Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Lion's Share
After the release of Metallica's debut album, Dave's urge to get the band started -hit the road, record an album- grew even stronger. He didn't have much time, he had to hurry on if he didn't want to fall behind. He wanted to grab the world by the throat and choke all those people who had put him down.
He was still working to get things in shape, anyway, and he couldn't rush the process too much, couldn't risk doing things half-assed. The stakes where too high.
For that reason, Dave kicked Lor out of the band, as the man's excessively laid back attitude only slowed him down; he needed driven people who were willing to work hard.
Junior, for his part, had put himself to work on his skills; the young bass player was developing a new playing style that would fit Dave's music the best. Since Dave wanted a specific look for his band, David also needed a more suiting attire; high top white sneakers and skinny jeans had hence made their way into his wardrobe.
In September, Dave finally found a drummer for the band, a guy named Dijon, met through some friends. The man was quite an eccentric character with a twisted sense of humour, but he could play well and seemed basically harmless, so Dave decided to hire him. Moreover, Dijon lived in a house with a garage, so the band would have a free place to rehearse without any neighbour threatening to call the police.
Dave took Junior to various L.A. clubs whenever there was a metal concert to help him familiarize with the scene. The younger man watched attentively how Dave interacted with other people, and how they reacted to him; he was baffled by the way such an abrasive man could charm the others and make them respect him. It was a know how Junior absolutely wanted to obtain.
It was also time to start spreading around the word that Dave Mustaine was back in the saddle and had a new band; many people remembered him from his Metallica days and were curious to know whether he would be able to match up to his ex-bandmates.
A few weeks later, David was asked to leave his apartment, since it had been provided to him by the Bass Institute, but he hadn't bothered showing up to a single lesson. Around the same time, Dave left his apartment too, because he had jacked in his job and couldn't afford to pay the rent anymore.
Fortunately, the two guys found a friend who accepted to host them for a while as long as they paid for the grocery bills. In any case, Dave slept at Maria's at weekends and the days she worked the afternoon shift, so it wasn't much of a burden.
~*~
Maria parked her car in front of Dijon's house and rang the bell. No noise was coming from the garage, so she assumed the guys had already finished rehearsing.
“Hey, come in.” Dijon greeted her. “Want a drink? I have beer, Jägermeister and... your man has finished the Jack Daniel's.”
“Anything without alcohol in it?”
“Maybe some orange juice. Maybe. Let me check.”
Dave and David were sitting on the couch, drinking as usual. David was chatting about something, not even caring that Dave's attention was elsewhere.
“Maria, hi! I was telling the guys how to walk beans. Do you know how to walk beans? I do. It sucks big hairy balls.” Said David, bursting out in laughter. “Maaan, I'm so glad I'm not gonna spend the rest of my life working in a farm. It's so boring.”
“Have you been smoking something?” Maria asked Junior.
“David is sharing with us his memories as a promising crap shoveller.” Said Dave.
“Dude, not funny!” cried David.
“Well, I've never walked any bean, whatever that means, but I can tell you how to avoid getting knifed on the streets.”
“Right, you're from New York. About that, can I ask you something?” asked Dijon, offering Maria a glass of juice.
“Sure, what do you want to know?”
“New York City. Is it true what they say about it?”
“And what do they say about it?”
“That it's a wretched hellhole.” said Dave. “I went to New York. The state, I mean, to record...”
“Your first album, yes, we know.” Dijon interrupted him.
“But those faggots of your bandmates bent you over and kicked your ass out of the band.” Finished David. “Dude, I know this story by heart now, I could declaim it at a school recital.”
“Whatever.” Grumbled Dave.
Dijon shook his head. “Anyway, I've always been fascinated by the city. Sounds like one of those places where anything can happen.”
“Well, it is as gritty as it comes. Sky-high crime rates, racial tensions, homelessness, widespread poverty and general decline are all noticeable problems.” Maria explained. “On the other hand, New York is a very creative city, exciting and cheap too.”
“Do you like it?”
“Well, I like the general vibe; it's a place for artists and freaks, with such a raw energy. But I don't like the lack of safety, you know, the need to avoid certain areas, to watch out for muggers and be always vigilant. And the pimps, the prostitutes and the junkies, my god, and the overall ugliness and decay, those are things I certainly don't miss. I know it sounds contradictory, but that's how I feel about it.”
“It sounds exciting to me.”
“If you like the underbelly of society, then it is. Some people love it for this very reason. They like the sleaze and the danger.”
“Is it true that there was a serial killer a few years ago?”
“Yes, the Son of Sam.”
