Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Lion's Share
1982
Cathy tapped her pen on the table, then scored a line on the verse she had written. “No, this doesn't work. We can do better.”
Maria rubbed her eyes and sighed. “God, writing decent lyrics is always the hardest task.”
Hybris had almost finished writing their first long play; Cathy and Maria just had to add the lyrics to a song, then the band would rehearse and finally enter the studio.
“Let's have a break.” Cathy suggested. “Want a drink? Listen to some music?”
Maria nodded. “Orange juice and The Raincoats' first album. And a good cigarette.”
Cathy opened the fridge and knitted her brows. “Hey, did you buy a carton of liquid egg whites?”
Before Maria could answer, a fast and loud rapping on the door interrupted the conversation. “This must be Ron.” she said, “He's the only one with such an obnoxious signature knock.”
Cathy opened the door and found Ron, indeed, with a duffel bag, his plant of Jimson weed and the biggest smile he could muster.
“Hey girls! How are you doing? Still working on those lyrics, eh? Don't worry, it will come to you, sooner or later. You girls are so good with words.” he said, marching into the apartment.
“Ron,what do you want?” Maria asked annoyed.
“I got robbed. Some burglars barged into my house.” Ron explained. “They fucking removed the whole door! I can't sleep there, it's not safe.”
“It's never been safe.” Cathy remarked. Ron lived in a seedy building in the Lower East Side, a place inhabited mainly by junkies and prostitutes.
“Who can be so desperate to rob your apartment? No person with anything valuable would live in a flat like yours.”
“They were after my stock, all the pot and shrooms and peyotes. They knew I had it and stole everything!” He whined. “I cannot even call the police. Anything missing, young man? Oh, just some drugs, officer.” Ron and Steve were big fans of natural drugs and Ron was in charge of keeping them, since Steve still lived with his mother.
“At least they didn't take Betsy.” he said, placing the vase on the table.
“Nobody with a tiny bit of good judgement would take that shit, it's too dangerous. I don't even know why you keep it.” Cathy said.
“You know it's the present of an ex-girlfriend.”
“She gave it to you after you broke up. She hated your guts at that point, probably she hoped you would get intoxicated.”
“That's irrelevant.” replied Ron. He lifted the plant and picked up a plastic bag from the bottom of the pot, handing it to Cathy. “This is the money I saved for the album, like you asked me.”
Ron (barely) supported himself drawing erotic illustrations for a porn magazine; since he made only five dollars a day and often couldn't pay the bills, Cathy had asked him to put aside his share of the money the band needed to record and print their album, so he wouldn't spend it.
“Why don't you ask Steve and his mother to host you? They have more space than us.” Maria asked.
“No way. Steve's mom is a nice lady, but she has strict rules for those who live under her roof; I wouldn't last a week.” said Ron. “Please, let me stay here. I won't bother you, I promise. Please, please, please.”
The girls looked at each other and sighed. As one could see from his apartment, Ron was quite pigsty; they often joked that even roaches kept away from it in disgust. On the other hand, they couldn't abandon a friend in trouble, so they said yes.
In May, the band had their LP 'Crawler' printed in 1,000 copies and planned to go on a mini tour with two other bands.
As the girls were busy making the arrangements, the boys drew the arts for the t-shirts, pins and flyers, which Ron xeroxed at work when nobody was around.
By the time the tour started, Cathy and Maria were fed up with Ron and just wanted to get him out of their house. As used as he was living alone, he had many nasty habits that made him a pain in the ass to live with.
He didn't have enough money to pay for a new door and have it installed, and he couldn't contact his landlord as much as he tried. He had put some police tape on the door frame to keep people away, hoping that no junkie would try to make a crack house out of his apartment.
“He doesn't answer the phone and nobody knows where he is. Not that anybody cares since, as long as he's gone, we don't have to pay the rent.”
The girls had even offered to pay for the installation themselves, but Ron said that, if there was something life had taught him, it was never to accept loans of any kind.
