Mustaine:
A Life In Metal
Dave Mustaine
TO MOM AND DAD,I PROMISED I WOULD BE GOOD.
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATEDTO ALL OF THE PEOPLE WHO TOLDME I WOULD NEVER…
COME, COME, COME MY LITTLE DROOGIES. I JUST DON’T GET THIS AT ALL. THE OLD DAYS ARE DEAD AND GONE. FOR WHAT I DID IN THE FAST, I’VE BEEN PUNISHED. I’VE BEEN CURE.
ALEX, A CLOCKWORK ORANGE
REGRETS, I’VE HAD A FEW…
SID VICIOUS
Table of Contents
3 LARS AND ME,OR WHAT AM I GETTING MYSELF INTO?
4 METALLICA—FAST, LOUD, OUT OF CONTROL
6 BUILDING THE PERFECT BEAST: MEGADETH
7 MISSION: TO BREAK ALL THE RULES OF GOD AND MAN
9 THE END OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION
13 I PRAY THE LORD MY SOUL TO KEEP
EPILOGUE: THREE BOATS AND A HELICOPTER
HUNT, TEXAS
JANUARY 2002
IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR BOTTOM, THIS SEEMS TO BE ABOUT AS GOOD A PLACE AS ANY-ALTHOUGH I’D BE THE FIRST TO ADMIT THAT THE BOTTOM HAS BEEN A MOVING TARGET IN MY DARK AND TWISTED, SPEED METAL VERSION OF A DICKENSIAN LIFE.
IMPOVERISHED, TRANSIENT CHILDHOOD? CHECK.
ABUSIVE, ALCOHOLIC PARENT? CHECK.
MIND-FUCKING RELIGIOUS WEIRDNESS ON MY CASE THE EXTREMES OF THE JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES AND SATANISM)? CHECK.
ALCOHOLISM, DRUG ADDICTION, HOMELESSNESS? CHECK, CHECK, CHECK.
SOUL-CRUSHING PROFESSIONAL AND ARTISTIC SETBACKS? CHECK.
REHAB? CHECK (SEVENTEEN TIMES, GIVE OR TAKE).
NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE? CHECK THAT ONE, TOO.
James Hetfield, who used to be one of my best friends, as close as a brother, once observed with some incredulity that I must have been born with a horseshoe up my ass. That’s how lucky I’ve been, how fortunate I am to be pulling breath after so many close calls. And I must acknowledge that on some level he’s right. I have been lucky. I have been blessed. But here’s the thing about having a horseshoe lodged in your rectum: it also hurts like hell. And you never forget it’s there.
So here I am, staring down the throat of another stint in rehab, at a place called La Hacienda, out in the heart of the pristine Texas Hill Country. It’s only about two hundred miles or so from Fort Worth, but it seems a world away, with only cattle ranches and summer camps for neighbors. The focus is on healing…on getting better. Physically, spiritually, emotionally. As usual, I’ve brought only modest expectations and enthusiasm to the proceedings. Ain’t my first rodeo, after all.
You see, I’ve learned more about getting loaded, more about how to get drugs, more about mixing drinks, and more about how to bed the opposite sex in Alcoholics Anonymous than in any other single place in the world. AA—and this holds true for most rehabilitative programs and treatment centers—is a fraternity, and like all fraternity brothers, we like to swap stories. It’s a ridiculous glorifying of the experience: drugalogues and drunkalogues, they’re called. One of the things that always bothered me most was the incessant one-upmanship. You’d tell a story, sometimes baring your soul, and the guy next to you would smirk and say, “Ah, man, I spilled more than you ever used.”
“Oh, really?”
“Damn right.”
“Well, I used a lot, so you must be one clumsy fuckhead.”
For some reason, this sort of interaction never did much for me, never made me feel like I was getting better or improving as a human being. Sometimes I got worse. It was at an AA meeting, ironically, that I first learned about the ease of procuring pain medication through the Internet. I didn’t have any particular need for pain meds at the time, but the woman telling the story made it sound like a great buzz. Before long the packages were coming to my house and I’d fostered one hell of an addiction. By this time I was a world-famous rock star—founder, front man, singer, songwriter, and guitarist (and de facto CEO) for Megadeth, one of the most popular bands in heavy metal. I had a beautiful wife and two wonderful kids, a nice home, cars, more money than I ever dreamed of. And