Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Lion's Share
David slammed shut the apartment door, crossed the living room and plopped on the couch face down. Maria wasn't home and she wouldn't be for at least a couple of hours, so he had some time alone to get a little rest.
That day he had gone with Dave to meet the representatives of Enigma Record, a small but strong independent label, to strike a deal with them. Unluckily, things hadn't worked out and Dave and David had left in a fool mood after another missed occasion. They both were more than impatient to record their first album and go on a big tour around the U.S., but even though the band was being courted by various record companies, they had yet to find the ideal label. Dave was adamant that he didn't want to sign a crappy contract, but the situation never seemed to be just right enough for him.
When Maria came back home, it was almost dinnertime and David was still sleeping on the couch. She shook him gently to wake him up, and asked him if they had achieved anything good with Enigma Record. From the sour expression on his face, the young woman realized that the meeting hadn't been successful.
“Don't let it get you down.” She said. “There's quite a number of record labels that have put their eyes on your band. Tomorrow I'll contact Combat Records and ask them for an appointment.”
“The fact is... it's getting frustrating, you know? Why does it have to be so hard to find a decent label?”
“Don't worry, you're gonna sign this goddamn contract, I'm sure of that.” Maria said, patting Junior's shoulder. “Come on now, help me prepare dinner.”
As they ate, David gave vent to his frustrations and Maria listened to him. The young woman was relieved that all the bass player needed was someone to give ear to him; she always was embarrassed when she had to comfort people, even though she tried her best. It was mainly because she was afraid to say the wrong thing or come out with clumsy trivialities, thus she struggled to find the right words.
“Listen, today I've bought two new albums.” Maria said.
“Great, exactly what I need to feel better, listening to that mishmash of unpleasant sounds you insist on calling music.” David joked.
“Hush! I want to listen to one of them now and I'm giving you the privilege to pick it. Don't miss the opportunity.” She replied, showing the LPs to David. “This one is from a band I already know and love while this other one is the debut album of a new band I've just discovered.”
“Ok, first of all, who on earth calls their band Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel?” said David, looking at the cover of the first album. “Only someone mentally disturbed, I bet.”
“And who calls their band Megadeth? Sounds like a name a group of pimply, angsty teenagers trying to play tough would come up with.”
David crossed his arms and looked straight right through Maria. “Nice way to cheer up a guy who's just received bad news. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?”
Maria looked at Junior's expression and realized that he was just joking, so she played along. “I would be much more ashamed if I sang songs about horny tyre dealers or spurned, whiny psychopaths.”
“Hey!”
“'Boo-fucking-hoo/If you don't love me, I'll kill you.' Such deep lyrics, plumbing the darkest depths of the human psyche.”
“Well, you own a Jane Fonda's Workout VHS.”
“Oh my God, you discovered my shameful secret.” Maria deadpanned. “I fear I'll have to kill you. And take away your right to choose the music.”
David chuckled and leaned back on the couch. “Mind if I roll a joint? I need something to dull the imminent pain.”
“Roll all you want, you're not escaping this.” Maria grinned. “Let's try the Honeymoon Killers, they have received good reviews.”
“The ones written by the weirdos on your beloved fanzines don't count.”
“Shut up and smoke, Junior.”
A week after Maria had called Combat Records and asked if they were still interested to strike a deal with Megadeth, Dave and David had a meeting scheduled with the vice-president of the company.
That time things went much better, at least in appearance; the label was very interested in signing the band and offer them what they wanted. But when it was time to discuss the legal details, Dave and David were totally lost; they didn't understand a word of what the representative was telling them and didn't have a clue of what they were actually being offered.
“Who knows if they're trying to fuck with us, with all their legal jargon and what not.” Said Dave in a worried tone. “Devil's in details, but they only let you get the bigger picture, so you never know what you're really dealing with.”
“You need a good lawyer, dude, if you don't want to get screwed. Luckily for you, I know someone.” replied Jay, taking a bite from his steak.