“He doesn't understand that it's an act of charity for us.” Cathy said.
Maria nodded. “If I don't see his morning wood ever again, I'll be an happy woman.”
Luckily, the tour was successful and the album and merchandise sold well. The group shared two vans with Y Pants and Bush Tetras, the supporting bands, crammed between the gear, and slept on the floor of some good-hearted fan.
They woke up with sore bones and cramped muscles, crawled into the vans and drove to the next city, ate junk food and played in shabby and smelly clubs where the owners constantly tried not to pay them.
They were thrilled and excited, enjoying every minute spent on the road like a bunch of elated kids home alone for the first time. They hadn't made it out of the New York State, and yet they felt like they were conquering the world piece by piece.
By mid 1982, Hybris had made a name for themselves in the N.Y. Noise scene; college radios played their songs and the newer groups came to them to ask for advice, or even to get signed to the band's record label. Cathy and Maria always refused, explaining that they had neither the time nor the money to manage any other band.
Cathy was actually considering to sign for an independent label and close Urban Suffering, but Maria, who liked the band's self management strategy, wasn't too thrilled by the idea.
“I like running our group and I don't want other people to take the shots for us.” she said. “The beauty of Hybris is that the members take care of the band in its entirety.”
“We won't have to delegate everything, we won't even have to hire a manager.” Cathy explained. “A record label can grant us better distribution and promotion of our music. We can only go so far by ourselves.”
Maria had to admit it was a valid reasoning, but insisted they found a company that would let the band retain control on every decision.
~*~
Cathy and Maria walked down the dimly lighted corridor to reach the restrooms. They were attending a concert with Ron and Steve, who had disappeared a little after the first band, Rat at Rat R, had started to play.
“Why did you turn down Matthew?” Cathy asked. “He's got such a huge crush on you and he's totally your type.”
“I'm not looking for a serious relationship.” Maria replied. Right after she had come back from touring, Paul had told her he wanted to go to Europe to pursue his career as a photographer. He had given her his favourite book, 'The Atrocity Exhibition', so she would have something to remember him.
Maria had shed no tears over his departure; they had never been in love, but she appreciated his kind gesture. He was a genuinely nice man and she had enjoyed his company.
“I'm not saying you have to swear him eternal love, I'm saying that you need to fuck.”
“But Matthew does want to commit, and I don't. Besides,” Maria snorted, “I've tried to get laid, but most guys don't put any effort when it comes to one night stands. It's really not worth it.”
“I know the feeling.” Cathy sighed. She flipped the switch in the restroom, but nothing happened. “Oh, ain't that great?”
The toilets were positioned in the end of the corridor, where the light was so feeble it didn't make it into the room. The only source of light came from the outside through the only window, which was in the last bathroom stall. There were two other stalls, both closed, from which it came a strong stench. Each of them had a sign on the door; the first read: “Out of order – clogged”, and the second: “Out of order – broken”.
“Well, we don't have much of a choice.” Cathy said, lighting her Zippo. “You go first, and don't take too long.”
Maria entered the toilet and closed the door. The window was quite big and had no curtains or shutters, so everybody from the outside could see her. She looked attentively at the back alley, trying to spot any human presence.
There was a pile of newspapers that probably hid a hobo underneath; more on the right, next to a dumpster, three shadows were moving frantically. It seemed that two people were hitting a third one, which wasn't an unusual sight there in New York, especially at night.
Maria pondered what to do. Maybe she could scream, and the two attackers would run away. She was inside a building, anyway, so they couldn't turn against her.
Maria tried to open the window, but it was stuck. When she was about to give up and go call the cops, the two figures came out from the shadows and Maria could see their faces. They were Ron and Steve, knocking to the ground a man she didn't know.
Cathy banged on the door and screamed. “What are you doing in there? Are you ok?”
Maria didn't listen to her, she was concentrating on the scene unfolding in front of her. She couldn't have answered anyway, nor could she open the door. All she could do was standing still and speechless.
