Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Ripe
1989
I immediately realized how different touring with Metallica was in comparison to what I was used. They had a huge road crew, much more people than I had ever worked with, and were super organized; they could afford goods and services my scruffy band could only have dreamt of. Metallica had always been on the cutting edge of thrash metal, but it was only after ‘Master of Puppets’ that they became one of the most important bands in metal and started making real money. But since heavy metal wasn’t a mainstream kind of music (except for the glam/hair scene), they still could walk around a city without being harassed by fans; it was the ideal situation, a perfect balance between fame & money and the advantages of anonymity.
Being Jason’s roadie was a very physical job since he needed a shitload of stuff, but I enjoyed it a lot, it gave me the incredible opportunity to watch Metallica from behind the scenes; they were a real war machine on stage, they would put every shred of energy they had into their performances, and made the audience go wild. It took me little time to familiarize with my new duties and with the crew, especially with the other techs, who were very nice and friendly; I was the only woman in the crew but, working in the metal scene, I was used to that. In return, there never was a lack of groupies; since James and Lars were particularly fond of them, those girls were all over the place.
I had never put too much thought into groupies, but during the months I spent on tour with Metallica, I had the opportunity to observe them and I quickly realized that they were quite a mixed bag. Some idolized the guys as if they were gods and looked at them in awe, just to get disappointed when they realized it was all about a few nights of wild fun; some were almost romantic in the way they considered themselves as ‘inspiring muses’, thinking they really meant something to the band, but more often than not reality punched them in the face; others came in with an idealized picture of the rock’n’roll life in their minds and wanted to become part of the cool scene and brag around about it (and flatter themselves way too much). Some were there for the wild parties and to fuck some famous dudes, like getting into a rock star’s pants was the biggest accomplishment of their lives.
I was the reluctant witness of utterly embarrassing scenes; it was so obscene, so dissolute the way many of those girls behaved that I felt like a puritan. They were ready to do everything to get backstage, from servicing the crew to cat-fighting each other to catch some attention; metaphorically speaking, they were like dogs rolling over and wiggling their tails in hope to receive a scratch on the head. In their eagerness to get noticed by the boys, they would have sold their mothers to the circus if that could have helped. It made me wonder if they suffered of a serious case of low self-esteem; being around them could be somewhat alienating.
Anyway, there were also a few smart, self-respecting girls who approached the band on equal ground, without any deference. It wasn’t arrogance, just an honest demand for respect: “We love you and your music, but don’t think of us as prostitutes who are here just to serve you.”
Although I avoided getting into fights with anybody, those were the only kind of groupies I liked talking to; it was actually nice to speak with other women, the big sausage fest could get tiring.
“We are gonna have some good time together and then part our ways and that’s the deal.” One of them once said to me.“And there’s nothing wrong with that, but some of these famous musicians are surrounded by so many women, they get on their high horse and start considering groupies as disposable products to use the way they want without any consideration.”
“But lots of groupies are so subservient, it’s disgusting; it’s like they are asking for being walked all over.”
“And lots of musicians are so conceited they only deserve another crack in their asses. They just like to assert their power: “I’m the big rock star, bow down and worship me!”” Vicki, that was her name, looked sternly at me. “The way you handle yourself influences the way the others act toward you, and these girls may be dumb as bricks in their blind hero worship, but that doesn’t justify the borderline abusive behavior I’ve witnessed from some rock stars. Some of them groupies are just naïve little girls, others are shrewd attention seekers, but if you find them unpleasant –and boy, lots of them sure are– don’t hook up with them, but don’t take advantage of them either. This is about basic decency.”
I suddenly felt ashamed. Was I being too haughty and judgmental? Suddenly, a memory from a few years ago came up to my mind.
‘“Don’t say that, it’s nothing like that!” exclaimed Cliff.
“What’s wrong? I just wanted to know what it feels like to be a rock star.” Connie, Cliff’s sister, asked him.
“I am no fucking rock star! A rock star is a holier-than-thou, worship-my-golden-ass megalomaniac fuckwit. If I ever start to act all high-and-mighty, like I’m above the rules of the normal mortals, entitled to get everything I want, smack me on the head with my bass. Repeatedly.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that, my lovely, pompous ass.”’
