Chuck Klosterman on Rock Part 2

1. If Shipman had a blog, many people in the comment section would accuse him of being "rockist."

2. It's really too bad that one of the bands on this cruise wasn't the Canadian power trio Triumph.

"Deep Sabbath"

SPIN's decision to hire me in 2002 was a direct result of the publication of Fargo Rock City, Fargo Rock City, which (at the time) made me nervous; I had this fear that the only thing anyone would ever want me to write about was heavy metal. This was exacerbated by the fact that-a few weeks after my arrival- which (at the time) made me nervous; I had this fear that the only thing anyone would ever want me to write about was heavy metal. This was exacerbated by the fact that-a few weeks after my arrival-SPIN decided to theme an entire issue around metal, and I ended up writing 75 percent of it. If I took a job at decided to theme an entire issue around metal, and I ended up writing 75 percent of it. If I took a job at The Economist The Economist and started covering trade policy, this perception would never change. "Did you happen to see that story about granting China most favored trade status?" people would say. "I think that Metal Dude wrote it." and started covering trade policy, this perception would never change. "Did you happen to see that story about granting China most favored trade status?" people would say. "I think that Metal Dude wrote it."

These are two stories from that SPIN SPIN metal issue (September 2002). The first is a misguided attempt to prove how all forms of heavy metal actually derive from Led Zeppelin's fourth album, a theory I never completely believed. The second piece, however, was legitimately entertaining (at least to me). I did this brief (maybe twenty minute) Q&A with Robert Plant over the telephone, and he was tremendous. If given the choice between talking with a hip, relevant artist or talking with an older, salty rock monster from a bygone era, I'll take the latter every single time. Young musicians are always obsessed with creating a persona and saying the things they think they're supposed to say; older guys truly don't care. When I think back at the rock stars I've interviewed, the most unpredictable conversations were almost always with people over forty: Plant, Donald Fagen of Steely Dan (who acted like a college professor trying to get fired), Barry Manilow (who criticized Nine Inch Nails for lacking soul), Bono (who seemed to actively want me to analyze his livelihood), and Ozzy osbourne (who talked about nazis and riding elephants). The only contemporary artist I'd put in this class is Marilyn Manson; I've interviewed him four times, and he was articulate and engaging every time. Manson isn't necessarily smart, but he's a goddamn genius. metal issue (September 2002). The first is a misguided attempt to prove how all forms of heavy metal actually derive from Led Zeppelin's fourth album, a theory I never completely believed. The second piece, however, was legitimately entertaining (at least to me). I did this brief (maybe twenty minute) Q&A with Robert Plant over the telephone, and he was tremendous. If given the choice between talking with a hip, relevant artist or talking with an older, salty rock monster from a bygone era, I'll take the latter every single time. Young musicians are always obsessed with creating a persona and saying the things they think they're supposed to say; older guys truly don't care. When I think back at the rock stars I've interviewed, the most unpredictable conversations were almost always with people over forty: Plant, Donald Fagen of Steely Dan (who acted like a college professor trying to get fired), Barry Manilow (who criticized Nine Inch Nails for lacking soul), Bono (who seemed to actively want me to analyze his livelihood), and Ozzy osbourne (who talked about nazis and riding elephants). The only contemporary artist I'd put in this class is Marilyn Manson; I've interviewed him four times, and he was articulate and engaging every time. Manson isn't necessarily smart, but he's a goddamn genius.

What's so great about this Plant conversation is that the only thing we really talked about was how much he hates heavy metal, which was the antithesis of why we wanted him in the magazine. He also completely disproves my "Zoso hypothesis," but that hardly seems surprising. I just wish he would have explained what the fuck a hedgerow is. hypothesis," but that hardly seems surprising. I just wish he would have explained what the fuck a hedgerow is.

IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS ZOSO ZOSO Led Zeppelin's fourth studio album-1971's unnamed Zoso Zoso (so called for the enigmatic symbols on its cover)-is the most famous hard-rock album ever recorded, not to mention a watershed moment for every grizzled old man who's ever carried a bundle of sticks on his back. (so called for the enigmatic symbols on its cover)-is the most famous hard-rock album ever recorded, not to mention a watershed moment for every grizzled old man who's ever carried a bundle of sticks on his back. Zoso Zoso is not Zeppelin's best album (that would be is not Zeppelin's best album (that would be Houses of the Holy Houses of the Holy) or their heaviest (Physical Graffiti) or even their "most metal" (Led Zeppelin II). However, it's the defining endeavor for the band, and for the genre it accidentally created. Epic, ethereal, and eerily sexual, Zoso Zoso is the origin of everything that sounds, feels, or even tastes vaguely metallic, except maybe Metallica and that sludge from Scandinavia (both of which come from Black Sabbath's is the origin of everything that sounds, feels, or even tastes vaguely metallic, except maybe Metallica and that sludge from Scandinavia (both of which come from Black Sabbath's Sabbath Bloody Sabbath Sabbath Bloody Sabbath).

Need proof? Here, track by track, is everything ever blasted across your high-school parking lot, as told through the sonic vision of Zoso, Zoso, via guitarist Jimmy Page and his dragon pants ... via guitarist Jimmy Page and his dragon pants ...

"Black Dog" = rap metal = Korn's "A.D.I.D.A.S." Identifying the dawn of the rap-rock idiom is not easy. Some suggest Rage Against the Machine's self-titled debut (1992); others point to the Public EnemyAnthrax collaboration "Bring tha Noize" (1991), Faith No More's Identifying the dawn of the rap-rock idiom is not easy. Some suggest Rage Against the Machine's self-titled debut (1992); others point to the Public EnemyAnthrax collaboration "Bring tha Noize" (1991), Faith No More's The Real Thing The Real Thing (1989), or Run-D.M.C.'s "Rock Box" (1983). Paul Stanley apologists will claim it's "All Hell's Breaking Loose" (from KISS's 1983 album (1989), or Run-D.M.C.'s "Rock Box" (1983). Paul Stanley apologists will claim it's "All Hell's Breaking Loose" (from KISS's 1983 album Lick It Up Lick It Up). However, it was truly spawned during the first fifteen seconds of Zoso Zoso-Robert Plant informs a young lass that he intends to make her sweat and groove (not necessarily in that order), and his wise words require no riffing. Kid Rock-ten months old at the time-definitely saw a marketing opportunity.

"Rock and Roll" = hair metal = Cinderella's "Gypsy Road." Initially conceived by Page as a boogie-bang tribute to the "roots" of rock, it's the only track on Initially conceived by Page as a boogie-bang tribute to the "roots" of rock, it's the only track on Zoso Zoso that sounds like prototypical blues-based pop metal, which is to say that it sounds like Aerosmith (or all the '80s gutter-glam bands who later aspired to be Aerosmith). Perhaps you recall "Rock and Roll" being eloquently covered by Vince Neil and Sebastian Bach at the 1989 Moscow Music Peace Festival (or perhaps not). that sounds like prototypical blues-based pop metal, which is to say that it sounds like Aerosmith (or all the '80s gutter-glam bands who later aspired to be Aerosmith). Perhaps you recall "Rock and Roll" being eloquently covered by Vince Neil and Sebastian Bach at the 1989 Moscow Music Peace Festival (or perhaps not).

"The Battle of Evermore" = prog metal = Yngwie Malmsteen's "Riot in the Dungeons." Now, granted-"The Battle of Evermore" doesn't sound like Fates Warning or Celtic Frost or Steel Prophet. But it operates like progressive metal: it fades in like falling snow, describes Dark Lords and ring-wraiths, and it certainly never explains what this battle is supposed to be about (though some speculate it's a retelling of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields from Now, granted-"The Battle of Evermore" doesn't sound like Fates Warning or Celtic Frost or Steel Prophet. But it operates like progressive metal: it fades in like falling snow, describes Dark Lords and ring-wraiths, and it certainly never explains what this battle is supposed to be about (though some speculate it's a retelling of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields from The Return of the King, The Return of the King, so maybe it's about Peter Jackson). The details don't matter as much as the deeper motive, which built the "prog" template. In rock, "progressive" doesn't mean writing about the future; it means writing about a past that never happened. so maybe it's about Peter Jackson). The details don't matter as much as the deeper motive, which built the "prog" template. In rock, "progressive" doesn't mean writing about the future; it means writing about a past that never happened.

"Stairway to Heaven" = metal power ballad = Warrant's "Heaven." Depending on your perspective, "Stairway to Heaven" is either (a) the most popular song of the rock era, or (b) the most overplayed song in FM history, thereby making it either (c) the greatest track of the past fifty years, or (d) the only song worse than "Hotel California." Yet the significance of this never-released single will haunt proms for all eternity. It allowed-nay, demanded-that every metal band make at least one song that your mom might like. Depending on your perspective, "Stairway to Heaven" is either (a) the most popular song of the rock era, or (b) the most overplayed song in FM history, thereby making it either (c) the greatest track of the past fifty years, or (d) the only song worse than "Hotel California." Yet the significance of this never-released single will haunt proms for all eternity. It allowed-nay, demanded-that every metal band make at least one song that your mom might like.