~*~
“How could you do that?” asked Maria, visibly shaken. “Why did you do that?”
“Hey, We had a good reason to give that guy a good beating.” Steve replied.
“What reason? Don't tell me it was self defence, you were going at him too viciously.”
“He tried to rip me off.”
Maria stared at Steve bewildered, waiting for him to clarify.
“You know I earn my leaving playing poker, right? A couple of weeks ago that man lost a game against me; he didn't have enough money, so he gambled an old pocket watch. Well, turns out it was a piece of junk, so I found him to get my money.”
“And beating him was the only way to go? Were you trying to knock out is golden teeth?”
“Don't feel so sorry for him, he's actually quite an asshole. He first tried to offer a night of sex with his wife.”
“Oh, that changes everything!” Maria said sarcastically. “And you, what did you have to do with this story?”
Ron just shrugged. “Just helping a friend.”
“Well, guess what, you can both say bye bye to the band. Get the hell away from my house!”
Cathy, who had witnessed the whole fight without a word, jumped in and pulled Maria away. “May I share a word with you in private?” she said, dragging Maria to the bedroom.
“What are you trying to do? You cannot kick Ron and Steve out of the band!”
“Yes, I can. I don't want to play with two psychopaths who think that beating up people is a normal way to deal with problems.”
“Don't get so riled up, the guys are not violent people.”
“They beat a dude into a bloody pulp!”
“Ok, but he kind of had it coming, don't you think? And, have you ever seen the guys fly into a rage before?”
“Why are you excusing them? What they did is not acceptable!” Maria cried.
“Listen, try to see this from Steve's point of view; that man didn't solve his debt.”
“Oh, shut up already! I don't wanna see them anymore!”
“Well, tough luck honey, we're not gonna break up the band because you're upset that a stranger got it rough.” Cathy said, her tone switching from warm and sympathetic to cold and unyielding. “I refuse to start all over again.”
“So that's what matters to you. I can't believe you still want to put up with them.”
“Wipe away your tears and go to sleep, tomorrow you won't be so emotional and you'll see things more objectively.” Cathy reprised her soft voice and stroke Maria's arms.
She left the bedroom and reassured Ron and Steve that it was all right, she understood perfectly their reasoning and Maria just needed to sleep on it.
The next few weeks were tense and uncomfortable. Maria stopped talking to the guys and barely exchanged a few words with Cathy. Her bandmates let her be, thinking she was taking her time to come to terms with the whole situation.
But as time passed, Maria felt the need to put a thousand miles between her and the other guys growing stronger and stronger. They had stopped being her friends, she couldn't look at them anymore without feeling disgusted. She loathed Ron and Steve for what they had done and their lack of guilt, and despised Cathy for her quick compliance.
She looked at the three guys joking and laughing like there was nothing wrong with the world and had the impression that she was the spectator of some kind of grotesque play.
She almost had a panic attack once, while the band was rehearsing, realizing how normal and familiar they looked to her. How could their appearance be so deceiving? Why didn't it reflect their ugly and repulsive side? Maria couldn't take it anymore, couldn't make sense of that contrast; she run to the bathroom and threw up.
It was during a gig that Maria took her decision. Hybris was opening for ESG, a band from Bronx, and she realized that she was devoid of any feeling. There was no emotion in her playing, no passion for what she was doing, no chemistry with her bandmates. Maria wasn't playing music, she was just plucking a few strings on a stage with three strangers.
At the end of the last song, Maria slammed her guitar on the floor and walked on it, straining the strings with her feet. Then she stomped on the instrument, concentrating on the neck, until it broke.
Maria kicked the guitar toward the audience and walked away without looking back.
Author's notes: That's all, folks. Quite a downer ending, but what can I say.
Thanks to the Daves for their autobiographies and to all the N.Y noise bands for their interviews, which helped me shape the story.
I have the feeling that I could have developed better my original idea. Well, it's done now; feel free to drop a comment, if you like.