“And that happened around the same time a blackout affected the city for an entire day, right?”
“Yes, that too. And it was during a dreadfully hot summer too. People went crazy; they plundered, rioted and vandalized the city.”
“Man, that must have been so fucking cool.” said Dijon in awe, “A serial killer on the loose during a blackout and people causing mayhem on the streets. ”
“Uh, no, it wasn't. It was scary as hell, actually.” Maria replied. “We're not talking about a movie, this things happened for real.”
David listened to the conversation quietly. He couldn't imagine what growing up and living in such a scary, dangerous place would be like. It had already been a shock for him moving to L.A., which had its fair share of street crime. He hated feeling like a country simpleton, a kid who wasn't street smart and tough enough for the real thing.
~*~
“Nineteen? Are you sure?”
“Totally. Just give me the bottle.”
“You know, if we're going bar hopping, you better not get drunk now.”
“I won't, I can hold my alcohol.” said David, filling his glass with a shot of tequila. It was his birthday and he wanted to celebrate getting absolutely wasted.
The first five shots went down well; at the sixth, David grimaced, at the tenth, he felt nauseous and his hands started shaking. At the thirteenth, he fell down the chair and threw up on Dijon's floor.
“Fuck! Not here, you dipshit!” growled Dijon, dragging David to the bathroom. “Here, stay next to the toilet.”
“Hey man, it matches the rug.” said Dave laughing.
“Fuck, help me clean this shit.”
“No way, this is your house, not mine. Ask Junior.”
“Please, you know he's gonna spend the rest of the night hugging the crapper. So much for partying wild.”
“Too bad for him. I had even brought him a little present.” said Dave, as he took out a little plastic bag from his jacket.
“You can always give it to him tomorrow, you know.”replied Dijon, cleaning the rug with a paper towel.
“Fuck it; since we cannot leave him alone, at least let's have some fun.”
The morning after, David woke up feeling like shit; he rolled on his back on the bathroom floor and groaned. ”No more tequila. Ever.”
“Good decision, stick to vodka, it's healthier. Now, if you're done making out with the toilet bowl, I have to pee.” Dave brusquely pulled Junior up to his feet, making the younger man's head spin.
“Oww, fuck!”
“Go drink some water and stop whining.” said Dave, pushing Junior out of the bathroom.
“Happy Birthday to me.” Murmured David before sliding down the floor.
David was lying on Dijon's couch, still trying to recover from his bad hangover, while Dave and Dijon were having lunch.
“Sure you don't want some? It'll help you recover quicker.”
David shook his head, even though the other guys couldn't see him, and moaned.
“Shit, kid sounds like a wounded puppy.” said Dijon. “Keep drinking your water, you big baby.”
The noise of a key unlocking the front door interrupted the guys. A man that neither Dave nor David had ever seen before came into the house, carrying a bass guitar over his shoulder.
“Hey man, what's up?” said the guy, greeting Dijon.
“Uh, hey, it's fine, these are Dave and David, my bandmates. I told you about them, remember?”
“Cool. Hi guys!”
Dave looked at Dijon and saw that he was totally uncomfortable; he was biting his lips and rubbing his palms on his thighs. Who's this stranger, and why is Dijon so scared of him?
“Hey man, aren't you going to introduce us?” asked Dave.
“Oh, I'm Cain. I'm Dijon's brother.” the guy said.
“His brother?! But...” Dave looked at his drummer, who stared at the floor, sweating.
“Ye... yes. He is... he's my brother.” Mumbled Dijon. Dave eyed him with all the contempt and disgust he could muster.
“Junior, get up, we're leaving.”
“But...”
“No buts, get up.” Dave ordered sternly.
The two guys hopped on David's van and left; Dave drove brusquely, insulting the other drivers and the pedestrians.
“What the hell is your problem?” asked David.
“Haven't you seen Dijon's brother? He's black.”
“So? Does it bother you?”
“No, but it bothers Dijon. Remember that he told us he was Spanish? “It's always so sunny here in L.A., Maria, we're so lucky to have such a Mediterranean complexion.” What a bullshitter.”
“Oh yeah. Oh...”
“Fuck him, he's out of the band.”
“Come on, I'm sure he had his reasons to...”
“To lie to us?” Dave sneered. “Yeah, sure, like being ashamed of his ancestry.”
“Maybe he thought we were racist.”
“First, that's quite a wild assumption to make; second, if he thought that, why did he join our band? How can a person have such an utter lack of self-respect?”
“And you want to sack him for this?”
“I refuse to play with a cowardly liar. I need men who can trust me and whom I can trust.”