"Misty Mountain Hop" = L.A. "reality" metal = Guns n' Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle." When intertwined, the lyrics from these two songs become a conversation between Robert Plant and Axl Rose, discussing what it's really like to move to California and meet the weird kids: A naive teenager goes to the West Coast for the first time, sees crowds of people sitting on the grass with flowers in their hair, and hears them say, "Hey, boy, do you wanna score?" These are the people who can find whatever you may need, and if you got the money, honey, they got your disease. But our protagonist soon learns that if you go down in the streets today, baby, you better (you better!) open your eyes, whoa yeah, 'cause you're in the jungle, baby, and you're gonna die. When intertwined, the lyrics from these two songs become a conversation between Robert Plant and Axl Rose, discussing what it's really like to move to California and meet the weird kids: A naive teenager goes to the West Coast for the first time, sees crowds of people sitting on the grass with flowers in their hair, and hears them say, "Hey, boy, do you wanna score?" These are the people who can find whatever you may need, and if you got the money, honey, they got your disease. But our protagonist soon learns that if you go down in the streets today, baby, you better (you better!) open your eyes, whoa yeah, 'cause you're in the jungle, baby, and you're gonna die.

"Four Sticks" = stripper metal = Monster Magnet's "Power-trip." As long as naked women are swinging on poles in public and providing $10 lap dances to truckers and unemployed stockbrokers, there shall be a demand for this type of fast-and-heavy, darkly sleazy rock 'n' roll. All praise to Allah. As long as naked women are swinging on poles in public and providing $10 lap dances to truckers and unemployed stockbrokers, there shall be a demand for this type of fast-and-heavy, darkly sleazy rock 'n' roll. All praise to Allah.

"Going to California" = unplugged metal = everything on Five Man Acoustical Jam Five Man Acoustical Jam. And she's buyyyyyyyyyying a staaaairway ... to ... Tesla. And she's buyyyyyyyyyying a staaaairway ... to ... Tesla.

"When the Levee Breaks" = stoner metal = Fu Manchu's "Boogie Van." Drums from God, lyrics from the Depression, guitars that go everywhere, guitars that go nowhere, and the sonic weight of a thousand woolly rhinos falling from Skylab. There is no light black enough for listening to John Bonham. Drums from God, lyrics from the Depression, guitars that go everywhere, guitars that go nowhere, and the sonic weight of a thousand woolly rhinos falling from Skylab. There is no light black enough for listening to John Bonham. Zoso Zoso did not make people take drugs; did not make people take drugs; Zoso Zoso made drugs, and Kyuss, and every other trance-inducing metal machine, completely necessary. made drugs, and Kyuss, and every other trance-inducing metal machine, completely necessary.

NOT A WHOLE LOTTA LOVE Few would argue with the theory that Led Zeppelin invented heavy metal. One who will, however, is Robert Plant, the golden god who became the archetype for every metal throat who followed. And it's not just that Plant dismisses the entire genre because it rips him off; he thinks metal bands suck because they don't rip him off enough enough. It's been more than twenty years since John Bonham's death ended Zeppelin's epic reign, but Plant's unrepentance has not waned.

The fifty-three-year-old Brit is touring and has released a solo album (Dreamland) juxtaposing vintage blues and folk with modern trippiness. He remains willing to criticize just about every hard-rock band that's ever existed, and he even took a shot at the very idea of SPIN SPIN celebrating a musical idiom he clearly hates. celebrating a musical idiom he clearly hates.

"After you finish this issue about the fucking absurdity of boys trying to be more than what they should be-Conan the Warrior goes on tour, or whatever-come see my new show," he said at the conclusion of our interview. "Just come along, because it's such a trip. And when you decide to do an issue about psychedelia, I'll sit in my rocking chair and tell you some stories about Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison."