Cathy tapped her pen on the table, then scored a line on the verse she had written. “No, this doesn't work. We can do better.”
Maria rubbed her eyes and sighed. “God, writing decent lyrics is always the hardest task.”
Hybris had almost finished writing their first long play; Cathy and Maria just had to add the lyrics to a song, then the band would rehearse and finally enter the studio.
“Let's have a break.” Cathy suggested. “Want a drink? Listen to some music?”
Maria nodded. “Orange juice and The Raincoats' first album. And a good cigarette.”
Cathy opened the fridge and knitted her brows. “Hey, did you buy a carton of liquid egg whites?”
Before Maria could answer, a fast and loud rapping on the door interrupted the conversation. “This must be Ron.” she said, “He's the only one with such an obnoxious signature knock.”
Cathy opened the door and found Ron, indeed, with a duffel bag, his plant of Jimson weed and the biggest smile he could muster.
“Hey girls! How are you doing? Still working on those lyrics, eh? Don't worry, it will come to you, sooner or later. You girls are so good with words.” he said, marching into the apartment.
“Ron,what do you want?” Maria asked annoyed.
“I got robbed. Some burglars barged into my house.” Ron explained. “They fucking removed the whole door! I can't sleep there, it's not safe.”
“It's never been safe.” Cathy remarked. Ron lived in a seedy building in the Lower East Side, a place inhabited mainly by junkies and prostitutes.
“Who can be so desperate to rob your apartment? No person with anything valuable would live in a flat like yours.”
“They were after my stock, all the pot and shrooms and peyotes. They knew I had it and stole everything!” He whined. “I cannot even call the police. Anything missing, young man? Oh, just some drugs, officer.” Ron and Steve were big fans of natural drugs and Ron was in charge of keeping them, since Steve still lived with his mother.
“At least they didn't take Betsy.” he said, placing the vase on the table.
“Nobody with a tiny bit of good judgement would take that shit, it's too dangerous. I don't even know why you keep it.” Cathy said.
“You know it's the present of an ex-girlfriend.”
“She gave it to you after you broke up. She hated your guts at that point, probably she hoped you would get intoxicated.”
“That's irrelevant.” replied Ron. He lifted the plant and picked up a plastic bag from the bottom of the pot, handing it to Cathy. “This is the money I saved for the album, like you asked me.”
Ron (barely) supported himself drawing erotic illustrations for a porn magazine; since he made only five dollars a day and often couldn't pay the bills, Cathy had asked him to put aside his share of the money the band needed to record and print their album, so he wouldn't spend it.
“Why don't you ask Steve and his mother to host you? They have more space than us.” Maria asked.
“No way. Steve's mom is a nice lady, but she has strict rules for those who live under her roof; I wouldn't last a week.” said Ron. “Please, let me stay here. I won't bother you, I promise. Please, please, please.”
The girls looked at each other and sighed. As one could see from his apartment, Ron was quite pigsty; they often joked that even roaches kept away from it in disgust. On the other hand, they couldn't abandon a friend in trouble, so they said yes.
In May, the band had their LP 'Crawler' printed in 1,000 copies and planned to go on a mini tour with two other bands.
As the girls were busy making the arrangements, the boys drew the arts for the t-shirts, pins and flyers, which Ron xeroxed at work when nobody was around.
By the time the tour started, Cathy and Maria were fed up with Ron and just wanted to get him out of their house. As used as he was living alone, he had many nasty habits that made him a pain in the ass to live with.
He didn't have enough money to pay for a new door and have it installed, and he couldn't contact his landlord as much as he tried. He had put some police tape on the door frame to keep people away, hoping that no junkie would try to make a crack house out of his apartment.
“He doesn't answer the phone and nobody knows where he is. Not that anybody cares since, as long as he's gone, we don't have to pay the rent.”
The girls had even offered to pay for the installation themselves, but Ron said that, if there was something life had taught him, it was never to accept loans of any kind.