David nodded silently. “So, this is not the right time to tell you that once I was a woman, right?”
Dave glared at him.
“Thought so.” grinned David.
He was still working to get things in shape, anyway, and he couldn't rush the process too much, couldn't risk doing things half-assed. The stakes where too high.
For that reason, Dave kicked Lor out of the band, as the man's excessively laid back attitude only slowed him down; he needed driven people who were willing to work hard.
Junior, for his part, had put himself to work on his skills; the young bass player was developing a new playing style that would fit Dave's music the best. Since Dave wanted a specific look for his band, David also needed a more suiting attire; high top white sneakers and skinny jeans had hence made their way into his wardrobe.
In September, Dave finally found a drummer for the band, a guy named Dijon, met through some friends. The man was quite an eccentric character with a twisted sense of humour, but he could play well and seemed basically harmless, so Dave decided to hire him. Moreover, Dijon lived in a house with a garage, so the band would have a free place to rehearse without any neighbour threatening to call the police.
Dave took Junior to various L.A. clubs whenever there was a metal concert to help him familiarize with the scene. The younger man watched attentively how Dave interacted with other people, and how they reacted to him; he was baffled by the way such an abrasive man could charm the others and make them respect him. It was a know how Junior absolutely wanted to obtain.
It was also time to start spreading around the word that Dave Mustaine was back in the saddle and had a new band; many people remembered him from his Metallica days and were curious to know whether he would be able to match up to his ex-bandmates.
A few weeks later, David was asked to leave his apartment, since it had been provided to him by the Bass Institute, but he hadn't bothered showing up to a single lesson. Around the same time, Dave left his apartment too, because he had jacked in his job and couldn't afford to pay the rent anymore.
Fortunately, the two guys found a friend who accepted to host them for a while as long as they paid for the grocery bills. In any case, Dave slept at Maria's at weekends and the days she worked the afternoon shift, so it wasn't much of a burden.
~*~
Maria parked her car in front of Dijon's house and rang the bell. No noise was coming from the garage, so she assumed the guys had already finished rehearsing.
“Hey, come in.” Dijon greeted her. “Want a drink? I have beer, Jägermeister and... your man has finished the Jack Daniel's.”
“Anything without alcohol in it?”
“Maybe some orange juice. Maybe. Let me check.”
Dave and David were sitting on the couch, drinking as usual. David was chatting about something, not even caring that Dave's attention was elsewhere.
“Maria, hi! I was telling the guys how to walk beans. Do you know how to walk beans? I do. It sucks big hairy balls.” Said David, bursting out in laughter. “Maaan, I'm so glad I'm not gonna spend the rest of my life working in a farm. It's so boring.”
“Have you been smoking something?” Maria asked Junior.
“David is sharing with us his memories as a promising crap shoveller.” Said Dave.
“Dude, not funny!” cried David.
“Well, I've never walked any bean, whatever that means, but I can tell you how to avoid getting knifed on the streets.”
“Right, you're from New York. About that, can I ask you something?” asked Dijon, offering Maria a glass of juice.
“Sure, what do you want to know?”
“New York City. Is it true what they say about it?”
“And what do they say about it?”
“That it's a wretched hellhole.” said Dave. “I went to New York. The state, I mean, to record...”
“Your first album, yes, we know.” Dijon interrupted him.
“But those faggots of your bandmates bent you over and kicked your ass out of the band.” Finished David. “Dude, I know this story by heart now, I could declaim it at a school recital.”
“Whatever.” Grumbled Dave.
Dijon shook his head. “Anyway, I've always been fascinated by the city. Sounds like one of those places where anything can happen.”
“Well, it is as gritty as it comes. Sky-high crime rates, racial tensions, homelessness, widespread poverty and general decline are all noticeable problems.” Maria explained. “On the other hand, New York is a very creative city, exciting and cheap too.”
“Do you like it?”
“Well, I like the general vibe; it's a place for artists and freaks, with such a raw energy. But I don't like the lack of safety, you know, the need to avoid certain areas, to watch out for muggers and be always vigilant. And the pimps, the prostitutes and the junkies, my god, and the overall ugliness and decay, those are things I certainly don't miss. I know it sounds contradictory, but that's how I feel about it.”
“It sounds exciting to me.”
“If you like the underbelly of society, then it is. Some people love it for this very reason. They like the sleaze and the danger.”
“Is it true that there was a serial killer a few years ago?”
“Yes, the Son of Sam.”
“And that happened around the same time a blackout affected the city for an entire day, right?”
“Yes, that too. And it was during a dreadfully hot summer too. People went crazy; they plundered, rioted and vandalized the city.”
