April 30, 2014

BLANK | An Ode to Lars Ulrich’s Bass Drum

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Was sitting around one morn.

Procrastination was the norm.

Had heard the new Swans,

So I sought more élan

When I saw Metallica had new form.

“Lords of Summer” the name

I encountered in time.

A seasonal title

That connotes the sublime.

But what I heard next

I so did detest

Had no other choice

But to put it to rhyme.

Hetfield sounded like a parrot,

His and Hammett’s guitars were phoned in.

But Ulrich’s drums

Those damn “dum-dum-dums”

Were their own special devious din.

With every single

Compressed-to-death prick

Of his wretched bass drum

Came a loud, jarring “click”

That soured my mood

And made me start to brood,

“Were they trying to turn on

A stove in the booth?”

Or clicking their jaws

Or attempting applause

Some justification

For such massive flaws.

That a band that’s around

For 30-plus years

Can’t find a producer

With functioning ears.

Now, I actually liked Death Magnetic,

Thought Lulu was, yes, quite pathetic.

But it had its charms

Unlike this track that harms

Me enough to want to chug antiseptic

And the rolls, the rolls, the rooooooooolls

When in double time, you hear the screaming souls

Of sound engineers

Cupping their ears

Writhing in pain,

Holding back their tears.

I bought new headphones last month

But threw them away today.

If they couldn’t stop

Lars’ heinous bop

The hundreds I spent were a waste.

In fact, think I’ll just go quit music.

I’m tired of taking the piss.

Knowing in the abyss

“Lords of Summer” exists,

I might take up gardening

Surely there holds some bliss.

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