The Metal Tribe is the most misunderstood tribe in the musical jungle. Many musicologists look upon the longhaired Metalhead with disdain and scorn because they don’t understand. They find the traditional sounds to be uncouth and uncivilized. They are intimated by the complicated rituals and dances, and can’t bring themselves to drink Budweiser unironically.
After several weeks living and working with the WTMD Tribe of Towson Maryland (characterized by a love of jam band festivals and fund drives), I was ready to return to the tribe that borne me. Megadeth, Testament and Exodus, three dignitaries from the Bay Area Thrash Tribe of Northern California were making a goodwill expedition to the Ram’s Head Live territory. I had to pay my respects.
I awoke in early in the morning and donned the traditional garb. After some careful consideration, I decided to show my allegiance to Megadeth. The people of WTMD were befuddled by the graphic nature of the garment, which depicted one of Megadeth’s most violent battle flags. I saved face by mentioning the Phish tour that had been announced that morning. The WTMD natives were satisfied. I was still one of them.
I arrived at the Ram’s Head Live territory shortly after 4 PM. Many tribesmen had already arrived, wearing similar garments to mine. We greeted each other in the traditional way, with the devil horns invented by High Chief Ronnie James Dio. I ran into several people I knew, like Stacy Arrington of the Revolution Magazine Tribe, Matt Ibach of The Burning Shadows Tribe, and Mike Feldman of the Freshman Biology Tribe. Since we were among our own kind, we spoke in our native tongue:
“Dude! This show is going to rule! TESTAMENT!
“I know man. It’s going to be fucking awesome!”
We made our way into the hall, our familial bonds strengthened by talks of setlists and upcoming tours. Exodus took the stage first, practicing the traditional metal entrance ritual. As each member appeared onstage, the tribe roared their approval. They rose up with fists to greet the conquering heroes. Exodus pushed their followers to be on their best, instigating several variations on the traditional mosh pit. The dance went through several incarnations during the set, but Chief Rob Dukes seemed to favor the synchronized violence of a circle pit.
After Exodus bid farewell to the defenders of the faith, Testament rose to the occasion. They played their first manifesto, The Legacy, in all its distorted glory. Unlike Chief Dukes of Exodus, Chief Chuck Billy didn’t have a preference for a specific type of traditional slam dance. The mere sight of long-haired tribesmen crashing into each other seemed to please him. He smiled malevolently while stirring an imaginary pot.
Then it was time. The Testament battle flag was taken down and replaced with Megadeth’s Rust in Peace battle flag. The tribesmen let out a gargantuan roar when they saw the familiar insignia ascend to the rafters. Megadeth were the most aggressive warriors of the Speed Metal Tribe, led by Dave Mustaine. Their soldiers assembled a mighty pulpit, which contained several Marshall stacks and a cage drum kit. The soldiers worked quickly, and it was time…or so we thought
Time kept ticking away. The house lights remained on. At first the tribesmen were confused, and then the confusion turned to anger. They started chanting in the language of the Soccer Hooligan Tribe: “This is bullshit! *clap clap clap clap*” In an effort to quell the cries, Mustaine appeared. The mighty warrior was as angry as his loyal followers.
“Hey! Because this club has a shitty fucking sound system, we’re not out here playing for you guys right now. So e-mail the promoter and tell him how much he sucks!”
Mustaine’s address left quite an effect on the tribesmen. The tribesman began to boo and extend their middle fingers. Chalices of beer hit the stage with precision. The soldiers worked hard to fix the broken sound system. After some trial and error, it started to work again,
The great hall was awash in red as the familiar riff of “War Pigs” emerged from the speakers. It seemed the tribe had finally gotten their wish. General Dave Mustaine hit the stage last, his hair cascading down his back like a ginger waterfall. It was time. He picked up his Flying V and began to play “Wake Up Dead,” a traditional battle hymn. Halfway through the guitar solo, a chalice of water hit the PA. Colonel David Ellefson’s bass kept rising above Gen. Mustaine’s guitar. The warriors went through the motions for a few more minutes before leaving the pulpit. A soldier informed the tribesmen that Megadeth would be making another expedition in a few months.
Many tribesmen were angered. Some threatened to repeat the Guns n’ Roses/Metallica riot of 1992. There were a couple tense moments. One drunken tribesman got up in my face. I had flashbacks of the Nagle/Red Buffalo skirmish of 2008, in which I emerged from battle with a black eye and the respect of many Metal elders. An enforcer broke us up before anything happened.
Eventually the Tribe dispersed. I went on my way. As I walked out of the great club, I was reminded of the esteemed jesters of Spinal Tap, who once played for fifteen minutes and then addressed the crowd of yellow citizens in front of them,
“Goodnight Springdon! There will be no encore!”