“April, are you ok?” I blinked. Vicki was shaking her hand in front of my face. “You zoned out for a minute.”
“No, sorry, I’m ok. Just a flashback.” I muttered. “But, you know, I don’t think I could ever be a groupie, I would be too worried to fall into the wrong hands.”
“There’s always the risk of getting burned. Never had a bad bed partner?” She asked. I shook my head.
“However, I understand your lack of sympathy for us groupies, you get a lot of nasty looks flashed at you since you make Kirk off limits.”
“Oh, I’m sure the rest of the band is more than willing to cover his part.”
“Sure thing.” She grinned. “Hey, you too were in a band, by the way. Tell me, do male groupies exist?”
“Guys who want to fuck you specifically because you play in a band they like and they admire you? Oh, they exist.” I chuckled. “But those who state it clearly are a rarity. Usually, male fans are very polite and drop hints that they like you but let you be the one to decide whether to initiate something or not; they don’t want to look like they are assaulting you. Think of a bunch of guys throwing themselves at you, doesn’t it sound like a… ‘rape scenario’?”
“Yeah, I guess that the dynamics between men and women are different. Did you ever…”
“Cheat on Kirk? No, never, unless you count…” Vicki raised an eyebrow.
“Some fans like to have their body parts signed, right? Well, I met a few guys who wanted me to sign… their dicks.”
“Oh God, seriously?” she laughed.
“Yeah, and sometimes they were hard! But I wouldn’t touch them, the guys held them in their hands as I signed them.”
In general, Metallica liked to live a debauched live on the road, filled with alcohol, sex and wild parties. I already knew that, obviously, but it surprised me how they could keep up with it and still be able to get on stage and perform like real professionals, and I started to wonder if the typical rock’n’roll life suited me, after all. Of course I had experienced some of that with Geryon and the other bands we had toured with –we had even managed to get kicked out of a couple of hotels– but all in all, we hadn’t been a band of many excesses; we didn’t care about it and we wouldn’t have survived a week.
In any case, I wasn’t a shrinking violet, so I didn’t spend my time scared, hiding in a corner or waiting for Kirk to come to me and latch on to him; despite some awkwardness, I still had my share of fun.
˜΅˜
Kirk slouched next to me on the couch with an idiotic grin plastered on his face. “Baaabe, you fine, feels so good when we kiss, nobody ever made me crazy like this.”
“Kirk, what’s that, are you ok, what’s in your drink?”
He snorted and brushed his face on my shoulder, “Ah, I’m trying to seduce you, babe, some collaboration would be app… appresh… appric…” his voice trailed off, as he couldn’t form the words. “Babe, wanna fuck?”
At that point, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, followed by James and Jason. Kirk looked at me scorned, so I calmed myself down and kissed him on the lips.
“Quirk, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can get it up after all that alcohol you ingested.”
“What?! You should know me better, as long as I’m not passed out, I can deliver all the goods.”
“All the goods, yes, but that can wait until tomorrow. Right now, we should just go to sleep.”
“You are no fun.” He grumbled, folding his arms.
“Oh, darling, have I insulted your manliness? You know that you are my stud.” I said, tiptoeing on his chest with my fingers.
“Cheer up, Hammett, and remember: if anything else in your life fails, you can always cling to the fact that your dick is bigger than Lars’s.” Said James.
“Hey!” Snapped Lars, his attention suddenly diverted from the two groupies next to him.
I rolled my eyes, “Big deal, anything smaller could only be classified as clitoris.”
“Hey, how do you know that?” Kirk asked indignantly.
“Everybody knows that, he whips it out at any given time.”
“Ok, you motherfuckers are dead. You hear me? Dead!” Said Lars, jumping up. We all roared in laughter as the little drummer tried to hit James, who just lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing, dickhead! Let me the fuck down!” screamed Lars, kicking and twisting, trying to get free.
“Come on girls, follow us. This gonna be good.” Said James, marching out of the room, followed by the groupies.
“Uh, guys, what is James up to?” I asked.
“I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. And I think that goes for the three of us.”
“Yeah, you are right.”