CK: Even though most people consider Led Zeppelin to be the creators of heavy metal, you've always insisted that Zeppelin wasn't a metal band. So in your mind, what is "heavy metal," and why doesn't it include Led Zeppelin? Even though most people consider Led Zeppelin to be the creators of heavy metal, you've always insisted that Zeppelin wasn't a metal band. So in your mind, what is "heavy metal," and why doesn't it include Led Zeppelin?Robert Plant: You've made a mistake there; you cannot classify anything, anywhere. Classification is a killer. Otherwise, we're all stuck. It means Mother Love Bone or Linkin Park or Creed will never do anything except what they've already done. Led Zeppelin did lots of different things-working in North Africa, writing songs like "Friends" and "Four Sticks" and "Kashmir." I can't imagine "Kashmir" being considered a heavy-metal piece. I don't think "Stairway to Heaven" was very heavy metal. But we were bombastic. We took no prisoners. We took great delight in playing with bands who had the attitude and ego that was so prevalent in America at the time. Everyone was a self-proclaimed star, which was dumbfounding to me. So to turn up the intensity and be truly bombastic-that's when we just out-heavied everybody. You've made a mistake there; you cannot classify anything, anywhere. Classification is a killer. Otherwise, we're all stuck. It means Mother Love Bone or Linkin Park or Creed will never do anything except what they've already done. Led Zeppelin did lots of different things-working in North Africa, writing songs like "Friends" and "Four Sticks" and "Kashmir." I can't imagine "Kashmir" being considered a heavy-metal piece. I don't think "Stairway to Heaven" was very heavy metal. But we were bombastic. We took no prisoners. We took great delight in playing with bands who had the attitude and ego that was so prevalent in America at the time. Everyone was a self-proclaimed star, which was dumbfounding to me. So to turn up the intensity and be truly bombastic-that's when we just out-heavied everybody.CK: But why is it, despite Led Zeppelin being so musically diverse, that most of the bands Zeppelin influenced only picked up on one thing that the band did, which was to play loud and heavy? I mean, did you like any of the bands that did that? But why is it, despite Led Zeppelin being so musically diverse, that most of the bands Zeppelin influenced only picked up on one thing that the band did, which was to play loud and heavy? I mean, did you like any of the bands that did that?Robert Plant: Well, I think some of the Seattle bands gloried in a kind of music John Bonham always called "Deep Sabbath," which was a conglomerate of English, sketchy, blues-based thud. It was inane and had no mystery to it at all. I know from my escapades with guys from Seattle, and from working with Steve Albini, that this Sabbath style of music-that almost clumsy, plodding, slog metal-just never really sprang out of the speakers or moved into any acoustic area. It was just an aping of the Led Zep thing. Well, I think some of the Seattle bands gloried in a kind of music John Bonham always called "Deep Sabbath," which was a conglomerate of English, sketchy, blues-based thud. It was inane and had no mystery to it at all. I know from my escapades with guys from Seattle, and from working with Steve Albini, that this Sabbath style of music-that almost clumsy, plodding, slog metal-just never really sprang out of the speakers or moved into any acoustic area. It was just an aping of the Led Zep thing.CK: Well, then, you must find it ironic that most people who love your band today also tend to love Black Sabbath. Well, then, you must find it ironic that most people who love your band today also tend to love Black Sabbath.Robert Plant: No, no. I don't agree. I've been playing in festivals in Europe for the past year, and I find those audiences want the sensitivity, too. But maybe it's because I've been playing to a lot of Latin people. I played the Isle of Wight Festival last week, and one of the songs I did was "Going to California," because it's my kind of bag. Now, whether you would call "Going to California" heavy metal, I don't know; it might be a bit embarrassing at times lyrically, but it did sum up a period of my life when I was twenty-two. And the audience was going absolutely apeshit, and these were punk guys with Mohican haircuts. So I think you're wrong. No, no. I don't agree. I've been playing in festivals in Europe for the past year, and I find those audiences want the sensitivity, too. But maybe it's because I've been playing to a lot of Latin people. I played the Isle of Wight Festival last week, and one of the songs I did was "Going to California," because it's my kind of bag. Now, whether you would call "Going to California" heavy metal, I don't know; it might be a bit embarrassing at times lyrically, but it did sum up a period of my life when I was twenty-two. And the audience was going absolutely apeshit, and these were punk guys with Mohican haircuts. So I think you're wrong.CK: Maybe so. But it seems that whenever people talk about the dawn of heavy metal, the logic usually goes like this: Black Sabbath created a certain kind of sound that was replicated by British acts and later nu metal bands, and Led Zeppelin sort of invented the sound and image for groups like Guns n' Roses and Aerosmith. Do you disagree with that? Maybe so. But it seems that whenever people talk about the dawn of heavy metal, the logic usually goes like this: Black Sabbath created a certain kind of sound that was replicated by British acts and later nu metal bands, and Led Zeppelin sort of invented the sound and image for groups like Guns n' Roses and Aerosmith. Do you disagree with that?Robert Plant: Well, I think the guitarist in Aerosmith makes no attempt to hide his admiration for Jimmy Page, and that's inherent in a lot of their tracks. Aerosmith are basically a pop group. They write pop songs, and they're aiming for the charts and Top 40 television. And when you think of the treachery of hard rock-when you think of bands like Bon Jovi, and when you think of ... um ... what were some of the other hair bands from that era? Well, I think the guitarist in Aerosmith makes no attempt to hide his admiration for Jimmy Page, and that's inherent in a lot of their tracks. Aerosmith are basically a pop group. They write pop songs, and they're aiming for the charts and Top 40 television. And when you think of the treachery of hard rock-when you think of bands like Bon Jovi, and when you think of ... um ... what were some of the other hair bands from that era?CK: Motley Crue? Ratt? Motley Crue? Ratt?Robert Plant: Yeah, yeah. Those bands were hanging on to some real big pop melodies and dressing them up as something aggressive and boyish and testosterone-ridden, but it was still "Livin' on a Prayer," you know? And that's not a great place to be coming from. Yeah, yeah. Those bands were hanging on to some real big pop melodies and dressing them up as something aggressive and boyish and testosterone-ridden, but it was still "Livin' on a Prayer," you know? And that's not a great place to be coming from.CK: It isn't? Why not? It isn't? Why not?Robert Plant: Well, it is if it's a career move and you want to do "Bridge Over Troubled Water" when you're sixty. Well, it is if it's a career move and you want to do "Bridge Over Troubled Water" when you're sixty.CK: Do you think a lot of those bands were ultimately influenced more by Zep's debauched depiction in the book Do you think a lot of those bands were ultimately influenced more by Zep's debauched depiction in the book Hammer of the Gods: The Led Zeppelin Saga Hammer of the Gods: The Led Zeppelin Saga than by what's actually on your records? It seems like they copied your espoused lifestyle more than your actual songs. than by what's actually on your records? It seems like they copied your espoused lifestyle more than your actual songs.Robert Plant: Who knows? I mean, is it all a career move? Getting fucked up is quite easy if you have more than thirty dollars. It was interesting to watch all that, because I never read that book. But I don't think anyone could have lived through the stuff that [former Zeppelin tour manager] Richard Cole blubbered out to the guy who wrote it [author Stephen Davis]. Who knows? I mean, is it all a career move? Getting fucked up is quite easy if you have more than thirty dollars. It was interesting to watch all that, because I never read that book. But I don't think anyone could have lived through the stuff that [former Zeppelin tour manager] Richard Cole blubbered out to the guy who wrote it [author Stephen Davis].CK: I really have a hard time believing that you've never read I really have a hard time believing that you've never read Hammer of the Gods. Hammer of the Gods. Weren't you curious? Weren't you curious?Robert Plant: The guy who wrote that book knew nothing about the band. I think he'd only hung around us once. He got all his information from a guy who had a heroin problem who happened to be associated with us. The only thing I read was the "After Zeppelin" part, because I was so eager to get on with music and stop living in a dream state. The guy who wrote that book knew nothing about the band. I think he'd only hung around us once. He got all his information from a guy who had a heroin problem who happened to be associated with us. The only thing I read was the "After Zeppelin" part, because I was so eager to get on with music and stop living in a dream state.CK: Does it bother you that, in the eyes of a lot of people, the only reason John Paul Jones was not asked to participate in your 1994 reunion with Jimmy Page was financial? And that you and Page simply didn't want to split the revenue three ways? Does it bother you that, in the eyes of a lot of people, the only reason John Paul Jones was not asked to participate in your 1994 reunion with Jimmy Page was financial? And that you and Page simply didn't want to split the revenue three ways?Robert Plant: [ [chuckles] It's like this: Led Zeppelin was a very strange, four-quadrant marriage. And when the marriage dissolved, when John passed away, I really didn't think I'd work with any of those guys again. When we were kids, Bonham and I were the toughest guys around. Nobody wanted to be around us, because we believed in ourselves so much and we were really unbearable. So when he passed, I really didn't want to stay with the southern guys-the two guys from London. I thought enough was enough, and I'd lost the one guy I'd been close with since I was fifteen. But when MTV asked me to do the Unplugged Unplugged show, I thought, show, I thought, I can't take all the credit for this. I can't do the Zeppelin stuff and sit there with a broad grin on my face. I can't take all the credit for this. I can't do the Zeppelin stuff and sit there with a broad grin on my face. So I asked Jimmy if it was possible for us to start writing again, without it becoming some sad Zeppelin reunion. And there was really no room for anybody else. There was no physical room or emotional room or creative room. So I asked Jimmy if it was possible for us to start writing again, without it becoming some sad Zeppelin reunion. And there was really no room for anybody else. There was no physical room or emotional room or creative room.CK: But couldn't you have toured with Page, Jones, and Bonham's son Jason on drums? But couldn't you have toured with Page, Jones, and Bonham's son Jason on drums?Robert Plant: But what the fuck for? John Bonham's kid isn't as good as John Bonham. Look, I know you're a journalist, so I'll go along with this question. I don't make my living by making my living. My time is so important that I can't compromise my taste-or my idea of what's right-simply to match someone else's view of what's a good, calculated move. And can you imagine what a lumbering monster that tour would've been? It would have been quite sluttish to come back firing like a bunch of hard rockers. The important thing was that Page and I decided to write again. But what the fuck for? John Bonham's kid isn't as good as John Bonham. Look, I know you're a journalist, so I'll go along with this question. I don't make my living by making my living. My time is so important that I can't compromise my taste-or my idea of what's right-simply to match someone else's view of what's a good, calculated move. And can you imagine what a lumbering monster that tour would've been? It would have been quite sluttish to come back firing like a bunch of hard rockers. The important thing was that Page and I decided to write again.CK: How often do you talk to Jimmy Page for nonbusiness purposes? How often do you talk to Jimmy Page for nonbusiness purposes?Robert Plant: We're going to a tennis match on Tuesday. We're going to a tennis match on Tuesday.CK: Really? Who's playing? Really? Who's playing?Robert Plant: Fuck if I know! I just made that up [ Fuck if I know! I just made that up [laughs].CK: I realize this probably seems ridiculous to you, but there is a whole class of people who listen to classic-rock radio and wonder if you guys are actually friends. I realize this probably seems ridiculous to you, but there is a whole class of people who listen to classic-rock radio and wonder if you guys are actually friends.Robert Plant: There's definitely a warmth between us, and a patience. We're like Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon. The reality is that Page is a very clever, talented guy who has a particular slant on music, and I was always his sidekick who had a different slant on music. There's definitely a warmth between us, and a patience. We're like Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon. The reality is that Page is a very clever, talented guy who has a particular slant on music, and I was always his sidekick who had a different slant on music.CK: Earlier in this interview, you said a Led Zeppelin reunion tour would have been a "lumbering monster." But what about bands who are even older than you? Do you think the Rolling Stones are still able to maintain a sense of conviction at this point in their career? Earlier in this interview, you said a Led Zeppelin reunion tour would have been a "lumbering monster." But what about bands who are even older than you? Do you think the Rolling Stones are still able to maintain a sense of conviction at this point in their career?Robert Plant: No. But I think they've gone somewhere else, and I really can't be critical. Because if they have a good time and they play well, it's a communion. And it's somewhere for people to go who remember when that stuff was shit-hot. This kind of thing happens every year. And guess what? You [as a journalist] get a salary, and I get a lot of dough if I sell a lot of records. It's called entertainment. No. But I think they've gone somewhere else, and I really can't be critical. Because if they have a good time and they play well, it's a communion. And it's somewhere for people to go who remember when that stuff was shit-hot. This kind of thing happens every year. And guess what? You [as a journalist] get a salary, and I get a lot of dough if I sell a lot of records. It's called entertainment.CK: As the man who heard them all, what is the coolest, heaviest, most "metal" Jimmy Page guitar riff? As the man who heard them all, what is the coolest, heaviest, most "metal" Jimmy Page guitar riff?Robert Plant: Hmm. [ Hmm. [pauses] That's a very good question. I guess it's gotta be "Whole Lotta Love," doesn't it? And there's another song that isn't heavy but that I love because the guitar is fucking amazing-"For Your Life" off Presence. Presence. And then there's the beginning of "The Wanton Song" and "Immigrant Song." I suppose "Immigrant Song" might have it over "Whole Lotta Love," but the thing about "Whole Lotta Love" is that it's quite a sexy track. And then there's the beginning of "The Wanton Song" and "Immigrant Song." I suppose "Immigrant Song" might have it over "Whole Lotta Love," but the thing about "Whole Lotta Love" is that it's quite a sexy track.CK: Actually, that reminds me of something: on "Whole Lotta Love" you say you're going to give some girl "every inch" of your love. But you're British. Why don't you use the metric system? Actually, that reminds me of something: on "Whole Lotta Love" you say you're going to give some girl "every inch" of your love. But you're British. Why don't you use the metric system?Robert Plant: That would change the whole tone of the thing! I suppose today it would have to be, "I'll give you several centimeters of bliss." But people of my generation know nothing about the metric system. I'm fortunate to say I still use inches-or at least that's what my girlfriend says, and she's twenty-nine. That would change the whole tone of the thing! I suppose today it would have to be, "I'll give you several centimeters of bliss." But people of my generation know nothing about the metric system. I'm fortunate to say I still use inches-or at least that's what my girlfriend says, and she's twenty-nine.

