I CONFRONTED METALLICA ON THEIR OWN TERMS!
Why Metallica had to leave L.A. to make it big.
The first time I met Lars Ulrich was in my apartment in Laurel Canyon. He was there with his friend Heavy Metal John, an L.A. metal superfan who’d drop by now and then to tell me about some unknown metal band he’d seen at a club in the middle of nowhere, then leave with an armful of the 8x10 band photos the record companies sent rock journalists, which we usually filed in the bin.
John asked if he could bring a buddy, who turned out to be Lars—possibly the biggest fan of Saxon, Diamond Head, and Iron Maiden in the United States. He told me he’d started a band and that they were rehearsing in the garage of the house in Orange County where he lived with his dad. I remember thinking, as Lars rummaged through my desk for anything related to his beloved New Wave of British Heavy Metal, how un-L.A. he looked. Admittedly it hadn’t been long since he’d moved there from Copenhagen, Denmark. Nor was it long since he gave up a career in professional tennis for rock.
