It's no secret how much I love Metallica. Well, LOVED Metallica would be the technically correct tense. This new Metallica is crap. All I want is for a return to Kill Em All, Master of Puppets, And Justice for All, and even the Black album. In my opinion, everything after the Black album has been tepid at best...and now, ugh.....don't get me started. Death Magnetic? Really? REALLY?! I admit it's hard to top a stellar 20-minute jam session of "One" or a crazy pyrotechnics display accompanying "Harvester of Sorrow", but I fail to be even remotely inspired by anything I've heard of their newest album.
Coincidentally, Metallica is the band I've seen most often live. I've moshed and crowd surfed many a time from 1993 through 1999 with these guys in various locations throughout the Midwest. One summer's show involved $4.00 20oz H20 bottles (insanely priced when the temps are above 90F and you aren't allowed to bring anything from the outside in) and jamming to the Screaming Trees and Soundgarden (and pushing my way up to the stage just in time to catch Chris Cornell's sweat on my arm--whee!) before losing my bikini top while crowd surfing to one of Metallica's opening songs. Another show involved one of my friends getting himself accidentally arrested while we were all tailgating before the show. My deft driving and sharp negotiating skills helped ensure our return back to the show just in time as they took the stage. But my favorite concert of all had to be their show at the Bradley Center in Milwaukee on February 14, 1997.
I was finishing up my junior year at college in Dubuque, IA and was thrilled about planning my Valentine's Day weekend/joint 4-year anniversary with Eric M, my high school/college sweetheart. He was attending college three hours away in Waukesha, WI, and Valentine's Day (for the first time ever since we had been dating) was falling on a Saturday! Now being three hours apart from each other made meetings tough. Coupled with us both playing soccer for our respective schools made it that much more challenging. During soccer season we'd see each other once every 6-8 weeks just for the weekend. During off-season we were still both playing indoor, but it wasn't nearly as rough--every 3-6 weeks. Sometimes I'd make that drive on 151/94, and other times he did. So when I discovered we were both free Valentine's Day weekend, AND it fell on a Saturday, I started planning away like a busy bee, booking the most romantic restaurant in Dubuque (at the time it was above Molly Malone's off Bluff St). I found a gorgeous bed and breakfast, and I was pounding the pavement trying to find the perfect gift for his surprise. It was two months of anticipation and excitement. I was so excited he was coming to see me. Then a week before Valentine's Day, he calls me.
He's gotten 9th row seats to the Metallica show in Milwaukee with a couple of other buds on February 14th. Can we postpone our romantic weekend by a couple weeks? And it wasn't so much a question or request, but rather a statement....and FYI. I was being dumped on cupid's day for Metallica? I mean, yeah, they're 9th row seats, but c'mon! They'd tour again! And we could always see them in Chicago or the Quad Cities or Minneapolis.....but I kept myself pulled together and said nothing. I was fuming. I was gutted. I had spent all this time planning like a good lil' lady, and I was being dumped for a night of drinking beer while jamming to rock stars (awesome as they were). Best part was HE DIDN'T INVITE ME. I guess one of his friends asked him to go, and there were 3-4 dudes going together. Shit! Happy VD to me, eh?
Eric lived on the downstairs floor of a house with three other guys. The upstairs was occupied by four girls. One of these girls was Amy, this nerdy funny blonde from Elgin IL who, I believe, was studying engineering. She and Eric had become pretty good friends, and I met her through him. I called her and told her the entire story of my Valentine's Day disaster and being dumped. Turns out, she wanted to go to that show too, but the guys didn't ask her either. Perhaps we should go together? A plan began to hatch.
Amy agreed to go to her ticket broker and find us seats for under $50. I wouldn't tell Eric I was coming; instead I'd spend the day doing girly things with Amy hanging out at her place upstairs and knocking back a few before heading out to the show together. My plan was to find Eric after the show and hit the bars as one large group together. He was not to know I was coming anytime before that. Amy and I started to plot the logistics. Her broker called back: we had secured ourselves general admission for $45 each. YES! Game on!
I left Dubuque early Saturday morning and drove to downtown Waukesha to leave my Eagle Talon in a place where it wouldn't be easily spotted (it was bright blue with Grateful Dead bears and a big NIN across the back; dead giveaway for anyone who knew me). Amy picked me up in her white Dodge pickup, and we went beer shopping. On the way back to the house I covered myself up in blankets and hid in the bed in case any of the guys were home. Though the entrances to the downstairs and upstairs were separate, there was a common driveway both used. I couldn't risk being spotted. Fortunately, none of the guys was home. We parked the truck, and I snuck upstairs. I spent the day chatting, drinking, napping, and chilling. I heard the guys come back downstairs while I was napping on the couch, and I caught myself smiling about my secret. This was going to be such a cool Valentine's Day dammit.
Amy and I headed out to the Bradley Center early with a 12-pack of Icehouse in the bed. We parked the car in the garage adjoining the venue and proceeded to drink. We finished the whole
case. It took us some time, but we drank it all. We missed Corrosion of Conformity, but didn't care. We strolled in buzzed just as Metallica was setting up. I scanned the place for Eric and the guys. No sign of them anywhere. The lights were cut. Metallica hit the stage. As they opened with "So What!", Amy and I began to scream and cheer. We were drunk and loving life in this moment.
