Metallica - Black Album

I don’t try to understand these things, but thinking back on my childhood (and life in general) through the lens of music is really bringing up some random ish and I love it.

For me, this was my album in the summer of 1992. It was the summer between 7th and 8th grade. My jam was Sad But True. That summer I spent what felt like every day at my best friend’s house. Sometimes we would walk to her place from the local pool. It was a long walk, way across town, but we reveled in the freedom. You never know who you might run into on the way. Remember that - Running into people randomly and then letting your day completely change course? Calling from a payphone to get a ride somewhere or ask if you could stay out longer? We’d walk along the main street. It was the summer that grown men started to catcall us from passing cars. While I knew at the time that most of the attention was for my friend, who was gorgeous and also looked older than me, the honking and sometimes vulgar shouts confused me and also made me really mad. At last, we’d reach her house and be greeted by her dogs, her mom, little sister, and this summer, loud, thrashing Metallica coming from the cool semi-subterranean comfort of this classic midwestern split-level, where her older brother and his friends were hanging out. Her house was a gathering place for a group of young misfits. Her family was amazing to me, to all of us. The guys, her brother and friends, were 2 or 3 years older than us. Together, we all spent the summer hanging out at the house - playing Dr. Mario, taking apart VCRs, and eating all the food her mom could keep in the kitchen. We watched movies, chilled in the backyard, shot slingshots and in one memorable incident set the front lawn on fire. I think it would be fair to call her brother a “metalhead”, but in those days, in my mostly white, suburban life it seemed like you were either into Metallica or the Bodyguard soundtrack. There was lots of music that summer, of course. It was a great year for R&B, to be sure, but when I think back, it was that Black Album that comes to mind.

There was something about this all-black album cover. Black on black. In my Catholic school life, where I focused on sports, more sports and not learning a damn thing about religion, it was heavy. Attractive. Bold. I knew I’d never be able to listen to this album in my house. It was the beginning of a more conscious subversion for me. Lots of things were making me mad that I didn’t have words for, including the fact that these dudes, my friends, were treated a certain way because of their black t-shirts and long hair and because they listened to a certain type of (awesome) music. I knew them to be animal lovers and artists. To me they were thoughtful and kind. The type of guys who let two awkward, silly girls hang out with them and sometimes even pick the movie. The type of guys who got their driver’s license and did not immediately start yelling out the window at 7th-grade girls. When I hear this album now, I think about our ragtag crew and I’m grateful that in that house I could safely turn into a fully realized angsty teen