similar to that masterminded by Kay. After receiving assurances from distributors that such a product would be marketable, he began contacting his favourite local bands to see if they might care to contribute to the project. Slagel then began the process of scraping together the funds necessary to make this vision a reality. By the spring of 1982 the twenty-one-year-old had amassed nine tracks and sufficient funds to commission a 2,500 unit press-run for the album. Just one thing was missing: the song promised to him by Lars Ulrich.
A decade ago James Hetfield was asked by one of this book’s authors if it was true that he would never have formed a band with Ulrich had the drummer not dangled before him the offer of a track on
Metal Massacre
in October 1981. Metallica’s front man laughed long and hard before delivering his answer.
‘Well, every day there are things that can change the course of history,’ he said, deftly deflecting the question. Ulrich’s offerwas ‘pretty interesting’, he said, not least because his one previous meeting with the young Danish drummer had ‘no vibe’.
‘At that time in my life I wanted to play music,’ Hetfield reflected, ‘I didn’t want to work.’
‘We certainly didn’t hit it off,’ admits Ulrich, looking back upon the pair’s first meeting in May 1981. ‘I had a drum kit that looked as if it had fallen out of a cereal packet and James likes to tell people that it fell over every time I hit a cymbal. He also likes to tell people that he thought I smelled bad, because of course Europeans don’t wash. Musically though I could tell that he was more gifted than Hugh Tanner, and after we were done playing and we knew we hadn’t clicked we actually hung out and had a pretty good time. It’s like when you take a girl on a date and you know that there’s no fucking chance you’re going to get laid, it takes some of the tension out.’
After reconnecting with Hetfield in the autumn of 1981, Ulrich set about drawing the older teenager closer with a cautious yet determined attentiveness. At the time, both young men had day jobs – Ulrich delivered copies of the
Los Angeles
Times
(a position for which he was paid a monthly stipend of $400), while Hetfield made stickers for pharmaceuticals for the Steven Label Corporation in Santa Fe Springs – but each evening the pair would convene in Ulrich’s bedroom or at Ron McGovney’s house to swap cassettes, pore over the latest editions of
Sounds
and listen to records into the night’s smallest hours. Slowly, brick by brick, the defensive wall Hetfield had built around himself throughout adolescence began to crumble.
‘At that time Hetfield was the shyest person I’d ever seen in my life,’ Ulrich recalls. ‘He could barely utter the word “Hello” and he certainly couldn’t make eye contact. He was incredibly shy and uncomfortable around people. I remember him meeting my parents; it was almost like hiding, pulling back. I’d just never been around people
Slagel’s inspiration for the
Metal Massacre
compilation came, somewhat inevitably, directly from the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, specifically the Iron Maiden-fronted
Metal for Muthas
New Wave of British Heavy Metal compilation, a collection overseen by Neal Kay and released by EMI Records in February 1980. As 1981 neared its end Slagel was working as a buyer for Oz Records in Woodland Hills. By night he ran his own metal fanzine
The New Heavy Metal Revue
, which he would print and sell at local concerts. Looking at the bands featured in the pages of his own publication, Slagel wondered why emerging metal acts from Los Angeles could not be showcased on a compilation similar to that masterminded by Kay. After receiving assurances from distributors that such a product would be marketable, he began contacting his favourite local bands to see if they might care to contribute to the project. Slagel then began the process of scraping together the funds necessary to make this vision a reality. By the spring of 1982 the twenty-one-year-old had amassed nine tracks and sufficient funds to commission a 2,500 unit press-run for the album. Just one thing was missing: the song promised to him by Lars Ulrich.
A decade ago James Hetfield was asked by one of this book’s authors if it was true that he would never have formed a band with Ulrich had the drummer not dangled before him the offer of a track on
Metal Massacre
in October 1981. Metallica’s front man laughed long and hard before delivering his answer.
‘Well, every day there are things that can change the course of history,’ he said, deftly deflecting the question. Ulrich’s offerwas ‘pretty interesting’, he said, not least because his one previous meeting with the young Danish drummer had ‘no vibe’.
‘At that time in my life I wanted to play music,’ Hetfield reflected, ‘I didn’t want to work.’
‘We certainly didn’t hit it off,’ admits Ulrich, looking back upon the pair’s first meeting in May 1981. ‘I had a drum kit that looked as if it had fallen out of a cereal packet and James likes to tell people that it fell over every time I hit a cymbal. He also likes to tell people that he thought I smelled bad, because of course Europeans don’t wash. Musically though I could tell that he was more gifted than Hugh Tanner, and after we were done playing and we knew we hadn’t clicked we actually hung out and had a pretty good time. It’s like when you take a girl on a date and you know that there’s no fucking chance you’re going to get laid, it takes some of the tension out.’
After reconnecting with Hetfield in the autumn of 1981, Ulrich set about drawing the older teenager closer with a cautious yet determined attentiveness. At the time, both young men had day jobs – Ulrich delivered copies of the
Los Angeles
Times
(a position for which he was paid a monthly stipend of $400), while Hetfield made stickers for pharmaceuticals for the Steven Label Corporation in Santa Fe Springs – but each evening the pair would convene in Ulrich’s bedroom or at Ron McGovney’s house to swap cassettes, pore over the latest editions of
Sounds
and listen to records into the night’s smallest hours. Slowly, brick by brick, the defensive wall Hetfield had built around himself throughout adolescence began to crumble.
‘At that time Hetfield was the shyest person I’d ever seen in my life,’ Ulrich recalls. ‘He could barely utter the word “Hello” and he certainly couldn’t make eye contact. He was incredibly shy and uncomfortable around people. I remember him meeting my parents; it was almost like hiding, pulling back. I’d just never been around people
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