Rock and roll is important to metal. It supplies the skeleton around which the great foaming heavy metal beast wraps it’s talons and sinks ‘em in. Take note, fledgling musicians, and don’t forget to play from the gut. It’s great to be precise like a gawddamn surgeon and all, but don’t leave the danger out of there.
My blood still skyrockets when I hear Keith Moon’s wild wildebeest drumming. It sounds like the toms and cymbals are raining down on my poor skull, threatening to crack it open and reveal my very inner rock and roll thoughts that generate amazingly brilliant spew, such as this. Then I think of how ineffective it would have been if it was sampled, triggered and click tracked up to a zenith of sterility.
Yep, you’ve heard it a million times, but next time you hear “My Generation,” try to imagine it all robotic-like with no riskiness to be found anywhere. Do the same with the John Bonham performance of your choice. Yeecchh!
For those of you who scoff at rock and roll, this thought may not disturb you, but it really should. I will freely admit there are plenty of records I like that take the “spit-shined to perfection” route, but there’s always that nagging voice in the back of my head that says “How would this sound if it WASN’T computer-perfected and the safety net was stripped away?” What if I KNEW the instrumentation captured therein was being created by a sheer will to attack, rip and slay?
It’s entirely possible that I’m in the minority on this, of course, and this could just be the wistful ramblings of a sick bastard who still can’t stop picking up the nearest pen or pencil and tapping away at whatever flat surface is convenient, successfully annoying anyone within earshot. Quite possible indeed. Tap…take that!…Crack…and that!…Whack!…and that!
Maybe I’ll figure out a way to trigger pencil tapping and make a fortune with my incredible new invention. I’d also like to master my bodily functions once and for all and sample the perfect fart sound which will be utilized until my dying day. Don’t want to let any incorrect sounding gaseous expulsions out into an already fragile and weary world.
Until that revolutionary day arrives, I’ll just put on The Kids Are Alright and watch Keith destroy his drum kit with blasting powder, insane kicks, madman throws and even drumsticks. I’ll save a seat for you if you’re feeling crazy…