Dave and David had taken the habit to meet with Jay at lunch every day before going to rehearse and the man would sell them their drugs and buy them lunch. He only had the money to take them to a ratty diner, but since the food was plenty and for free, the two musicians could overlook its poor quality.
Dave suspected that Jay's generosity was dictated by the unexpressed desire to take Maria's place as Megadeth's manager; probably the man wanted to secure himself a stabler future and ditch the risks of a dealer's life. In fact, Jay always asked the guys about the band affairs and dispensed advice; he had been somewhat involved in the music business, so he had connections and knew who to call and how to get things going.
Since neither Dave nor David knew any good attorney (or any attorney at all), they decided to accept Jay's offer.
“All right, put us in contact with this lawyer.” said Dave. “Let's hope he's as good as you say.”
Unfortunately for Megadeth, things turned out to be just as complicated even with the help from Jay's lawyer; Dave and David had no idea how their attorney was negotiating with the record label, if he was any good at what he did or not. They would tell him what they wanted to get and in return he would explain them the conditions of the company, but every time they went to see him, he would befuddle them talking legalese. Apparently, some things couldn't be simplified for the regular folks, so all the two musicians could do was cross their fingers and hope for the best.
When the final contract was signed, the band was granted eight thousand dollars to record their debut album, which was, according to Dave, a ridiculously low budget.
“Fuck Jay and fuck his shitty lawyer and fuck Combat Records.” Growled Dave, “We've waited so fucking long, tried to be careful not to get screwed over, and how did it end? We got bent over and fucked in the ass.”
Dave was drinking whisky straight from the bottle, spatting curses between the drafts. David, who was sitting next to him, just stared at the floor pursing his lips and sulking.
Gar looked like he was in agony, his face twisted in pain and discomfort; restless, covered in sweat and unable to stand still for more than a few seconds, he kept scratching himself compulsively.
The guys were supposed to rehearse in their studio, but they had just been wasting time for two hours; Dave was still rankling at the thought of having been deceived and his bad mood rubbed off on David. Gar, as far as he was concerned, was going through withdrawal and he could only think about getting the hell out of the studio and score some smack; Dave had forbidden him to call Jay, saying that he didn't want to see his fucking face anywhere near, so he didn't have many options.
The drummer jumped on his feet and retrieved his leather jacket. “I've gotta go.” he said. “We're just sitting here dicking around. What's the fucking point? I'm leaving.”
Without waiting for an answer, Gar rushed out of the studio, leaving Dave and David. Junior looked as the blond man exited the room and sighed.
“Why don't we leave too? It's not like we're doing anything anyway.”
“Go away, if you want.” said Dave, gulping down more whisky.
Junior sighed in irritation and left Dave alone; he hopped in his van and started the engines, taking the long route to Maria's house. If David had to be sincere, he was actually glad not to share a home with Dave anymore. The redhead was his friend, his brother in arms, but they already spent a lot of time together because of the band and Dave's personality could be overwhelming at times, so David welcomed those pauses away from him.
Unlike Dave, Junior wasn't downright pissed for how things had gone with Combat Records. Actually, he felt somewhat relieved. Did he think Jay's lawyer had demonstrated plain incompetence in dealing with the label? Sure. Did he feel like he had been short-changed? Of course. Was he annoyed by the whole situation? Certainly. Still, a big part of him was just happy that the band was finally supported by a label and had the opportunity to record an album.
All in all, it was about fucking time. He thought. We can make it work.
“The thing that buggers me the most is that we had to pay that stupid lawyer.” Junior confessed to Maria once he was back at home. “I work as a cleaner; every cent I make scrubbing toilets and scraping chewing gums off tables is sacred.”
Maria laughed.”Oh, I've had worse. Did I tell you how I got the money to come here?” David shook his head. “Well, I sew bag handles in a basement eight hours a day, surrounded by immigrants who didn't know a word of English and guarded by a stocky man with a doberman. It was completely illegal, of course, and I was asked to keep the utmost discretion about it.”