“Man, that must have been so fucking cool.” said Dijon in awe, “A serial killer on the loose during a blackout and people causing mayhem on the streets. ”
“Uh, no, it wasn't. It was scary as hell, actually.” Maria replied. “We're not talking about a movie, this things happened for real.”
David listened to the conversation quietly. He couldn't imagine what growing up and living in such a scary, dangerous place would be like. It had already been a shock for him moving to L.A., which had its fair share of street crime. He hated feeling like a country simpleton, a kid who wasn't street smart and tough enough for the real thing.
~*~
“Nineteen? Are you sure?”
“Totally. Just give me the bottle.”
“You know, if we're going bar hopping, you better not get drunk now.”
“I won't, I can hold my alcohol.” said David, filling his glass with a shot of tequila. It was his birthday and he wanted to celebrate getting absolutely wasted.
The first five shots went down well; at the sixth, David grimaced, at the tenth, he felt nauseous and his hands started shaking. At the thirteenth, he fell down the chair and threw up on Dijon's floor.
“Fuck! Not here, you dipshit!” growled Dijon, dragging David to the bathroom. “Here, stay next to the toilet.”
“Hey man, it matches the rug.” said Dave laughing.
“Fuck, help me clean this shit.”
“No way, this is your house, not mine. Ask Junior.”
“Please, you know he's gonna spend the rest of the night hugging the crapper. So much for partying wild.”
“Too bad for him. I had even brought him a little present.” said Dave, as he took out a little plastic bag from his jacket.
“You can always give it to him tomorrow, you know.”replied Dijon, cleaning the rug with a paper towel.
“Fuck it; since we cannot leave him alone, at least let's have some fun.”
The morning after, David woke up feeling like shit; he rolled on his back on the bathroom floor and groaned. ”No more tequila. Ever.”
“Good decision, stick to vodka, it's healthier. Now, if you're done making out with the toilet bowl, I have to pee.” Dave brusquely pulled Junior up to his feet, making the younger man's head spin.
“Oww, fuck!”
“Go drink some water and stop whining.” said Dave, pushing Junior out of the bathroom.
“Happy Birthday to me.” Murmured David before sliding down the floor.
David was lying on Dijon's couch, still trying to recover from his bad hangover, while Dave and Dijon were having lunch.
“Sure you don't want some? It'll help you recover quicker.”
David shook his head, even though the other guys couldn't see him, and moaned.
“Shit, kid sounds like a wounded puppy.” said Dijon. “Keep drinking your water, you big baby.”
The noise of a key unlocking the front door interrupted the guys. A man that neither Dave nor David had ever seen before came into the house, carrying a bass guitar over his shoulder.
“Hey man, what's up?” said the guy, greeting Dijon.
“Uh, hey, it's fine, these are Dave and David, my bandmates. I told you about them, remember?”
“Cool. Hi guys!”
Dave looked at Dijon and saw that he was totally uncomfortable; he was biting his lips and rubbing his palms on his thighs. Who's this stranger, and why is Dijon so scared of him?
“Hey man, aren't you going to introduce us?” asked Dave.
“Oh, I'm Cain. I'm Dijon's brother.” the guy said.
“His brother?! But...” Dave looked at his drummer, who stared at the floor, sweating.
“Ye... yes. He is... he's my brother.” Mumbled Dijon. Dave eyed him with all the contempt and disgust he could muster.
“Junior, get up, we're leaving.”
“But...”
“No buts, get up.” Dave ordered sternly.
The two guys hopped on David's van and left; Dave drove brusquely, insulting the other drivers and the pedestrians.
“What the hell is your problem?” asked David.
“Haven't you seen Dijon's brother? He's black.”
“So? Does it bother you?”
“No, but it bothers Dijon. Remember that he told us he was Spanish? “It's always so sunny here in L.A., Maria, we're so lucky to have such a Mediterranean complexion.” What a bullshitter.”
“Oh yeah. Oh...”
“Fuck him, he's out of the band.”
“Come on, I'm sure he had his reasons to...”
“To lie to us?” Dave sneered. “Yeah, sure, like being ashamed of his ancestry.”
“Maybe he thought we were racist.”
“First, that's quite a wild assumption to make; second, if he thought that, why did he join our band? How can a person have such an utter lack of self-respect?”
“And you want to sack him for this?”
“I refuse to play with a cowardly liar. I need men who can trust me and whom I can trust.”
David nodded silently. “So, this is not the right time to tell you that once I was a woman, right?”
Dave glared at him.
“Thought so.” grinned David.
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