Disposable Heroes For most of my youth, Metallica fans made me nervous. By the time Master of Puppets Master of Puppets was released in 1986, the kids who were already into Metallica seemed kind of nuts. These were usually weight lifters who had previously liked Motley Crue and Van Halen before suddenly deciding that anything overtly commercial was absolutely fake, and that singing about girls and partying was pathetic, and that real rock bands were supposed to wear blue jeans and hate their parents. Being a fan of Metallica in the '80s was not supposed to be fun. Loving Metallica was like being Catholic: if you truly believed, it was supposed to inform every aspect of your life. I could not relate to this. I preferred songs about having sex with underage girls in elevators, but Metallica always seemed to be singing about being burned alive (or something along those lines). was released in 1986, the kids who were already into Metallica seemed kind of nuts. These were usually weight lifters who had previously liked Motley Crue and Van Halen before suddenly deciding that anything overtly commercial was absolutely fake, and that singing about girls and partying was pathetic, and that real rock bands were supposed to wear blue jeans and hate their parents. Being a fan of Metallica in the '80s was not supposed to be fun. Loving Metallica was like being Catholic: if you truly believed, it was supposed to inform every aspect of your life. I could not relate to this. I preferred songs about having sex with underage girls in elevators, but Metallica always seemed to be singing about being burned alive (or something along those lines).

By 1992, everything about loving Metallica had evolved, even though the music was only slightly different (the songs were shorter and less complex, but it was still the same premise). I remember the first time I went to a party and watched two sorority girls sing along with "Enter Sandman"-it blew my mind. It was like watching Nancy Reagan smoke pot. In the early '80s, Metallica had refused to make videos; now they seemed to make a new video every six weeks. Over time, it was this "mainstreaming of Metallica" that started to fascinate me, and I went back and seriously reexamined a lot of their older material. I like their music more now than I did back when I was in high school, particularly Kill 'Em All Kill 'Em All and and Garage Days Re-Revisited. Garage Days Re-Revisited.

When The New York Times Magazine The New York Times Magazine asked me to do a profile on Metallica before the release of the documentary asked me to do a profile on Metallica before the release of the documentary Some Kind of Monster, Some Kind of Monster, it felt like the film was going to be a really big deal: every possible media outlet appeared to be covering it. However, it felt like the film was going to be a really big deal: every possible media outlet appeared to be covering it. However, Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster underperformed at the box office (at least compared to its prerelease expectations). In a weird way, all the media coverage may have actually hurt the film's commercial viability; you could almost experience the entire movie by reading about it. I still think underperformed at the box office (at least compared to its prerelease expectations). In a weird way, all the media coverage may have actually hurt the film's commercial viability; you could almost experience the entire movie by reading about it. I still think Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster is a wonderful documentary, but everything you need to know about it can be illustrated within the span of three thousand words. Sometimes I suspect audiences assumed they already knew exactly what this movie was about, so they saw no reason to pay $10 to see it. A year after its release, I happened to interview Lars Ulrich again, and I casually asked if he was surprised is a wonderful documentary, but everything you need to know about it can be illustrated within the span of three thousand words. Sometimes I suspect audiences assumed they already knew exactly what this movie was about, so they saw no reason to pay $10 to see it. A year after its release, I happened to interview Lars Ulrich again, and I casually asked if he was surprised Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster didn't make $20 million at the box office. He was not. didn't make $20 million at the box office. He was not.

"I'm fucking amazed it even made two million dollars in America," he said. "I can't fucking believe it even got released. Do you think people in Nebraska give a fuck if A. O. scott says some documentary is good? Do you think anyone cares what Owen Gleiberman thinks about Metallica? I never got caught up in that hype. We didn't make fucking E.T. E.T."

There is a line in this story where I refer to Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster director Joe Berlinger as an "egomaniac," a classification Berlinger adamantly denies. I have casually run into Berlinger on three occasions since the publication of this article, and he always brings up the issue of his alleged egomania immediately, regardless of where we are or what we happen to be talking about. director Joe Berlinger as an "egomaniac," a classification Berlinger adamantly denies. I have casually run into Berlinger on three occasions since the publication of this article, and he always brings up the issue of his alleged egomania immediately, regardless of where we are or what we happen to be talking about.

Band on the Couch (June 2004) There is a scene midway through the documentary Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster that defines the film's vision; it's arguably the movie's most emotional moment and certainly its most archetypical. We see the rock group Metallica-the most commercially successful heavy-metal band in rock history-sitting around a table with their therapist, trying to establish how they will finish recording their next album. The recording process has already been complicated by the departure of their bassist and the drinking problem of singer James Het-field; Hetfield has just returned to the band after a lengthy stint in rehab. Fifteen years ago, Metallica drank so much they were referred to by their fans as "Alcoholica," and the band members all thought that was hilarious. But now, things are different; now, Hetfield can only work four hours a day, because the other twenty hours are devoted to mending a marriage that was shattered by alcohol (and the rock 'n' roll lifestyle that came with it). that defines the film's vision; it's arguably the movie's most emotional moment and certainly its most archetypical. We see the rock group Metallica-the most commercially successful heavy-metal band in rock history-sitting around a table with their therapist, trying to establish how they will finish recording their next album. The recording process has already been complicated by the departure of their bassist and the drinking problem of singer James Het-field; Hetfield has just returned to the band after a lengthy stint in rehab. Fifteen years ago, Metallica drank so much they were referred to by their fans as "Alcoholica," and the band members all thought that was hilarious. But now, things are different; now, Hetfield can only work four hours a day, because the other twenty hours are devoted to mending a marriage that was shattered by alcohol (and the rock 'n' roll lifestyle that came with it).

Metallica's drummer, a kinetic forty-one-year-old Dane named Lars Ulrich, is having a difficult time dealing with these new parameters. He paces the room, finally telling Hetfield that the singer is "self-absorbed" and "latently controlling." Everyone slowly grows uncomfortable. "I realize now that I barely knew you before," Ulrich says, despite the fact that he's known Hetfield since 1981. The language he uses sounds like outtakes from an Oprah Oprah episode on self-help books-except Ulrich punctuates every sentence with a very specific (and completely unprintable) expletive. episode on self-help books-except Ulrich punctuates every sentence with a very specific (and completely unprintable) expletive.1 The scene closes with Ulrich's mouth six inches from Hetfield's ever-stoic skull, screaming that singular expletive into the singer's face. It's the most intimate, most honest, most emotionally authentic exchange these two men have ever experienced. The scene closes with Ulrich's mouth six inches from Hetfield's ever-stoic skull, screaming that singular expletive into the singer's face. It's the most intimate, most honest, most emotionally authentic exchange these two men have ever experienced.

This is also the scene where-if you are in the audience-you will probably laugh.

I've seen this film twice in screening rooms, and it happened both times. Virtually everyone in the theater snickered like condescending hyenas, just as they did during every other visceral, meaningful moment in this documentary. And so did I.

Now, perhaps that's cruel, and perhaps that's predictable. But it's mostly because Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster presents an uncomfortable kind of realism: it's the most in-depth, long-form psychological profile of any rock band that's ever existed; it's also the closest anyone has ever come to making a real-life presents an uncomfortable kind of realism: it's the most in-depth, long-form psychological profile of any rock band that's ever existed; it's also the closest anyone has ever come to making a real-life This Is Spinal Tap. This Is Spinal Tap. One could even argue that One could even argue that Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster is a rock 'n' roll film that has nothing to do with music, and that it's actually a two-hour, twenty-minute meditation on therapy, celebrity, and the possibility that just about everyone is a little damaged. That's because the men who made is a rock 'n' roll film that has nothing to do with music, and that it's actually a two-hour, twenty-minute meditation on therapy, celebrity, and the possibility that just about everyone is a little damaged. That's because the men who made Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster (directors Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky) and its on-screen psychologist (a sweater-clad sixty-five-year-old named Phil Towle) seemed to need therapy as much as Metallica. (directors Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky) and its on-screen psychologist (a sweater-clad sixty-five-year-old named Phil Towle) seemed to need therapy as much as Metallica.

"If you strip down all human beings to their core, you'll find the same stuff," claims Towle, the "performance enhancement coach" who served as Metallica's therapist over the two years in which Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster was filmed. "You will find fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of being controlled, fear of being unloved, and the desire to love and be loved. That becomes more complicated with hard-rock bands, because-when you exist in a mode of instant gratification-you're never hungry for depth of intimacy. Sex, drugs, and booze are glorified in rock 'n' roll, but those are really just symptoms of the desire for relief." was filmed. "You will find fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of being controlled, fear of being unloved, and the desire to love and be loved. That becomes more complicated with hard-rock bands, because-when you exist in a mode of instant gratification-you're never hungry for depth of intimacy. Sex, drugs, and booze are glorified in rock 'n' roll, but those are really just symptoms of the desire for relief."

