Kings of other Wings

Kings of other Wings

We have a ritual; the two guitarists like to get together when they write, and they come up with some of the best-written stuff. They smoke and smoke and tell you how good it is, then they listen the next day and realise that they should have had a few more beers and maybe a little less smoke, then try again. Two other members, when they write, totally argue and take two steps back when they go one step forward; it’s a process, man, and it’s fuelled by nature.

No philosophy; write riffs and try to move forward. We are not exactly spring chickens, and arthritis and the bass player’s dementia do make it difficult. One guitarist indulges in a bit too much of something, which makes the other guitarist forgetful and makes the bass player with dementia.

Our band story is interesting; we all grew up together, mates since Metallica ‘Ride the Lightning’ was released. We all know what the other is thinking, and that can be a bitch. One is clean, neat and very fucking pedantic and irritating with his little cable ties and neat pedals all arranged like a nerd. Another is the opposite; he’s cool actually, a ripper bloke and has a great attitude; another is a grumpy bastard (but very sexy) because he is always tired as he works nights whilst the other goes about his business in a calm, relaxed manner. We all love metal, and while we have all gone about different paths in the last 37 years, the love of metal will forever keep us together. Heavy music is not cult worship; it’s a drug that keeps you sane.

Two of us have our vices. I’m not going to mention our fetishes, but I would love a sex swing at the end of the bed; actually, I mentioned that to one of the guitarists, and he said, “that’s a great idea. You could even cut a hole in the seat; what the fuck! “Anyway, there is one bloke in this band that is a little odd. One of the guitarists is in pain from his obsessive disorder of always being neat. Really strange man. He even has bread ties keeping his leads together in a perfect poofta loop. Walking into his garage one day was disturbing if you could see past all the smoke.

We all have our different idols, so to speak; I’m sport and guitarists and a shit load of KFC, another is just metal and Jack Daniels, another is his beliefs and smiling at the rest of us, whilst there is another member who’s idol is probably the inventor of Velcro or Ajax spray and wipe.

Music? Music to all of us has kept us going through thick and thin. It does not matter who you are; it would be hard to find any human who does not love a form of music. For us, it’s metal. For me, it’s the sound of an over-driven guitar or the power you have in your hands when the four of you are in sync together. Music drives us. It makes one cry, pumps one up, makes you remember and gives you what only you need. That goes for everyone. Even the biggest tool on the planet loves music, whatever his crap may be, and I bet it would be shithouse too. On my old farm, if you played metal, the cows would wander over, even cows like it. Imagine cows getting into metal. I know that sheep don’t, though; they prefer something a little mellow, so I don’t know, but it makes sense that a male sheep would like Rammstein; however, the cow thing is real.
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