A Scene from William Shakespeare’s Metallica
Act III, Scene II
Enter Chorus
CHORUS
And sorrowf’lly, the Nineties came to pass
Where grunge was king, and all were filled with woe
The hearty cry of ‘Metal up your ass’
Was deemed antiquity, and bid to go.
Now witness, as the cohorts reach new heights
Of mainstream recognition and success
They find themselves besieged by sleepless nights
Dogged by their hungry label and the press
So watch, dear viewer, how it came to be
That these four horsemen fought for rel’vancy
Enter Ulrich and Hammett.
ULRICH:
You reject my offer too rashly, Kirk. Be ruled by me.
HAMMETT:
Nay, damned Dane, methinks thou hast come under the rule of a darker master!
ULRICH:
Claimst thou the Devil takes my soul? Leave such subjects for Slayer, old friend. My belief rests in our world, the world of men in which we travel. I only consider our continued providence.
HAMMETT:
Must our success come at such a cost as my mane? Must you play our Delilah? This is not the Ulrich I knew, servitor in fandom to the King of Diamond and percussive tyrant of L’Amours.
ULRICH:
I knowst well my history, Hammett, and of that I bear no shame. But we no longer wage sonic war on lesser-known battlefields, joined by inexperienced armies. Your time in Exodus is long-gone. Ours are the arenas, the soaring levels of balconies high above the groundlings!
HAMMETT:
Yes, and our followers flock there, though our hair be unfashionable!
ULRICH:
They may, for now! But as our parish grows, so join with it those with little true faith, whose adoration rests on our infamy. Even now, in Seattle and Los Angeles, armies Grungéd and Nu build their ranks, their hair bleach-dyed and gel-spiked. How long before their claims that our hair is antiquated reach the masses, swaying feeble minds and casting us into the pit of Wherefore Art They Now? As the times change, so must we. A considerable mane aligns itself with the popularity of Glam, best forgotten. Would you join those foul ranks?
HAMMETT:
Your point is palpable, and I dare not deny that our recent popularity has well benefitted my purse. Yet still, I am uneasy. But see, here comes Hetfield, fresh from the dressing room! He will side with my cause.
Enter Hetfield, shorn.
HAMMETT:
O! What sight is this?
ULRICH:
That of a man who sees his destiny ahead!
HAMMETT:
Sweet Hetfield, thou casteth off thy mane willingly?
HETFIELD:
Yea!
HAMMETT:
But why? Amongst our ranks, none flew their wild follicles as did you!
HETFIELD:
Yea! And with great relish did I do so. And yet, as time moves on, I would not see us return from bus to van, to drink vodka not from the top shelf yet from the well. I see that our survival relies on moving with the rapid currents of music at large.
HAMMETT:
Music at large! But are we not metal?
HETFIELD:
Yea, how then, friend! Can metal set a leg? No. Can metal heal a pyrotechnic burn wound? No. What is metal? A word. What is in metal, that make it metal? Air. ‘Tis insensible then? Yea, to the forgotten. Metal is naught more than a gravestone, and so ends my catechism. Yea, our future, that of halls with all seats sold and paid-off mortgages, must be snatched up while it is still available to us! Our manes must go!
Cliff Burton’s Ghost appears above.
GHOST:
O sight! What compromise is this! Lord above, if only my voice could reach their ears!
HAMMETT:
Though it goes against my heart, the strength of thy logic overwhelms me.
ULRICH:
See’st thou now, Kirk, that our schemes are made only in tribute to one another. Our counsel saw the banishment of the vile Mustaine, and that brought you into our ranks. Is it not equally just here?
GHOST:
Be not overwhelmed, Prince Hammett! Take battle against this noxious cause!
HAMMETT:
My issue with your suggestion was born of harsh emotion, Lars. Perhaps I must consider this once more.
HETFIELD:
You are sensible, my brother. Make haste in losing your mane.
Enter Newstead.
NEWSTEAD:
Yo, guys, what were you thinking for lunch?
ULRICH:
Away, Newstead, thou villain! No recently-acquired mercenary has sway here! Lucky you obtain the pittance we bestow upon you!
NEWSTEAD:
Geez, all right.
Exit Newstead.
HAMMETT:
Very well, my brothers. Your conviction has always steered me well before.
HETFIELD:
Yea!
HAMMETT:
Lead, me then. Let the stylist use his shears to transform my mane into that of a relevant rocker!
ULRICH:
‘Tis well! Come, brother, we will make a model of you yet.
HAMMETT:
I am prepared! Lead the way.
Exeunt all but Ghost.
GHOST:
Oh, fickle mistress Fame! What has thou done?
With venom as that of the vilest toad,
Thou poison my ex-bandmates, one by one
And send them on the rocky path to Load
At your stern hand must I behold their fall?
You are the master of we puppets, all!
End.