This is all probably true. In fact, part of what makes Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster so compelling is that Towle-the hyper-nurturing Midwesterner now recognized for saving Metallica-seems to possess as many insecurities as the band he was paid $40,000 a month to help. There is not one person involved in so compelling is that Towle-the hyper-nurturing Midwesterner now recognized for saving Metallica-seems to possess as many insecurities as the band he was paid $40,000 a month to help. There is not one person involved in Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster who could safely be described as "okay." who could safely be described as "okay."

And it's entirely possible that this is the point.

In order to understand how Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster came into existence, you need to know two stories. The first is the history of Metallica, a two-decade narrative that explains (a) why this movie makes people laugh, and (b) why this movie is so unprecedented. Twenty years ago, there was no band on earth who seemed less likely to release a documentary about dealing with interpersonal issues; in a way, it still doesn't seem possible. came into existence, you need to know two stories. The first is the history of Metallica, a two-decade narrative that explains (a) why this movie makes people laugh, and (b) why this movie is so unprecedented. Twenty years ago, there was no band on earth who seemed less likely to release a documentary about dealing with interpersonal issues; in a way, it still doesn't seem possible.

Formed in 1981, Metallica became the first important speed-metal band; they played faster and harder than just about every group who had ever come before them. While other '80s metal bands wore spandex and sang about girls, Metallica wore jeans and sang about Armageddon; their first album was called Kill 'Em All, Kill 'Em All, a title that was actually less aggressive than the phrase they wanted to use. Hetfield was the frontman, a scowling gun enthusiast who was raised as a Christian Scientist and now hated the world. Drummer Ulrich was a former tennis prodigy in Denmark who moved to California with his affluent family as a teenager, bonding with the antisocial Hetfield over unpopular British metal bands like Diamond Head and Angel Witch. Metallica's lead guitarist is Kirk Hammett, a dark, androgynous personality spawned from a broken home; he spent his sixteenth birthday trying to stop his father from pummeling his mother. Hammett is the personality buffer between Hetfield and Ulrich (if Metallica truly a title that was actually less aggressive than the phrase they wanted to use. Hetfield was the frontman, a scowling gun enthusiast who was raised as a Christian Scientist and now hated the world. Drummer Ulrich was a former tennis prodigy in Denmark who moved to California with his affluent family as a teenager, bonding with the antisocial Hetfield over unpopular British metal bands like Diamond Head and Angel Witch. Metallica's lead guitarist is Kirk Hammett, a dark, androgynous personality spawned from a broken home; he spent his sixteenth birthday trying to stop his father from pummeling his mother. Hammett is the personality buffer between Hetfield and Ulrich (if Metallica truly was was Spinal Tap, he would be the Harry Shearer character). The group's original bassist was a swivel-necked San Franciscan named Cliff Burton, but he died in 1986; while touring through Europe, Metallica had a cataclysmic (and bizarre) highway accident outside of Copenhagen. Their tour bus actually fell on Burton. He was immediately replaced by Jason Newsted, a longtime Metallica superfan who had always dreamed of performing alongside his heroes; after being asked to join the band, the other three members mercilessly hazed Newsted for well over a year (for example, they would constantly-and erroneously-tell strangers that he was gay). These are hard people. Spinal Tap, he would be the Harry Shearer character). The group's original bassist was a swivel-necked San Franciscan named Cliff Burton, but he died in 1986; while touring through Europe, Metallica had a cataclysmic (and bizarre) highway accident outside of Copenhagen. Their tour bus actually fell on Burton. He was immediately replaced by Jason Newsted, a longtime Metallica superfan who had always dreamed of performing alongside his heroes; after being asked to join the band, the other three members mercilessly hazed Newsted for well over a year (for example, they would constantly-and erroneously-tell strangers that he was gay). These are hard people.

Originally a cult band for burnouts and speed freaks, Metallica went on to become the Led Zeppelin of their generation. They've sold over 90 million albums worldwide; while other metal acts were buried by the early-'90s grunge movement, Metallica only became stronger. And the driving force behind their invincibility seemed to be the fact that they did not care about anything. They fueled their tours on Jagermeister (Hetfield used to drink a bottle every night). They "betrayed" their fan base in 1996 by cutting off their hair, the speed-metal equivalent of Dylan going electric. When kids started illegally downloading their songs off Napster, Metallica had the audacity to sue their own fan base. Metallica actually did what other rock bands only aspire to do: by ignoring trends, they became immune to cultural change. They were, it seemed, unbreakable.

Until (of course) they started to break. A 2001 Playboy Playboy interview illustrated (and-according to the band-perpetuated) a growing sense of discontent within Metallica, eventually resulting in Newsted's decision to quit after fourteen years of service. Sensing the possibility of losing an extremely lucrative artistic entity, Metallica's management team (an organization called Q-Prime) put Metallica in touch with Towle, a man who'd previously worked with the St. Louis Rams during their 2000 Super Bowl run and had unsuccessfully tried to save another of Q-Prime's clients (the political rap-metal group Rage Against the Machine). Formerly a gang counselor in Chicago, Towle now specializes in psychotherapeutic scenarios involving big money and massive egos. The hope was that he would stop Metallica from imploding; coincidentally, those therapy sessions initiated just before Berlinger and Sinofsky started filming the band's attempt to record their next album. interview illustrated (and-according to the band-perpetuated) a growing sense of discontent within Metallica, eventually resulting in Newsted's decision to quit after fourteen years of service. Sensing the possibility of losing an extremely lucrative artistic entity, Metallica's management team (an organization called Q-Prime) put Metallica in touch with Towle, a man who'd previously worked with the St. Louis Rams during their 2000 Super Bowl run and had unsuccessfully tried to save another of Q-Prime's clients (the political rap-metal group Rage Against the Machine). Formerly a gang counselor in Chicago, Towle now specializes in psychotherapeutic scenarios involving big money and massive egos. The hope was that he would stop Metallica from imploding; coincidentally, those therapy sessions initiated just before Berlinger and Sinofsky started filming the band's attempt to record their next album.

They ended up filming for 715 days.

It seems Berlinger and Sinofsky had sustained a relationship with Metallica ever since the 1996 HBO documentary Paradise Lost, Paradise Lost, the chronicle of three teenage Metallica fans accused of ritualistically murdering children in West Memphis, Arkansas. Metallica had allowed the two directors to use the band's music in the chronicle of three teenage Metallica fans accused of ritualistically murdering children in West Memphis, Arkansas. Metallica had allowed the two directors to use the band's music in Paradise Lost Paradise Lost for free, and the two parties had kept in touch, casually discussing the possibility of one day working together on a larger project. for free, and the two parties had kept in touch, casually discussing the possibility of one day working together on a larger project.

However, in the period following Paradise Lost, Paradise Lost, Berlinger and Sinofsky's professional relationship began to fray. This is the second story. Berlinger and Sinofsky's professional relationship began to fray. This is the second story.

Berlinger (who looks like he could be George Lucas's kid brother) is a workaholic with a paradoxical personality: he's an egomaniac, but he's also obsessed with getting other people's approval. Though he had collaborated with Sinofsky for years (most notably on the critically adored documentary Brother's Keeper Brother's Keeper), he began to question the value of their partnership. Essentially, he wanted to go solo. In 2000, Berlinger broke away from Sinofsky to direct Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2, Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2, the big-budget sequel to the big-budget sequel to The Blair Witch Project. The Blair Witch Project.

That decision more or less destroyed Berlinger's life. "I presided over one of the biggest flops in cinema history," says Berlinger. That's something of an exaggeration, but it's not far off-critics hated Blair Witch 2, Blair Witch 2, and it made very little money. Berlinger blames this on Artisan Entertainment for completely reediting and it made very little money. Berlinger blames this on Artisan Entertainment for completely reediting Blair Witch 2, Blair Witch 2, and his complaint doesn't sound wholly irrational; some of the enforced changes were drastic. For example, Berlinger had originally wanted to use the Frank Sinatra tune "Witchcraft" as the score for the opening credits; Artisan changed it to "Disposable Teens" by Marilyn Manson. and his complaint doesn't sound wholly irrational; some of the enforced changes were drastic. For example, Berlinger had originally wanted to use the Frank Sinatra tune "Witchcraft" as the score for the opening credits; Artisan changed it to "Disposable Teens" by Marilyn Manson.