I immediately realized how different touring with Metallica was in comparison to what I was used. They had a huge road crew, much more people than I had ever worked with, and were super organized; they could afford goods and services my scruffy band could only have dreamt of. Metallica had always been on the cutting edge of thrash metal, but it was only after ‘Master of Puppets’ that they became one of the most important bands in metal and started making real money. But since heavy metal wasn’t a mainstream kind of music (except for the glam/hair scene), they still could walk around a city without being harassed by fans; it was the ideal situation, a perfect balance between fame & money and the advantages of anonymity.
Being Jason’s roadie was a very physical job since he needed a shitload of stuff, but I enjoyed it a lot, it gave me the incredible opportunity to watch Metallica from behind the scenes; they were a real war machine on stage, they would put every shred of energy they had into their performances, and made the audience go wild. It took me little time to familiarize with my new duties and with the crew, especially with the other techs, who were very nice and friendly; I was the only woman in the crew but, working in the metal scene, I was used to that. In return, there never was a lack of groupies; since James and Lars were particularly fond of them, those girls were all over the place.
I had never put too much thought into groupies, but during the months I spent on tour with Metallica, I had the opportunity to observe them and I quickly realized that they were quite a mixed bag. Some idolized the guys as if they were gods and looked at them in awe, just to get disappointed when they realized it was all about a few nights of wild fun; some were almost romantic in the way they considered themselves as ‘inspiring muses’, thinking they really meant something to the band, but more often than not reality punched them in the face; others came in with an idealized picture of the rock’n’roll life in their minds and wanted to become part of the cool scene and brag around about it (and flatter themselves way too much). Some were there for the wild parties and to fuck some famous dudes, like getting into a rock star’s pants was the biggest accomplishment of their lives.
I was the reluctant witness of utterly embarrassing scenes; it was so obscene, so dissolute the way many of those girls behaved that I felt like a puritan. They were ready to do everything to get backstage, from servicing the crew to cat-fighting each other to catch some attention; metaphorically speaking, they were like dogs rolling over and wiggling their tails in hope to receive a scratch on the head. In their eagerness to get noticed by the boys, they would have sold their mothers to the circus if that could have helped. It made me wonder if they suffered of a serious case of low self-esteem; being around them could be somewhat alienating.
Anyway, there were also a few smart, self-respecting girls who approached the band on equal ground, without any deference. It wasn’t arrogance, just an honest demand for respect: “We love you and your music, but don’t think of us as prostitutes who are here just to serve you.”
Although I avoided getting into fights with anybody, those were the only kind of groupies I liked talking to; it was actually nice to speak with other women, the big sausage fest could get tiring.
“We are gonna have some good time together and then part our ways and that’s the deal.” One of them once said to me.“And there’s nothing wrong with that, but some of these famous musicians are surrounded by so many women, they get on their high horse and start considering groupies as disposable products to use the way they want without any consideration.”
“But lots of groupies are so subservient, it’s disgusting; it’s like they are asking for being walked all over.”
“And lots of musicians are so conceited they only deserve another crack in their asses. They just like to assert their power: “I’m the big rock star, bow down and worship me!”” Vicki, that was her name, looked sternly at me. “The way you handle yourself influences the way the others act toward you, and these girls may be dumb as bricks in their blind hero worship, but that doesn’t justify the borderline abusive behavior I’ve witnessed from some rock stars. Some of them groupies are just naïve little girls, others are shrewd attention seekers, but if you find them unpleasant –and boy, lots of them sure are– don’t hook up with them, but don’t take advantage of them either. This is about basic decency.”
I suddenly felt ashamed. Was I being too haughty and judgmental? Suddenly, a memory from a few years ago came up to my mind.
‘“Don’t say that, it’s nothing like that!” exclaimed Cliff.
“What’s wrong? I just wanted to know what it feels like to be a rock star.” Connie, Cliff’s sister, asked him.
“I am no fucking rock star! A rock star is a holier-than-thou, worship-my-golden-ass megalomaniac fuckwit. If I ever start to act all high-and-mighty, like I’m above the rules of the normal mortals, entitled to get everything I want, smack me on the head with my bass. Repeatedly.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that, my lovely, pompous ass.”’