“He doesn't understand that it's an act of charity for us.” Cathy said.
Maria nodded. “If I don't see his morning wood ever again, I'll be an happy woman.”
Luckily, the tour was successful and the album and merchandise sold well. The group shared two vans with Y Pants and Bush Tetras, the supporting bands, crammed between the gear, and slept on the floor of some good-hearted fan.
They woke up with sore bones and cramped muscles, crawled into the vans and drove to the next city, ate junk food and played in shabby and smelly clubs where the owners constantly tried not to pay them.
They were thrilled and excited, enjoying every minute spent on the road like a bunch of elated kids home alone for the first time. They hadn't made it out of the New York State, and yet they felt like they were conquering the world piece by piece.
By mid 1982, Hybris had made a name for themselves in the N.Y. Noise scene; college radios played their songs and the newer groups came to them to ask for advice, or even to get signed to the band's record label. Cathy and Maria always refused, explaining that they had neither the time nor the money to manage any other band.
Cathy was actually considering to sign for an independent label and close Urban Suffering, but Maria, who liked the band's self management strategy, wasn't too thrilled by the idea.
“I like running our group and I don't want other people to take the shots for us.” she said. “The beauty of Hybris is that the members take care of the band in its entirety.”
“We won't have to delegate everything, we won't even have to hire a manager.” Cathy explained. “A record label can grant us better distribution and promotion of our music. We can only go so far by ourselves.”
Maria had to admit it was a valid reasoning, but insisted they found a company that would let the band retain control on every decision.
~*~
Cathy and Maria walked down the dimly lighted corridor to reach the restrooms. They were attending a concert with Ron and Steve, who had disappeared a little after the first band, Rat at Rat R, had started to play.
“Why did you turn down Matthew?” Cathy asked. “He's got such a huge crush on you and he's totally your type.”
“I'm not looking for a serious relationship.” Maria replied. Right after she had come back from touring, Paul had told her he wanted to go to Europe to pursue his career as a photographer. He had given her his favourite book, 'The Atrocity Exhibition', so she would have something to remember him.
Maria had shed no tears over his departure; they had never been in love, but she appreciated his kind gesture. He was a genuinely nice man and she had enjoyed his company.
“I'm not saying you have to swear him eternal love, I'm saying that you need to fuck.”
“But Matthew does want to commit, and I don't. Besides,” Maria snorted, “I've tried to get laid, but most guys don't put any effort when it comes to one night stands. It's really not worth it.”
“I know the feeling.” Cathy sighed. She flipped the switch in the restroom, but nothing happened. “Oh, ain't that great?”
The toilets were positioned in the end of the corridor, where the light was so feeble it didn't make it into the room. The only source of light came from the outside through the only window, which was in the last bathroom stall. There were two other stalls, both closed, from which it came a strong stench. Each of them had a sign on the door; the first read: “Out of order – clogged”, and the second: “Out of order – broken”.
“Well, we don't have much of a choice.” Cathy said, lighting her Zippo. “You go first, and don't take too long.”
Maria entered the toilet and closed the door. The window was quite big and had no curtains or shutters, so everybody from the outside could see her. She looked attentively at the back alley, trying to spot any human presence.
There was a pile of newspapers that probably hid a hobo underneath; more on the right, next to a dumpster, three shadows were moving frantically. It seemed that two people were hitting a third one, which wasn't an unusual sight there in New York, especially at night.
Maria pondered what to do. Maybe she could scream, and the two attackers would run away. She was inside a building, anyway, so they couldn't turn against her.
Maria tried to open the window, but it was stuck. When she was about to give up and go call the cops, the two figures came out from the shadows and Maria could see their faces. They were Ron and Steve, knocking to the ground a man she didn't know.
Cathy banged on the door and screamed. “What are you doing in there? Are you ok?”
Maria didn't listen to her, she was concentrating on the scene unfolding in front of her. She couldn't have answered anyway, nor could she open the door. All she could do was standing still and speechless.