Berlinger was devastated by the response to Blair Witch 2. Blair Witch 2. He became a recluse and melodramatically considered quitting film altogether. Meanwhile, Sinofsky feared his collaborative relationship with Berlinger was finished. "We had serious problems that we never addressed," says Sinofsky. "We remained friends, but-when he went off to do He became a recluse and melodramatically considered quitting film altogether. Meanwhile, Sinofsky feared his collaborative relationship with Berlinger was finished. "We had serious problems that we never addressed," says Sinofsky. "We remained friends, but-when he went off to do Blair Witch Blair Witch-I was envious. And I was fearful that he wouldn't come back." However, he did come back. A depressed Berlinger longingly watched Paradise Lost Paradise Lost in his living room one night, and-upon hearing the ominous strains of the Metallica song "Sanitarium"-he suddenly remembered the forgotten idea of making a rock movie. He contacted Sinofsky, and they contacted Metallica. Now, the original plan for this project was strange: they were going to film the band in the studio and make a series of infomercials (yes, in his living room one night, and-upon hearing the ominous strains of the Metallica song "Sanitarium"-he suddenly remembered the forgotten idea of making a rock movie. He contacted Sinofsky, and they contacted Metallica. Now, the original plan for this project was strange: they were going to film the band in the studio and make a series of infomercials (yes, infomercials infomercials). These infomercials would be broadcast in thirty-minute increments on late-night television, and the idea was that people would see these infomercials and order Metallica's next album. It was going to be this innovative, crazy way to sell records.

But then things got crazier.

When production on this unnamed "Metallica infomercial project" began in 2001, the group was already mired in turmoil: Newsted had officially quit the band after only one session with Towle. Newsted still considers the idea of rock band therapy to be a little ridiculous. "Something that's really important to note-and this isn't pointed at anyone-is something I knew long before I met James Hetfield or anyone else," Newsted said in an interview from his ranch in western Montana. "Certain people are made to be opened up and exposed. Certain people are not meant to be opened up and exposed. I'll leave it at that."

For the first thirty minutes of Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster (roughly three months in real time), you see a band that doesn't necessarily like each other, struggling with a record no one seems enthused about creating; it's sort of the metal version of the Beatles' (roughly three months in real time), you see a band that doesn't necessarily like each other, struggling with a record no one seems enthused about creating; it's sort of the metal version of the Beatles' Let It Be. Let It Be. But then-suddenly and without much explanation-Hetfield disappears into rehab. Ulrich and Hammett have nothing to do in the interim, except talk to their therapist. This is the point where But then-suddenly and without much explanation-Hetfield disappears into rehab. Ulrich and Hammett have nothing to do in the interim, except talk to their therapist. This is the point where Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster starts to change; what it becomes is not a glorification of rock 'n' roll, but an illustration of how rock 'n' roll manufactures a reality that's almost guaranteed to make people incomplete. Metallica's massive success-and the means through which they achieved it-meant they never had to intellectually mature past the age of nineteen. starts to change; what it becomes is not a glorification of rock 'n' roll, but an illustration of how rock 'n' roll manufactures a reality that's almost guaranteed to make people incomplete. Metallica's massive success-and the means through which they achieved it-meant they never had to intellectually mature past the age of nineteen.

"I think most people in rock bands have arrested development," Hammett says now. "Society doesn't demand people in rock bands to do certain things. You're able to start drinking whenever you want, and you can play shows drunk, and you can get offstage and continue to be drunk, and people love it. They toast their glasses to an artist who's drunk and breaking things and screaming and wrestling in the middle of a restaurant. Things like that happened to us, and people cheered. I remember reading [the Led Zeppelin biography] Hammer of the Gods, Hammer of the Gods, and I thought, and I thought, I wanna be like that all the time. I wanna be like that all the time. What I didn't realize is that the stories in that book took place over an entire career. What I didn't realize is that the stories in that book took place over an entire career.2 We were trying to act like that every single night." We were trying to act like that every single night."

To some, that might sound like a cliche sentiment for a millionaire musician to express; it almost blames society for making guitar heroes wasted and lawless. But this kind of self-discovery is part of what makes Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster a strikingly modern film: by fusing the accelerated culture of therapy with the accelerated culture of celebrity, it illustrates why the people inside those two realms can't keep up. a strikingly modern film: by fusing the accelerated culture of therapy with the accelerated culture of celebrity, it illustrates why the people inside those two realms can't keep up.

"Metallica's evolution as people was aborted by their surreal existence," says Towle. "Kirk Hammett once told me that coming off tour was like experiencing post-traumatic stress syndrome; he said it was like leaving a war and reentering real life. When I asked him why he felt that way, he said, 'Because now I have to empty the trash.' The profundity in that statement is in its simplicity: rock stars are infantilized by people who do everything for them. We insulate them from a reality that would actually be good for them."

This unreality does not only apply to drinking and garbage removal, either. That becomes especially clear when Hetfield returns to the band from rehab as a completely changed man (he even begins wearing eyeglasses, for some reason). Slowly, the deeper issue of Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster emerges: Hetfield and Ulrich have spent their entire adulthood intertwined, but they've never been close. For the past twenty years, they've never needed to have a real relationship with each other, even though Hetfield was the best man in Ulrich's wedding. And that is what you mostly see over the last hour of this film: two middle-aged men fighting through their neuroses and confusion, earnestly talking about emerges: Hetfield and Ulrich have spent their entire adulthood intertwined, but they've never been close. For the past twenty years, they've never needed to have a real relationship with each other, even though Hetfield was the best man in Ulrich's wedding. And that is what you mostly see over the last hour of this film: two middle-aged men fighting through their neuroses and confusion, earnestly talking about intimacy intimacy and and emotional betrayal emotional betrayal and and how they feel about each other. how they feel about each other.

It is important to remember that these are the same two men who cowrote a song called "Seek and Destroy."

Why Metallica allowed Berlinger and Sinofsky to film this process remains baffling. "Lars felt the therapy sessions were actually enabled by the presence of the cameras," says Berlinger. "He felt the cameras forced them to be honest." There's certainly no question about how much the band believes in this film: when Elektra Records grew concerned over the project's escalating cost, the label considered turning it into a reality TV show (this was back in 2002, when MTV's The Osbournes The Osbournes was the hottest commodity on television). By that point, both the filmmakers and the group saw this solely as a theatrical release. They wanted complete control, so they bought the rights. Which means Metallica wrote Elektra a check ... for $4.3 million. was the hottest commodity on television). By that point, both the filmmakers and the group saw this solely as a theatrical release. They wanted complete control, so they bought the rights. Which means Metallica wrote Elektra a check ... for $4.3 million.

That, obviously, is a lot of money. But Metallica has more money than God. That's another strangely personal insight in Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster-you get to see just how mind-blowingly rich these guys actually are. And particularly for Metallica, wealth is not something they necessarily want to brag about; remember, this is a band who sued its own fans sued its own fans just two years ago. The core Metallica disciples tend to be alienated, working-class males; one wonders how these people will react to an extended sequence in just two years ago. The core Metallica disciples tend to be alienated, working-class males; one wonders how these people will react to an extended sequence in Some Kind of Monster Some Kind of Monster where Ulrich-the most self-consciously urbane member of the group-sips champagne and sells his collection of Jean-Michel Basquiat's artwork at a Christie's auction for $12 million. Hetfield and Hammett would have both preferred to see the auction scene removed from the film (Hetfield described the footage as "downright embarrassing"), but Ulrich wanted it in the movie. He feels it is an essential aspect of his personality. And as he explains his position, you can hear two years of therapy dripping off his voice. He has no problem talking about where Ulrich-the most self-consciously urbane member of the group-sips champagne and sells his collection of Jean-Michel Basquiat's artwork at a Christie's auction for $12 million. Hetfield and Hammett would have both preferred to see the auction scene removed from the film (Hetfield described the footage as "downright embarrassing"), but Ulrich wanted it in the movie. He feels it is an essential aspect of his personality. And as he explains his position, you can hear two years of therapy dripping off his voice. He has no problem talking about anything, anything, even if it's "downright embarrassing." I suddenly find myself wishing that every rock star I interviewed had spent twenty-four months in psychotherapy. even if it's "downright embarrassing." I suddenly find myself wishing that every rock star I interviewed had spent twenty-four months in psychotherapy.

"Art is my passion," says Ulrich. "It just so happens that art operates in those kind of high financial neighborhoods. If people find that distasteful or obnoxious, I can't control that. It's part of who I am. If you're going to paint a portrait of the people in Metallica, that has to play a role, because that is who I am. And if people want to focus on the financial elements of art instead of the creative elements of art, I can't control that, either."

"I hate to think about this film as just being pro-therapy or anti-therapy," Berlinger says when asked about the philosophical message of Some Kind of Monster. Some Kind of Monster. "To me, it's more about how it's okay to admit you have issues." "To me, it's more about how it's okay to admit you have issues."

Well, maybe so. But it's impossible to watch this documentary without drawing certain conclusions about the process it explores. On one hand, everyone I interviewed for this story concedes that Metallica would have likely broken up without Towle's assistance. But is this "enlightened" Metallica much better off? If a band's entire aesthetic is based on the musical expression of inexplicable rage, what's left when that rage is vanquished? One could suggest that Towle has exorcised the singular demon that made Metallica relevant. Moreover, the depiction of Towle's behavior during the final third of the film validates every criticism ever directed toward therapists: over time, Towle slowly seems to believe that he is a member member of Metallica; he even tries to contribute lyrics for the album. And when a (completely reasonable) Hetfield tries to end the group's therapy, Towle attempts to convince him that this is a mistake, and that Hetfield is simply struggling with his inability to "trust," and that the band still needs his $40,000-a-month assistance. Even the filmmakers found this strange. of Metallica; he even tries to contribute lyrics for the album. And when a (completely reasonable) Hetfield tries to end the group's therapy, Towle attempts to convince him that this is a mistake, and that Hetfield is simply struggling with his inability to "trust," and that the band still needs his $40,000-a-month assistance. Even the filmmakers found this strange.