“I love your tales from New York. They make me feel grateful for my life as it is.” David grinned. Indeed, he thought, things could be much worse.
That day he had gone with Dave to meet the representatives of Enigma Record, a small but strong independent label, to strike a deal with them. Unluckily, things hadn't worked out and Dave and David had left in a fool mood after another missed occasion. They both were more than impatient to record their first album and go on a big tour around the U.S., but even though the band was being courted by various record companies, they had yet to find the ideal label. Dave was adamant that he didn't want to sign a crappy contract, but the situation never seemed to be just right enough for him.
When Maria came back home, it was almost dinnertime and David was still sleeping on the couch. She shook him gently to wake him up, and asked him if they had achieved anything good with Enigma Record. From the sour expression on his face, the young woman realized that the meeting hadn't been successful.
“Don't let it get you down.” She said. “There's quite a number of record labels that have put their eyes on your band. Tomorrow I'll contact Combat Records and ask them for an appointment.”
“The fact is... it's getting frustrating, you know? Why does it have to be so hard to find a decent label?”
“Don't worry, you're gonna sign this goddamn contract, I'm sure of that.” Maria said, patting Junior's shoulder. “Come on now, help me prepare dinner.”
As they ate, David gave vent to his frustrations and Maria listened to him. The young woman was relieved that all the bass player needed was someone to give ear to him; she always was embarrassed when she had to comfort people, even though she tried her best. It was mainly because she was afraid to say the wrong thing or come out with clumsy trivialities, thus she struggled to find the right words.
“Listen, today I've bought two new albums.” Maria said.
“Great, exactly what I need to feel better, listening to that mishmash of unpleasant sounds you insist on calling music.” David joked.
“Hush! I want to listen to one of them now and I'm giving you the privilege to pick it. Don't miss the opportunity.” She replied, showing the LPs to David. “This one is from a band I already know and love while this other one is the debut album of a new band I've just discovered.”
“Ok, first of all, who on earth calls their band Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel?” said David, looking at the cover of the first album. “Only someone mentally disturbed, I bet.”
“And who calls their band Megadeth? Sounds like a name a group of pimply, angsty teenagers trying to play tough would come up with.”
David crossed his arms and looked straight right through Maria. “Nice way to cheer up a guy who's just received bad news. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?”
Maria looked at Junior's expression and realized that he was just joking, so she played along. “I would be much more ashamed if I sang songs about horny tyre dealers or spurned, whiny psychopaths.”
“Hey!”
“'Boo-fucking-hoo/If you don't love me, I'll kill you.' Such deep lyrics, plumbing the darkest depths of the human psyche.”
“Well, you own a Jane Fonda's Workout VHS.”
“Oh my God, you discovered my shameful secret.” Maria deadpanned. “I fear I'll have to kill you. And take away your right to choose the music.”
David chuckled and leaned back on the couch. “Mind if I roll a joint? I need something to dull the imminent pain.”
“Roll all you want, you're not escaping this.” Maria grinned. “Let's try the Honeymoon Killers, they have received good reviews.”
“The ones written by the weirdos on your beloved fanzines don't count.”
“Shut up and smoke, Junior.”
A week after Maria had called Combat Records and asked if they were still interested to strike a deal with Megadeth, Dave and David had a meeting scheduled with the vice-president of the company.
That time things went much better, at least in appearance; the label was very interested in signing the band and offer them what they wanted. But when it was time to discuss the legal details, Dave and David were totally lost; they didn't understand a word of what the representative was telling them and didn't have a clue of what they were actually being offered.
“Who knows if they're trying to fuck with us, with all their legal jargon and what not.” Said Dave in a worried tone. “Devil's in details, but they only let you get the bigger picture, so you never know what you're really dealing with.”
“You need a good lawyer, dude, if you don't want to get screwed. Luckily for you, I know someone.” replied Jay, taking a bite from his steak.
Dave and David had taken the habit to meet with Jay at lunch every day before going to rehearse and the man would sell them their drugs and buy them lunch. He only had the money to take them to a ratty diner, but since the food was plenty and for free, the two musicians could overlook its poor quality.