~*~
“How could you do that?” asked Maria, visibly shaken. “Why did you do that?”
“Hey, We had a good reason to give that guy a good beating.” Steve replied.
“What reason? Don't tell me it was self defence, you were going at him too viciously.”
“He tried to rip me off.”
Maria stared at Steve bewildered, waiting for him to clarify.
“You know I earn my leaving playing poker, right? A couple of weeks ago that man lost a game against me; he didn't have enough money, so he gambled an old pocket watch. Well, turns out it was a piece of junk, so I found him to get my money.”
“And beating him was the only way to go? Were you trying to knock out is golden teeth?”
“Don't feel so sorry for him, he's actually quite an asshole. He first tried to offer a night of sex with his wife.”
“Oh, that changes everything!” Maria said sarcastically. “And you, what did you have to do with this story?”
Ron just shrugged. “Just helping a friend.”
“Well, guess what, you can both say bye bye to the band. Get the hell away from my house!”
Cathy, who had witnessed the whole fight without a word, jumped in and pulled Maria away. “May I share a word with you in private?” she said, dragging Maria to the bedroom.
“What are you trying to do? You cannot kick Ron and Steve out of the band!”
“Yes, I can. I don't want to play with two psychopaths who think that beating up people is a normal way to deal with problems.”
“Don't get so riled up, the guys are not violent people.”
“They beat a dude into a bloody pulp!”
“Ok, but he kind of had it coming, don't you think? And, have you ever seen the guys fly into a rage before?”
“Why are you excusing them? What they did is not acceptable!” Maria cried.
“Listen, try to see this from Steve's point of view; that man didn't solve his debt.”
“Oh, shut up already! I don't wanna see them anymore!”
“Well, tough luck honey, we're not gonna break up the band because you're upset that a stranger got it rough.” Cathy said, her tone switching from warm and sympathetic to cold and unyielding. “I refuse to start all over again.”
“So that's what matters to you. I can't believe you still want to put up with them.”
“Wipe away your tears and go to sleep, tomorrow you won't be so emotional and you'll see things more objectively.” Cathy reprised her soft voice and stroke Maria's arms.
She left the bedroom and reassured Ron and Steve that it was all right, she understood perfectly their reasoning and Maria just needed to sleep on it.
The next few weeks were tense and uncomfortable. Maria stopped talking to the guys and barely exchanged a few words with Cathy. Her bandmates let her be, thinking she was taking her time to come to terms with the whole situation.
But as time passed, Maria felt the need to put a thousand miles between her and the other guys growing stronger and stronger. They had stopped being her friends, she couldn't look at them anymore without feeling disgusted. She loathed Ron and Steve for what they had done and their lack of guilt, and despised Cathy for her quick compliance.
She looked at the three guys joking and laughing like there was nothing wrong with the world and had the impression that she was the spectator of some kind of grotesque play.
She almost had a panic attack once, while the band was rehearsing, realizing how normal and familiar they looked to her. How could their appearance be so deceiving? Why didn't it reflect their ugly and repulsive side? Maria couldn't take it anymore, couldn't make sense of that contrast; she run to the bathroom and threw up.
It was during a gig that Maria took her decision. Hybris was opening for ESG, a band from Bronx, and she realized that she was devoid of any feeling. There was no emotion in her playing, no passion for what she was doing, no chemistry with her bandmates. Maria wasn't playing music, she was just plucking a few strings on a stage with three strangers.
At the end of the last song, Maria slammed her guitar on the floor and walked on it, straining the strings with her feet. Then she stomped on the instrument, concentrating on the neck, until it broke.
Maria kicked the guitar toward the audience and walked away without looking back.
Author's notes: That's all, folks. Quite a downer ending, but what can I say.
Thanks to the Daves for their autobiographies and to all the N.Y noise bands for their interviews, which helped me shape the story.
I have the feeling that I could have developed better my original idea. Well, it's done now; feel free to drop a comment, if you like.
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