"When he started using the word we we instead of the word instead of the word I, I, Joe and I kept asking ourselves, 'Is this something a therapist would say [to a client]?' I always thought it was a little weird," Sinofsky says. Joe and I kept asking ourselves, 'Is this something a therapist would say [to a client]?' I always thought it was a little weird," Sinofsky says.

Not surprisingly, Towle denies any confusion over his role with the band.

"A documentary is subjective, and it's affected by what footage is selected by the documentarians," he says. "The way that it's portrayed implies that I was pushed out the door, and that's not what happened. I don't want to sound defensive about this, but the film makes it seem like I just wanted to extend my gravy train, and anyone who knows me would know that nothing could be further from the truth."

Regardless of how one views Towle's motivations, it's hard to attack his results: the guys in Metallica are, without question, much happier humans. I interviewed James Hetfield in 1996, and it was one of the worst conversations of my professional life-he was surly, impenetrable, and unable (or maybe just unwilling) to think in the abstract. When I interviewed him for this story, he was a completely evolved person: affable, nonconfrontational, and willing (almost wanting) to chat about his feelings. In fact, when I asked him about Towle's attempt to keep Metallica in therapy they no longer needed, Hetfield gave the most reasonable answer imaginable.

"Phil has issues, too," Hetfield said. "Every therapist has issues. We're all just people. We've all got some brokenness inside us. Phil's abandonment issues came up, and he tried to mask them by saying, 'You're mistrusting me.' And it's like, wow-that's a really important point in the movie."

And a really funny point, kind of. But sometimes the difference between self-actualization and self-amusement is less than you think.

1. The expletive being "fuck."

2. And-quite possibly-never happened at all (see page 96).

Unbuttoning the Hardest Button to Button The following White Stripes story probably bothered me more than any piece I've ever written. This seems curious in retrospect, because it now reads like a workmanlike profile containing no controversy whatsoever.

This was the first official cover story I wrote for SPIN, SPIN, and (I think) the first significant cover story on the White Stripes for any national publication in America. Putting the Stripes on the cover seemed a little crazy at the time, because their fourth album ( and (I think) the first significant cover story on the White Stripes for any national publication in America. Putting the Stripes on the cover seemed a little crazy at the time, because their fourth album (Elephant) had not yet been released and it was still unclear whether this band was famous enough to be on the cover of a major magazine. This is always a tricky issue at a place like SPIN SPIN; at the time, the publication's circulation was something like 525,000 and there was always this unwritten theory that suggested it was unwise to put any artist on the cover who couldn't sell at least 525,000 copies of their own record (in other words, it didn't make sense to try to promote a rock magazine with a rock band who was less popular than the magazine itself). When I started the reporting for this article, their previous album (White Blood Cells) still hadn't gone gold. As a consequence, I think I unconsciously felt a pressure to "sell" the band to readers, which is why I included a sentence where I refer to the music of the Stripes as "so fucking good." I regret doing this. I mean, the White stripes are are fucking good, but that sentence sounds completely idiotic. fucking good, but that sentence sounds completely idiotic.

The whole process was difficult. Jack White's main motivation for doing the interview appeared to be his desire to explain why he hated interviews (this happens a lot with modern artists; Julian Casablancas is the same way). As a result, the piece is too self-conscious. However, the larger problem came when I turned the story in to SPIN SPIN and one of my editors had a problem with Jack's quotes. The editor questioned the relevance of White's race-related quotes; I felt they were the only legitimately new elements of the story. We locked horns on this point, and-as I am wont to do-I totally over-reacted. I threatened to take my byline off the story, which would have been stupid. I briefly considered quitting and one of my editors had a problem with Jack's quotes. The editor questioned the relevance of White's race-related quotes; I felt they were the only legitimately new elements of the story. We locked horns on this point, and-as I am wont to do-I totally over-reacted. I threatened to take my byline off the story, which would have been stupid. I briefly considered quitting SPIN, SPIN, which would have been even stupider. which would have been even stupider.

Late in the editing process, I talked to the SPIN SPIN copy chief about the situation, and he (mildly) agreed with my argument. By chance, this particular copy editor was quitting the magazine in two weeks and moving to Virginia, so he just added the quotes back into the story and pushed it through to the production staff (without really telling anyone else). However, this copy editor also gave me some wise advice before capitulating to my request: "You know," he said, "a magazine only exists in the world for one month, and people don't remember anything. They usually can't remember what they read two days ago. Six months from now, you will feel ridiculous for having been so overwrought about a few quotes from Jack White." copy chief about the situation, and he (mildly) agreed with my argument. By chance, this particular copy editor was quitting the magazine in two weeks and moving to Virginia, so he just added the quotes back into the story and pushed it through to the production staff (without really telling anyone else). However, this copy editor also gave me some wise advice before capitulating to my request: "You know," he said, "a magazine only exists in the world for one month, and people don't remember anything. They usually can't remember what they read two days ago. Six months from now, you will feel ridiculous for having been so overwrought about a few quotes from Jack White."

And I suppose I kind of did. But I also kind of didn't.

GARAGE DAYS UNVISITED (OCTOBER 2002) Jack White flicks his cigarette ash into a glass of water. He and Meg White are sitting on a couch in an unnecessarily swanky hotel room in downtown Chicago, trying to explain how it feels to be a punkish underground band-with modest sales and an antimedia posture-that has somehow become America's most frothed-over creative venture.

"We're in a weird spot right now," Jack says. "To be honest, I have a hard time finding a reason to be on the cover of SPIN. SPIN. It was like being on the MTV Movie Awards [where they performed their recent single "Fell in Love with a Girl"]. You start asking yourself, 'What are we getting from this? What are we destroying by doing this? Does it mean anything?' So you try it. You wonder if you'll end up being any different than everyone else, and usually, the answer is no." It was like being on the MTV Movie Awards [where they performed their recent single "Fell in Love with a Girl"]. You start asking yourself, 'What are we getting from this? What are we destroying by doing this? Does it mean anything?' So you try it. You wonder if you'll end up being any different than everyone else, and usually, the answer is no."

Actually, the answer is maybe. If you ignored the White Stripes' songs, you'd assume they were a novelty act: they wear only matching red, white, and black clothing, they have no bassist, and they've built their public persona around a fabricated relationship (they claim to be siblings, but they're actually an ex-couple whose divorce was finalized in 2000). However, this joke has no punch line. The White Stripes represent a sound (postmodern garage rock) from a specific place (downtown Detroit), and it's packaged within a conscious mix of sonic realness and media boondoggle. They have done what all great rock bands are eventually supposed to do-they've reinvented blues music.

As we talk, guitarist Jack speaks in full, articulate paragraphs. Drummer Meg mostly hugs a pillow and curls her legs underneath her body, hiding feet covered by rainbow-colored socks that resemble Fruit Stripe gum's zebra mascot. The night before, the duo played the Metro club near Wrigley Field, and it was an acceptable ninety-minute show. Tonight they'll play a blistering set at the Metro that won't start until 12:55 A.M., and it will annihilate the molecules of Illinois's air: They will do an extended version of a new song ("Ball and Biscuit") that makes references to being a seventh son and includes a grinding guitar solo, shredded over the beat from Queen's "We Will Rock You." They'll cover the Animals' "House of the Rising Sun." Everything will be raw and unrehearsed and imperfect.

And that's why it's so fucking good.

"We have to go back," Jack insists. "The last twenty years have been filled with digital, technological crap that's taken the soul out of music. The technological metronome of the United States is obsessed with progress, so now you have all these gearheads who want to lay down three thousand tracks in their living room. That wasn't the point."

"The point," says Meg, "is being a live band."

Perhaps Meg is right. However, classifying the White Stripes as two kids in a stellar live band scarcely describes their curious career arc and often contradictory aesthetic. Supposedly formed on Bastille Day in 1997, they got mild attention for being bassless and dressing like pieces of candy. After they'd released two albums (1999's eponymous debut and 2000's De Stijl, De Stijl, named after a Dutch art movement that emphasized primal abstraction) and toured with Pavement and Sleater-Kinney, there was a growing suspicion that Jack and Meg were succeeding where Jon Spencer and his moronic Blues Explosion had failed-there is little irony in what the Stripes create. "We wanted things to be as childish as possible, but with no sense of humor," Jack explains, "because that's how children think." Of course, children also lie; children will conflate truth and fiction for no reason at all. named after a Dutch art movement that emphasized primal abstraction) and toured with Pavement and Sleater-Kinney, there was a growing suspicion that Jack and Meg were succeeding where Jon Spencer and his moronic Blues Explosion had failed-there is little irony in what the Stripes create. "We wanted things to be as childish as possible, but with no sense of humor," Jack explains, "because that's how children think." Of course, children also lie; children will conflate truth and fiction for no reason at all.

