Question Of The Week: Remembered Metal Memento Mentions?
At some point, the goal of a collector is not to experience thrills but to carefully file evidence of them. It’s a self-defeating pursuit, as the collector grows to fetishize the object — the proof — and not the moment that it represents. The weapon, not the murder, as it were. Worse is the type that fitfully displays every autographed disc, each limited edition release, all photos in which they appear next to accommodating artists. That’s interesting for about six seconds.
Still, with no such tendencies to record their moments of proximity to greatness, the rest of us will struggle to coldly discard the cool stuff that reminds us of fun times. We’ll toss it in a box somewhere, thumb it when we’re moving house, and jump start our recall of that time when we partied with that one dude and he barfed down our pants or whatever. So what interesting metal stuff, collectors items, snapshots, and one-of-a-kind junk is in your storage? So asks today’s Question Of The Week!
Inspired by the QOTW that asked for your most cherished metal t-shirt, MetalSucks reader Eli in South Carolina asks:
What is your most beloved metal memento?
Hmm, so many memories. Answers below yayy!
·
LEYLA FORD
T-shirts and the like aren’t as important as they used to be. I donated half of mine so some lucky metalhead can help themselves on their next visit to Goodwill. But I have a board with all sorts of ticket stubs pinned on it. At this point, it’s about five layers and covers the last six or seven years of concert-going.
·
EMPEROR RHOMBUS
My press passes to Wacken Open Air. I was doubting metal after I graduated college in 2007, and going to Wacken re-invigorated my love for the genre. Plus, they were my first press perks. I have tons of photo passes and VIP cards and ticket stubs and whatnot (at least from 2005 on — an awful shrew of an ex stole all my high school stubs), but the Wacken passes are my favorites.
·
AXL ROSENBERG
The first cease and desist MetalSucks ever received from a famous metal musician in 2007. (I think legally speaking I’m still not allowed to say who it is, but I’ll give you a hint: He’s a ginger.) That was the moment I knew we’d “made it,” and I will treasure that threatening fax from an attorney’s office until my dying breath.
·
ANSO DF
Upon their 1999 reunion with guitarist Adrian Smith and singer Bruce Dickinson, I jocked Iron Maiden hard. I blew out a few million column inches with coverage of their first tour, missed no opportunity to run photos of the happy sextet, lurked sweatily at press appearances, locked them in vigorous handshakes and chit chat in backstage areas, and lathered up their handlers with forecasts of an awesome new era. It’s just business, still I was touched to find myself on their Iron Maiden holiday greeting card list. Thanks guys!
·
CAT JONES
I’ve always been into posters more than other memorabilia. I’m sort of a history geek and posters show a snapshot of a band’s past. The most special one I have is an original flyer for the 1994 release of Kyuss’s Sky Valley. It’s a lone, looming California-desert windmill with “On Elektra Compact Discs and Analog Cassettes” scrawled across it. It’s also been an interesting gauge for Kyuss’s recent rise in popularity, as people never used to take notice of it on my wall years ago, and now I hear “HOLY SHIT!” at least once a week.
·
DAVID LEE ROTHMUND
The stench and causticity and pungency of Devin Townsend’s sweat. We shook hands after a Chicago show. He had rocked hard and was 100% drenched. The moment our the skin of our hands touched, this, this, and this happened. He must be fucking post-human, like the Terminator but definitely less Austrian and more Canadian. It was like an aphrodisiac + super guitar-shred prowess juice. I rocked and fucked for about 72 hours straight, no sleep. Then it wore off, the withdrawal was killer. Drugs, man, the worst.
·
EXCRETAKANO
I don’t own a camera. That fact might not seem related to the question, but it speaks to my difficulty in answering it. I’ve always felt that taking time out to snap a pic or ten interrupts the experience, the continuity and flow of just living instead of being hell-bent on future nostalgia. I suppose I feel pretty good about my Duane Denison/Mike Patton-signed Tomahawk CD cover, or the ticket and all-access wristband from the time I spent four days at the end of May taking in an entire Maryland Deathfest from various intense viewpoints. But I’ve never sought out mementos, as such. I’m happy just to have the memories: traveling three hours to Philly with a girl I didn’t know to get metaphysically torn apart at a Neurosis show, and eight years later to be sitting down to coffee with Scott Kelly; falling in tragically unrequited love with Melt Banana’s then-bassist as she savaged an instrument almost bigger than she was; having a dude from Rotting Christ give me a compliment; losing both my hearing and my voice in the front row of Dillinger Escape Plan and Devin Townsend shows. I know – lame answer. Best I can do for now.
·
SERGEANT D
The vial of cristina scabbia’s skin flakes that i’ve collected over the past 9 years.
·
GRIM KIM
I’ve got quite a few treasures tucked away in the moving boxes currently littering the husk of my current apartment, but thanks to this little guy’s permanent place of honor in my jewelry box, I was able to dig it out and snap a photo for this post without going completely bonkers. This silver pendant was among the dozen or so Saint Vitus merch items I was responsible for on the 2011 Metal Alliance tour, and was a gift from Wino. That was a rough tour, and its slow days and manic nights afforded me and the fellas endless opportunities to bond (and to bitch) over whiskey and whathaveyou. I can’t tell you my best stories from that run, but suffice it to say, we had a good time. Having the chance to watch Wino, Chandler, Mark, and Henry absolutely destroy the stage every night was an absolute privilege (even if I was stuck behind a merch table for most of it).
So far I’ve done two US tours with them, and while I’ve chilled out on road-doggin’ for a spell, Saint Vitus and I still cross paths more often than you’d expect, from that time they dedicated “Dying Inside” to me during their Maryland Death Fest performance to an unexpected reunion in Texas a few months back when I was slinging for Orange Goblin. I fuckin’ love ’em, and this is a nice memento of some of the time we’ve spent together. Doomed Forever, Forever Doomed.
·