As Metallica progressed through the songs, Amy and I started to push our way forward through the crowd. By the time they were singing "King Nothing" we were right up against the barrier, shoving and cheering, front row and center. I could feel Kirk Hammett's sweat drop on us. The people around us were yelling, pushing, shoving.....my eyes locked with Jason Newsted's just for a moment, and I was instantly mesmerized. I have always had a thing for bass guitar players, and this was going to be no exception. The opening riffs to "One" filled the air, and I was in heaven.
During "Nothing Else Matters" I started noticing this roadie running around in the buffer between the stage and the barrier that held the crowd back from running the stage. He was a little older than me, cute as hell, and wearing a flannel shirt (typical Wisconsin garb). I waved him over to get his attention. At first he ignored me, but then he finally approached me when he realized I would jump on top of the barrier if he didn't. I wrapped my sweaty arms around his neck and noticed a backstage pass was adhered to his t-shirt underneath the flannel. OMG! A possible ticket to see Jason up close! I turned my face to his. Our noses couldn't have been more than an inch apart. I gazed deeply into those handsome eyes and went on and on about how I loved Metallica, how they have been my favorite band for ages, and how it would be such an honor for my "sister" and me to be able to go backstage. Could he help us get backstage? And with that, I planted a big drunken kiss on his cheek and smiled sweetly. The roadie stepped back a bit, smiling. "I'll see what I can do." And with that, he was gone. And he didn't return. Song after song passed. Hell, at least I tried, right? Amy and I continued jamming. We never left that front row.
I remember my eyes filling with tears during "Fade to Black." I had closed my eyes, and I felt I was no longer amidst a crowd of people. I was lost in the guitar, lost in the lyrics, in the music. Time just stood still during that song. To this day, I smile and pause in a private moment whenever "Fade to Black" comes on. This concert was a highlight of the close of my college days. I was drunk and introspective, flirtatious and reflective, riding this path toward my dreams atop a song and possibility of what may be. I was wildly successful in my academic career, and I celebrated in song and prose. This night is one I knew I'd always remember.
I had almost forgotten about the roadie. About an hour after we had parted ways he reappeared, though with nothing in hand. We made a beeline right for me, and I stared into his face quizzically every step of his way. As he stood before Amy and me, he reached into his flannel and pulled out two backstage passes. He handed Amy hers, and he proceeded to peel mine off and place it on my chest, never taking his eyes off mine. I swear I had permagrin; I couldn't stop smiling. Man, his gaze was fierce. He was returning my smile, and I felt the flutter of butterflies. I wrapped my arms around him again, having jumped halfway onto the barrier (my hips were holding me on top of it) and kissed him on the cheek again. "Thank you." I said. "You're welcome", he replied, and with that, he was gone. I never saw him again.
Amy and I freaked. We were going backstage! We were going to meet Metallica! The concert ended, the lights came up, and Amy and I walked around the arena, trying to find Eric and the other guys. No luck. After about 20 minutes we gave up and went to meet the band. I remember waiting in line with a crowd of about 20 other people. Amy and I were chatting, still buzzed from the Icehouse. I was the furthest thing from being tired, though! I was so excited! And then, Jason came out. I didn't really care about the other band members so much. Here was Jason effin' NEWSTED in front of me! Aaaaa! I got all tongue-tied and lamely asked him to sign my Footos shirt. "Foo Fighters, eh?" he asked. "I dig em." I just nodded, silent, like Ralphie did in Santa's lap in A Christmas Story. He scribbled on my shirt, and I walked away from him. What the hell was that, I thought. How lame am I?! This is Jason Newsted, woman. MAN UP TO THE BAR ALREADY. I waited a little bit as others talked to him and then I marched right back up to him, pulled up my shirt, and asked him to sign my *censored for PG audience* LOL. He was smiling and obliged. I then wrapped my left arm around his shoulders while practically sitting on his lap (he didn't seem to mind!), and someone took our picture (the guy who took it never sent me that picture--grrr!). Anyway, Jason was wearing a black sweatshirt with a hoodie on it. I could feel the heat from his sweat though the fabric, but he smelled good. Not like aftershave or cologne, but he didn't stink. I can't exactly describe it. He just smelled.....goooooood. Like a sexy dude would. :D
Amy and I went out to eat afterwards, then it was back to the house. Eric was already in bed sleeping when I knocked on their door to let me in. He was surprised as all hell I was there. When I told him of our adventure, he seemed a little shocked and (I strongly believe) upset. It was dark, so it was hard to gauge his reaction, but he wasn't too thrilled about Jason's John Hancock. I didn't care. Here he had dumped me on Valentine's Day for 9th row Metallica seats, while I got all the way to 1st row, backstage, and had a silly little conversation with Jason Newsted. Jealous a little? Perhaps.
As I lay in bed that night next to him, I thought to myself: moral of the story--don't dump me on Valentine's Day! With that, I fell asleep smiling.
Years later I realized how much Jason Newsted looks like Dale Earnhardt Jr., and the attraction ceased almost immediately. In fact, I haven't found Jason attractive since about 2000. But for that night....that one night....he was my dreamboat.
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