“April, are you ok?” I blinked. Vicki was shaking her hand in front of my face. “You zoned out for a minute.”
“No, sorry, I’m ok. Just a flashback.” I muttered. “But, you know, I don’t think I could ever be a groupie, I would be too worried to fall into the wrong hands.”
“There’s always the risk of getting burned. Never had a bad bed partner?” She asked. I shook my head.
“However, I understand your lack of sympathy for us groupies, you get a lot of nasty looks flashed at you since you make Kirk off limits.”
“Oh, I’m sure the rest of the band is more than willing to cover his part.”
“Sure thing.” She grinned. “Hey, you too were in a band, by the way. Tell me, do male groupies exist?”
“Guys who want to fuck you specifically because you play in a band they like and they admire you? Oh, they exist.” I chuckled. “But those who state it clearly are a rarity. Usually, male fans are very polite and drop hints that they like you but let you be the one to decide whether to initiate something or not; they don’t want to look like they are assaulting you. Think of a bunch of guys throwing themselves at you, doesn’t it sound like a… ‘rape scenario’?”
“Yeah, I guess that the dynamics between men and women are different. Did you ever…”
“Cheat on Kirk? No, never, unless you count…” Vicki raised an eyebrow.
“Some fans like to have their body parts signed, right? Well, I met a few guys who wanted me to sign… their dicks.”
“Oh God, seriously?” she laughed.
“Yeah, and sometimes they were hard! But I wouldn’t touch them, the guys held them in their hands as I signed them.”
In general, Metallica liked to live a debauched live on the road, filled with alcohol, sex and wild parties. I already knew that, obviously, but it surprised me how they could keep up with it and still be able to get on stage and perform like real professionals, and I started to wonder if the typical rock’n’roll life suited me, after all. Of course I had experienced some of that with Geryon and the other bands we had toured with –we had even managed to get kicked out of a couple of hotels– but all in all, we hadn’t been a band of many excesses; we didn’t care about it and we wouldn’t have survived a week.
In any case, I wasn’t a shrinking violet, so I didn’t spend my time scared, hiding in a corner or waiting for Kirk to come to me and latch on to him; despite some awkwardness, I still had my share of fun.
˜΅˜
Kirk slouched next to me on the couch with an idiotic grin plastered on his face. “Baaabe, you fine, feels so good when we kiss, nobody ever made me crazy like this.”
“Kirk, what’s that, are you ok, what’s in your drink?”
He snorted and brushed his face on my shoulder, “Ah, I’m trying to seduce you, babe, some collaboration would be app… appresh… appric…” his voice trailed off, as he couldn’t form the words. “Babe, wanna fuck?”
At that point, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, followed by James and Jason. Kirk looked at me scorned, so I calmed myself down and kissed him on the lips.
“Quirk, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can get it up after all that alcohol you ingested.”
“What?! You should know me better, as long as I’m not passed out, I can deliver all the goods.”
“All the goods, yes, but that can wait until tomorrow. Right now, we should just go to sleep.”
“You are no fun.” He grumbled, folding his arms.
“Oh, darling, have I insulted your manliness? You know that you are my stud.” I said, tiptoeing on his chest with my fingers.
“Cheer up, Hammett, and remember: if anything else in your life fails, you can always cling to the fact that your dick is bigger than Lars’s.” Said James.
“Hey!” Snapped Lars, his attention suddenly diverted from the two groupies next to him.
I rolled my eyes, “Big deal, anything smaller could only be classified as clitoris.”
“Hey, how do you know that?” Kirk asked indignantly.
“Everybody knows that, he whips it out at any given time.”
“Ok, you motherfuckers are dead. You hear me? Dead!” Said Lars, jumping up. We all roared in laughter as the little drummer tried to hit James, who just lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing, dickhead! Let me the fuck down!” screamed Lars, kicking and twisting, trying to get free.
“Come on girls, follow us. This gonna be good.” Said James, marching out of the room, followed by the groupies.
“Uh, guys, what is James up to?” I asked.
“I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. And I think that goes for the three of us.”
“Yeah, you are right.”
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