Las Mejores Críticas de RYM: ozzystylez reviews Master of Puppets by Metallica (May 25, 2006)

03:28 EST 

28th February 1986 

James Hetfield awoke from slumber like a startled rodent and erected himself in his bed hurriedly.  He wiped the cold sweat from his frontal lobe and tried to catch his frantic breath.  He turned to his girlfriend sleeping quietly by his side and shook her awake. 

"Wha... whats going on Het?  What time is it?" 

"I've just had the most awful nightmareeeeah!" exclaimed James Hetfield, over exaggerating his last syllable as he was prone to doing in song, the dream still having some kind of effect on his social functions. 

"Awww, pussy-ribbons, wot's de matcher, are woo fwightened?" asked the soon to be Mrs. Het, adopting her nurturing voice in order to calm her frightened little boo boo. 

"Yeah I am, it was horribleeeaaah.  I dreamt it was 2006 and me and the band, we were old-ah and sad and miserable and pathetic-ah.  We wrote a record and it was an obvious fucking ploy to get the young kids to listen to us again-ah." 

"Calm down love buttons, it's just a silly dream, right?  You're in Metallica, and you've just released what is perhaps going to be seen as your crowning achievement, Master Of Puppets which has pushed the boundaries of heavy music to levels nobody even wanted to go to before." 

"Master Of Puppets?  Oh yeah, we didn't call it St. Anger then?" 

"No bubbles, that's a stupid name for a record.  No, no, your new record is non-stop groundbreaking metal through all of it's eight tracks.  It rocks like a motherfucker, and, even if I do say so myself, it just makes me want to hump you to release this excess testosterone that it gives me, and I'm a woman!" 

She snuggles up to the Het and wraps herself seductively around his muscular arm, built up from years of vigorous palm muting.  He stares vacantly into the darkness of the room.  The Het Man is in no mood for love. 

"Please, just leave me."  By this point his unusual vocal phrasing had abandoned the Het-meister, so deep was his woe.  "It was awful, Cliff wasn't in the band anymore, we had some other guy with a fat neck and an attitude problem and I beat the Hell out of him and then he left and then we got in some tribal chief to play bass." 

"Oh woopsie, you're so silly, you know Cliff's in the band, and he's one Hell of a bass player, he keeps up with you using just his fingers!  And his orchestration abilities are second to none, that track "Orion", man, that's some ambitious shit going on right there." 

The Het was not interested. 

"And Kirk's hair was falling out and he looked like a pimp.  I was embarrassed to be seen with him!" 

"Snuggles, you're being so ridiculous!  Kirk has a lovely full head of hair, and you'd never be embarrassed to be seen with someone who can solo so well, I mean, you always know when it's a Kirk solo, they're so distinct and memorable, so exhilarating!" 

The Het Monster eyed his girlfriend suspiciously, momentarily distracted from his troublesome dream by her apparent infatuation with his colleague.  Seeing his icy stare in the dim half light, Miss Het caught herself.  "But, but without you, the riff Lord, what would he have to go on?  I mean the riffs you write, they're just awesome, knock-me-down-on-my-back-with-my-legs-spread awesome.  Meaty, that's the word I use to describe it to my girls, meaty." 

Satisfied the Het resumed his vacant stare into space. 

"And Lars, oh dear God, Lars, he was an awful drummer, so dull, y'know."  He looked to his woman lying beside him for support, but she offered him nothing.  The Het frowned.  "I said...." he said. 

"I know what you said," she said.  "It's just, well, you know, Lars isn't the world's greatest drummer, but you know, he, he, er, he keeps a steady beat and that's what counts, isn't it?" 

"What's wrong, Lars been hittin' on you again?" 

"No, no, just speaking the truth." 

"And you know what?  We were like a sad bunch of middle aged men trying to remain vital in a world where we weren't the heaviest they come anymore, and I wore a stupid beanie hat all the time and stormed off in strops, and we made a movie called "Spinal Tap"?  Was that it?  I think that was us." 

"Oh my little honey bum, you're always going to be the heaviest they come, how can anything get heavier than "Battery" or "Leper Messiah"?  I mean, really, you are at the height of your powers right now baby boo, and as long as you don't let money and fame go to your head then you'll be fine." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise," she pulls him close and hugs him tightly, kisses him on his head. 

"Because if you go back on your word, and all this shit does happen, I guarantee I'll be psychologically traumatised and buy one of those stupid kit cars you hate so much." 

"Oh Pooky, it's never gonna happen, here, let's listen to your new record, then you'll see how truly awesome you really are, won't you?" 

The Het bounces excitedly in the bed, "Yeah, yeah!  Master Of Puppets, Master Of Puppets!" 

"Alright, settle down, I know it's good, but I need some sleep, alright baby, so you put on your headphones, and no rocking out too much, okay?" 

"Oh alright then, give me the headphones."