Dave suspected that Jay's generosity was dictated by the unexpressed desire to take Maria's place as Megadeth's manager; probably the man wanted to secure himself a stabler future and ditch the risks of a dealer's life. In fact, Jay always asked the guys about the band affairs and dispensed advice; he had been somewhat involved in the music business, so he had connections and knew who to call and how to get things going.
Since neither Dave nor David knew any good attorney (or any attorney at all), they decided to accept Jay's offer.
“All right, put us in contact with this lawyer.” said Dave. “Let's hope he's as good as you say.”
Unfortunately for Megadeth, things turned out to be just as complicated even with the help from Jay's lawyer; Dave and David had no idea how their attorney was negotiating with the record label, if he was any good at what he did or not. They would tell him what they wanted to get and in return he would explain them the conditions of the company, but every time they went to see him, he would befuddle them talking legalese. Apparently, some things couldn't be simplified for the regular folks, so all the two musicians could do was cross their fingers and hope for the best.
When the final contract was signed, the band was granted eight thousand dollars to record their debut album, which was, according to Dave, a ridiculously low budget.
“Fuck Jay and fuck his shitty lawyer and fuck Combat Records.” Growled Dave, “We've waited so fucking long, tried to be careful not to get screwed over, and how did it end? We got bent over and fucked in the ass.”
Dave was drinking whisky straight from the bottle, spatting curses between the drafts. David, who was sitting next to him, just stared at the floor pursing his lips and sulking.
Gar looked like he was in agony, his face twisted in pain and discomfort; restless, covered in sweat and unable to stand still for more than a few seconds, he kept scratching himself compulsively.
The guys were supposed to rehearse in their studio, but they had just been wasting time for two hours; Dave was still rankling at the thought of having been deceived and his bad mood rubbed off on David. Gar, as far as he was concerned, was going through withdrawal and he could only think about getting the hell out of the studio and score some smack; Dave had forbidden him to call Jay, saying that he didn't want to see his fucking face anywhere near, so he didn't have many options.
The drummer jumped on his feet and retrieved his leather jacket. “I've gotta go.” he said. “We're just sitting here dicking around. What's the fucking point? I'm leaving.”
Without waiting for an answer, Gar rushed out of the studio, leaving Dave and David. Junior looked as the blond man exited the room and sighed.
“Why don't we leave too? It's not like we're doing anything anyway.”
“Go away, if you want.” said Dave, gulping down more whisky.
Junior sighed in irritation and left Dave alone; he hopped in his van and started the engines, taking the long route to Maria's house. If David had to be sincere, he was actually glad not to share a home with Dave anymore. The redhead was his friend, his brother in arms, but they already spent a lot of time together because of the band and Dave's personality could be overwhelming at times, so David welcomed those pauses away from him.
Unlike Dave, Junior wasn't downright pissed for how things had gone with Combat Records. Actually, he felt somewhat relieved. Did he think Jay's lawyer had demonstrated plain incompetence in dealing with the label? Sure. Did he feel like he had been short-changed? Of course. Was he annoyed by the whole situation? Certainly. Still, a big part of him was just happy that the band was finally supported by a label and had the opportunity to record an album.
All in all, it was about fucking time. He thought. We can make it work.
“The thing that buggers me the most is that we had to pay that stupid lawyer.” Junior confessed to Maria once he was back at home. “I work as a cleaner; every cent I make scrubbing toilets and scraping chewing gums off tables is sacred.”
Maria laughed.”Oh, I've had worse. Did I tell you how I got the money to come here?” David shook his head. “Well, I sew bag handles in a basement eight hours a day, surrounded by immigrants who didn't know a word of English and guarded by a stocky man with a doberman. It was completely illegal, of course, and I was asked to keep the utmost discretion about it.”
“I love your tales from New York. They make me feel grateful for my life as it is.” David grinned. Indeed, he thought, things could be much worse.
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