Like Pavement in '92, the Stripes brought romance and mystery to an underground devoid of rock 'n' roll fantasy. By the release of White Blood Cells White Blood Cells in the summer of 2001, they'd evolved into a cultural phenomenon. Eventually, they signed a lucrative deal with V2 (which has since rereleased their earlier albums), had their own Lego-centric MTV hit, and were embraced by modern-rock radio programmers suffering from a post-Bizkit hangover. in the summer of 2001, they'd evolved into a cultural phenomenon. Eventually, they signed a lucrative deal with V2 (which has since rereleased their earlier albums), had their own Lego-centric MTV hit, and were embraced by modern-rock radio programmers suffering from a post-Bizkit hangover.

V2 president Andy Gershon, who reportedly signed the band for $1.5 million, was initially reluctant. "Your conventional wisdom is that they're a two-piece, they need a bass player, they've got this red-and-white gimmick, and the songs are fantastic, but they're recorded very raw ... how is this going to be on radio?" he says. "But for me, it was like, the record's amazing."1 Along with the Strokes and the Hives, the White Stripes are part of a back-to-basics real-rock revival awkwardly termed "neo-garage." With roots in the '60s stomp of teenage bands responding to the British Invasion, garage rock is about simple, direct catharsis. For years, this music was the province of aging coolsters, but neo-garage infuses that old sound with glam electricity. The duo hails from southwest Detroit, more specifically from a lower-middle-class Hispanic section uncomfortably referred to as Mexicantown. They claim to be the youngest off-spring in a family of ten children. They claim to have formed one day when Meg wandered into their parents' attic and began playing Jack's drum kit. This is not true. But this much is true: Mexicantown is where Jack White grew up and operated an upholstery shop, and Meg is from the same zip code; she once worked as a bartender at a blues bar in the trendy northern Detroit suburb of Royal Oak. Jack is twenty-six. Meg is twenty-seven. The White Stripes are "Detroit People," and they are the most visible band in the Detroit garage-rock scene, a conglomeration of pals extending far beyond the Stripes themselves.

Detroit is full of underproduced, consciously primitive rock bands, all playing the same bar circuit; you could waste a weekend trying to name every band in the 313 area code (a lot of them can be found on the Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit compilation, which Jack White recorded in his living room). There are the Von Bondies, a sloppy, MC5-ish rave-up quartet, and the Clone Defects, an arty, quasi-metal band. Slumber Party are borderline shoegazers; the Come Ons play traditional '60s-ish pop. The Dirtbombs bridge the gaps between glam, Detroit's Motown past, and the blues-rock future. The Piranhas are destructo-punk and already legendary for their "Rat Show" at a now-defunct club called the Gold Dollar in 1999 (their singer performed with a bloody, freshly executed rat duct-taped to his naked torso). The Detroit Cobras are probably the hottest band of the moment (and supposedly ignoring an avalanche of major labels trying to sign them). Yet the White Stripes remain the most conflicted of media darlings: unlike most of their blue-collar peers, they have a well-cultivated look, an artistic sensibility, and a mythology that makes the Stripes a compilation, which Jack White recorded in his living room). There are the Von Bondies, a sloppy, MC5-ish rave-up quartet, and the Clone Defects, an arty, quasi-metal band. Slumber Party are borderline shoegazers; the Come Ons play traditional '60s-ish pop. The Dirtbombs bridge the gaps between glam, Detroit's Motown past, and the blues-rock future. The Piranhas are destructo-punk and already legendary for their "Rat Show" at a now-defunct club called the Gold Dollar in 1999 (their singer performed with a bloody, freshly executed rat duct-taped to his naked torso). The Detroit Cobras are probably the hottest band of the moment (and supposedly ignoring an avalanche of major labels trying to sign them). Yet the White Stripes remain the most conflicted of media darlings: unlike most of their blue-collar peers, they have a well-cultivated look, an artistic sensibility, and a mythology that makes the Stripes a concept concept as much as a band (almost like a garage-rock KISS). But the real reason they're the biggest little rock group since Sonic Youth is more difficult to quantify: audiences hear something in their music that's so fundamental it almost feels alien. as much as a band (almost like a garage-rock KISS). But the real reason they're the biggest little rock group since Sonic Youth is more difficult to quantify: audiences hear something in their music that's so fundamental it almost feels alien.

According to Jack, what they're hearing is truth (or at least his version of it).

"We grew up in the late '80s and '90s, and what was good in rock 'n' roll for those twenty years? Nothing, really. I guess I liked Nirvana," White says. "And sometimes when you grow up around all these people who only listen to hip-hop, something inside of you just doesn't connect with that. Some people will just kind of fall into that culture-you know, white people pretending to be black people or whatever2-because they're involved in an environment where they want to fit in and they want to have friends, so they decide to like what everyone else likes and to dress how everyone else dresses. Meg and I never went along with it."3 I try to get Meg to comment; she defers to Jack, smiles, and looks away. Meg seems really, really nice and really, really bored. She and Jack laugh at each other's jokes, but they mostly behave like coworkers. I ask her how she feels about the way people have portrayed her-like when reporters infer profound metaphorical insight from her unwillingness to chat.

"Some people," Meg says, "put more thought into shyness than necessary."

Wendy Case is considerably less shy than Meg White.

In fact, Wendy Case is considerably less shy than David Lee Roth. She is the thirty-eight-year-old lead singer/guitarist for the Paybacks, a band Case describes as "hard pop." Her hair is blond on top and brown underneath, she laughs like a '73 Plymouth Scamp that refuses to turn over, and she can probably outdrink 90 percent of the men in Michigan. We are riding in her black Cherokee down Detroit's Cass Corridor.

"If you're gonna look for one unifying force [in the Detroit scene], the thing is that we all still drink," Case says. "You get together and you drink beer, and you listen to music. That's pretty much the nucleus of every social situation."

The Cass Corridor is a strip of urban wretchedness jammed between the north shadow of Detroit's skyline and Wayne State University. It's basically a slum, filled with dive bars and homeless people who spend afternoons having animated conversations with the sky. This is where Detroit's garage rock has flourished, so it's no surprise that most of this town's bands are no-nonsense buzzsaws. That said, the depth and intensity of their musical knowledge is surprising. The recent Dirtbombs album, Ultraglide in Black, Ultraglide in Black, is mostly covers (Stevie Wonder, Phil Lynott), and the Detroit Cobras' is mostly covers (Stevie Wonder, Phil Lynott), and the Detroit Cobras' Life, Love and Leaving Life, Love and Leaving is all covers. is all covers.

"We'll all sit around and listen to an old Supremes record or a Martha Reeves and the Vandellas record and marvel at the production level, especially considering how cheaply it was done," says Eddie Harsch, a guy who used to play keyboards with the Black Crowes and currently plays bass for the Cobras. "People in Detroit know their records."

This is certainly true for the Stripes, who pepper shows with Dolly Parton's "Jolene," Meg's rendition of Loretta Lynn's "Rated X," and the menacing, tommy-gun riff of Link Wray's "Jack the Ripper."

Jack explains it this way: "We've never covered a song simply because it would be cool or because we'd seem really obscure for doing so. Certain circles of musicians will all get involved with the same record at the same time, and suddenly it will be cool to like the Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society Village Green Preservation Society for a month. But why didn't people feel that way three years ago? I've always hated the whole idea of record collectors who are obsessed with how obscure something is. Usually when somebody brings up something obscure, I assume it's not very good, because-if it was-I would have heard it already. Record collectors are collecting. They're not really listening to music." for a month. But why didn't people feel that way three years ago? I've always hated the whole idea of record collectors who are obsessed with how obscure something is. Usually when somebody brings up something obscure, I assume it's not very good, because-if it was-I would have heard it already. Record collectors are collecting. They're not really listening to music."

We talk a little longer. But then Jack does something odd: he reaches behind his waist and rips the tag off his black pants. It's the type of weird moment that makes the Stripes so baffling and compelling. In and of itself, it's not exactly mind-blowing that a guy ripped the tag off his pants. But this small, theatrical gesture punctuates Jack's quote better than words ever could. It looks rehearsed, even though that's impossible (it's hard to imagine Jack buys a new pair of trousers for every interview). Yet everything the White Stripes do raises a question. How can two media-savvy kids (posing as brother and sister and wearing Dr. Seuss clothes) represent blood-and-bones Detroit, a city whose greatest resource is asphalt?

"One time I was joking around with Jack," recalls Detroit Cobras guitarist Maribel Restrepo, who lives ten minutes from where Jack resides in southwest Detroit. "And I said, 'If you tell little white lies, they'll only lead to more lies.' And he goes, 'You can't even do that, because the minute you say anything, that's all people will talk about. It gets to where you don't want to say anything.'"

It's not that less is more; it's that less is everything. When Meg White hugs her pillow and tells me that people put more thought into shyness than necessary, I want to play along with her-even though she's lying. It's almost as if we don't want to know the truth about the White Stripes. The lies are much better.