GETTIN' INTO METAL

GETTIN' INTO METAL

ELEGANZA

Rollo Dexter

by

[I’m sorry, all right? It’s been a very busy month. What with Brigitte’s second birthday party and making arrangements to interview Jetboy and The Wigmaker To The Stars for forthcoming columns and wondering why I never hear from Gail Warnings anymore, I haven’t had all the time in the world. So burn me at the stake! So I asked this kid who lives three doors up the street with his alcoholic mother and his pit bull that he can never quite remember to leash securely if he wanted to write most of this month’s column. He did, so how about we meet up again in a couple of thousand words?—John Cougar Mendelssohn]

A lot of you younger dudes and chicks who are just gettin’ into metal might not know exactly how to go about It At least that’s what the old a-hole who asked me to write this says, OK? I mean, I personally could give a sh-, right? Like I got nothing better to do with my time than tell a bunch of little f—ers that have probably never even heard of Ozzy f—in’ Osbourne because they’re too young how to get into the music I totally live for. Like I don’t have a waist-high pile of bitchin* new albums I borrowed from other dudes in school that I’ve^got to make a cassette of by tomorrow night, right? And I’m not even so totally sure that I even want a bunch of little f—ers gettin’ into metal, all right? I mean, I realize that it’s like totally inevitable and everything since metal’s the rockin’est, bitchin’est music there is, you know, but the more of us that’s into it, the longer dudes like me that’s been into it since the way early days have to stand in line to buy f—in’ tickets to concerts. And, once af the f—in’ concerts, to buy an official tour T-shirt and sh--. But, hey, bucks ain’t that easy to come by, so it looks like I will write this f—in’ column, OK? And if anybody wants to give me a lot of shabout it, they can just send their name and address to me in care of this magazine (and round-trip airfare if they live outside of the [Mr. Dexter’s place of residence deleted on adivice of legal counsel—Ed.]) metropolitan area and I’ll ccme over and like totally kick their ass.

The first thing is that you’ve got to look like totally cool. Those of us who are already into metal don’t want you cornin’ to the next Yngwie J. Malmsteen concert lookin’ like some f—in’ dork, right? I mean, it would like totally embarrass everybody, you know? Some little new wave faggots would probably drive by just as you were headin’ for the arena and they’d see you and say to each other, “Hey, I f—in’ told you that metal fans are dorks.”

Lookin’ cool means wearin’ the right clothes and carryin’ yourself the cool way, OK? If you’re a dude, you can wear your choice of jeans or parachute pants with lots of cassette-size pockets and zippers and shor even spandex stirrup pants with no BVD’s underneath if you want to give chicks a thrill. Above the waist, you wear a black concert T-shirt that proves you were there at whatever the last big metal show in town was, and a black leather jacket, and lots of studded accessories that make it like totally obvious that you’re either sexually perverted or such a badass a dude would have to be crazy to want to f— with. Beards are cool, but if you can’t grow one yet don’t worry because they’re not like totally necessary.

What is like totally necessary is that you have a lot of f—in’ hair. It’s coolest if you have it cut in a bitchin’ shag, but if it’s curly and the f~er who cuts it says, “Hey, no f—in’ way,” when you ask for one, don’t worry. I mean, Juan of Ratt’s got the curliest hair in the world, and nobody’s about to say he ain’t like totally cool, right?

If you’re a chick, all the same stuff applies to you, except that you have to remember to wear shthat shows your ass and titties off if you’ve got bitchin’ ones. Metal dudes got lots better things to do with their time than f—in’ guesswork, you know? And also you’ve got to wear like really high stiletto-heeled shoes, not only because they look bitchin’, but also because chicks can’t run away from us dudes in them!

All the bitchin’ clothes and haircuts in the world won’t do you any good, of course, if you don’t know how to carry yourself in them. You’ve got to carry yourself so that even if you forget all your studded accessories one day, or if some motherf—er rips them off or something, a dude’d still have to be crazy to f— with you. If you’re a dude, your walk should give the impression that you coujd lay 25 chicks in a row and still say, “Hey, I’m f—in’ horny, Jack,” as the 25th one collapses from too many orgasms. And if you’re a chick, it’s important to look like all you want out of life is to get laid (and, of course, to hear bitchin’ metal).

The correct attitude is like totally important too. You can’t take shfrom anybody, you know? You can’t take it from your f-—in’ teachers, and you can’t take it from your clergymen, and you most of all can’t take it from your old lady and old man. That’s the metal way, Jack. If your teachers knew anything, they wouldn’t he teachers, makin’ in a year what Ozzy makes in one tour and Ratt and Maiden and the Crue make in one night, would they? And your old lady and old man, if they’re anything like my old lady, think they know all about every f—in’ thing in the world just because they’re Old, when the fact of the matter is that all they know about is where at the local drug store to score a bottle of Maalox or Geritol or whatever it is they’re drinkin’ this week!

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This is too important a thing to take my word about. Prove to your own bad self how hopelessly out of it your old lady and old man are by conductin’ this simple test. Have them come up to your room. Put tjie latest Crue album on as loud as your stereo’ll go. Mark my words— 99 out of a 100 of the old assholes’ll leave the room holdin’ their hands over their ears by the time you’re halfway through the second side. And in most cases it doesn’t even have to be the f—in’ Crue, you know. I mean, something mellow like Deep Purple or the Scorps’ll have exactly the same effect on them! It’s like they can’t tell one group from another, but they still try to tell us that they know what’s best for us! Can you f—in’ believe it?

One final pointer before I shine this assignment on and go listen to some bitchin’ metal (I mean, I’m listening now, but the volume’s only at about like 6, and my ashtray ain’t even rattling, you know?):

Drink a lot, and take whatever drugs you can get your hands on. They make the music sound better. And if those Boys League aholes don’t find you passed out in the school parking lot at least a couple of times a week, you’ll get a reputation as a faggot kiss-up. Shoes that look like you’ve never thrown up on them are shoes that you shouldn’t be f—in’ seen in, OK?

Later.