Musicians create the music they love with the hope that someone out there will be equally moved by it. Music entertains, it also inspires emotions and provides therapy for its listeners. I never understood that concept until Fall 2001, when I finally found that all-encompassing piece of music. That was also the first time in my life I needed to find it.
I am a New Yorker. Like every other New Yorker, on the morning of September 11,2001, my life changed forever. In a few short hours, I forever lost friends, my sense of security and the only skyline I have ever known.
I was pretty close to the action on that catastrophic day, so when I finally made the terrifying journey home, I was pretty fucked up. FUBAR is a good word for it. I've never been scared of anything in my life, but that night, and for three months after 9-11, I couldn't move. I was practically a vegetable. I'd look behind my back when I got undressed, as if I was the next to be attacked and the attacker was waiting near my window. I only got out of bed to feed my two cats, and then quickly got back into bed. My friends were barging in to make sure I was eating. When nighttime came, I laid in bed with every single light in my apartment on. And while I was able to get into bed, I wasn't able to sleep. Everytime I closed my eyes I saw the plane go through that second tower (something I had seen with my own eyes through my office window). I was having endless conversations with myself and with my missing friends, trying to will them to life.
I started to avoid the TV and even the radio out of fear I'd catch some late breaking horror story on the news. Like I said, I was FUBAR (Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, in case you didn't know).
Well fast forward to Metallica. When I was sick of living in total silence (minus my ringing phone and doorbell), I decided to play my CDs (still avoiding the radio). I grabbed the Master of Puppets CD and went straight to track 4, totally out of sarcasm, because I felt like, "Shit, I belong in a sanitarium, why not play the song?"
Well I heard the song differently that night, 3 months after that awful day. I sat in my room and thought, "Shit, this is NOW, this is what just happened!" This song is so old yet is was so new to me that night.
I found myself playing it endlessly, just Sanitarium, nothing else on MOP. Each time I played the song it took me somewhere else. I went from having all those unnamed feelings of insecurity and depression and fear, to growing angry. And I drew strength from that anger.
"No locked doors no windows barred no things to make my brain seem scarred."
So when will I feel like me again?
"Build my fear of what's out there and cannot breathe the open air. Whisper things into my brain assuring me that I'm insane."
Ok, time to try closing my eyes and keeping them closed, I wont see those planes, I refuse too.
"Listen dammnit we will win....got some death to do...."
Fuck it, fuck Osama, fuck whoever did this to my friends. Payback is a bitch and the U.S. military is a motherfucker. The terrorists will get theirs.
I probably played the song 40 times that night. And that night, for the first time in three months, something happened: I got changed for bed and I didn't look behind me. I closed all of my lights and got into bed. And I closed my eyes and went to sleep. The next morning, I had breakfast. I was me again, not completely but getting there. It's amazing how timeless and effective one song can be.
That song provided me with the inspiration and therapy I needed during the darkest time of my life. It was then that I became a full-on Metallica fan. I needed this band, I needed their music. Metallica became the band I turn to for therapy. If I am in a bad mood, their music changes that, and when I am already in a good mood, a Metallica song puts me in an amazing mood. Put me inside a venue where I am about to see this band live, and I am in my happy place.
After Sanitarium took me out of my depression, I always fantasized about one day sharing my story with the band, most notably James Hetfield, the main lyrisict. On a sunny, Spring day in March 2004, that fantasy became a reality.
I won a Meet & Greet backstage pass through Metallica's fan club. I flew to Portland, Oregon, armed with a camera, some sharpies, and a printed-out copy of something I had written on the fan club message board: the story of how Sanitarium healed me. Rather than share this with the entire band, I decided to hand the folded up print-out to the man himself, James Hetfield. With Metallica's one-man camera crew filming, I nervously handed James the message board post. I even tried downplaying it by rolling my eyes as I did so, and stating "it's just a post from the fan club message board, read it when you have a chance."
Once James held the post, I summarized for him, fighting emotions as I stood there, eye to eye with my lyrical hero. If I can remember correctly, I informed him that he would be hard-pressed to find someone in New York who did not lose at least one person that day, and because of that, we all needed to help each other through it, which wasn't helping me at all. I needed to find an outside outlet, something removed from New York City and that day. "I found you. This post talks about the song that helped me."
As I spoke I saw tears filling James' eyes. I was upsetting someone whose music brings me joy. I changed the subject by saying, "before we take a picture, may I have a hug." I made sure the next few minutes I spent with him were filled with laughter. The Meet & Greet was over. Off he went to prepare for that evening's concert. I don't even remember whether or not he still had my letter, or if he had handed it to his bodyguard.
I left the backstage area and met up with my friends. Godsmack, the opening act, was still performing. My friends had managed to get us a sweet spot on the standing room only General Admission floor. We were front and center, leaning on the Rail. Only Arena security and the road crews were in front of us. Still in a haze from having met, and had a great time, with my favorite band, I wondered if James would read the letter I gave him. Four songs into Metallica's set, Sanitarium began to play. My friend grabbed my hand, exclaiming, "It's your song chickie!" The fact that they were playing the very song I mentioned in my letter did not phase me, because as any Metallica fan can tell you, it is played often. The in-the-round stage made it difficult for me to see James perform the song. I was somewhat disappointed. In fact, he never made his way near me at all. Suddenly, Kirk and James were away from a mic and in front of me, playing Sanitarium's outtro. As the song ended, James pointed at me and mouthed "You!" He then tapped his heart, leaning back slightly and shaking his head, his face sympathetic. He stood up straight and pointed at me again, "That was for you!"
I stood there shell-shocked. Not only did he read what I had written, but he empathized. In a spilt second, a hundred thoughts all surrounding 9-11 and what I had gone through raced through my head. It then hit me: the man who indirectly helped me, the man who's words healed me when family, friends and crisis counseling all failed me, stood in front of me, and sent me another message, this time a direct one: "I get it, and I'm sorry." I cried as my friend embraced me. She was crying as well.
That moment gave me closure: I was able to let James know the impact Metallica's music has on me. It also permanently etched a soft spot in my heart for James Hetfield.
One of these days, I will thank him for that.
You're a smooth and silky suave type! You exude class and you believe in tradition. A classical taste who doesn't like things to be too flashy or showy. Climb the Eiffel tower of taste with a spoonfull of you! Oui Oui!