Scott Ian--I'm The Man

 First things first, this clearly is not a record review.  No sir, this is (mostly) a book review, specifically a review of Scott Ian's "I'm The Man: The Story Of That Guy From Anthrax".  I say mostly because, as with most everything I type and you hopefully read, a chunk of this is about myself and my relationship with music or, in this case, musicians.  This book has been a long time coming for me.  I was with Anthrax at the beginning and, despite a long hiatus (more on that later), I still find them more than deserving of a place in the Big Four.  Think of them as the Sammy Davis Jr. of the, ahem, thrash pack.  But don't mistake their outward goofiness for a lack of ambition or heaviness.  "Fistful Of Metal" hinted at it, "Spreading the Disease" put the building blocks in place, and "Among The Living" perfected their sound and made them worthy of being carved into the Mt. Rushmore of thrash (I'm working on it).  "Persistence Of Time" might get a mention in a bit.  At the center of all this was, and still is, Scott Ian. 
  I was ridiculously excited for this book (and ridiculously disappointed that it took Amazon a full week post street date to get it to me).  I had read Dave Mustaine's autobiography and was shocked by his openness and candor.  Scott Ian had already proved himself an adept storyteller and funny to boot.  That said, this book isn't high literature.  Unfortunately, it's also not written with much of Scott's voice easily recognizable.  Maybe he didn't want it to sound too much like his talking tour but that kind of off the cuff storytelling would have been welcomed by my eyes.  Still, it's an easy, quick, and insightful read.  And it's shocking to learn how a band that seemed so important and, despite the diminutive size of most members, larger than life could struggle so mightily with record labels and just making ends meet.  And that's the meat of the book that I took rather personally.
  Here's where I mention "Persistence Of Time".  I like that album.  I don't love that album.  Dark and moody Anthrax works for me in small doses but over the course of that full length, my attention wanders.  To compound matters, by the late 80's and early 90's (when "Persistence" came out), my tastes were expanding.  Yes, here is where it becomes about me, friends.  Metal had given way to indie rock as cardigan sweaters and flannels replaced my black t-shirts and jeans.  The metal bands I had liked were in the midst of producing some of their worst albums whilst the Superchunks, Built To Spills, and Dinosaur Jrs were producing some of their finest.  It wasn't until recently that i discovered there was some groovy metal coming out of the mid-90's but it's probably for the best that I didn't know it then as 25 year old me probably would have shrugged it off anyway.  All this is to lead you, dear reader, to the crux of what struck me hard about halfway through Ian's book (and halfway through Anthrax's career).  I, as a fan, am allowed to make sudden and whimsical turns.  I'm allowed to branch out, find new and completely different sounds to fill my ears.  I can do whatever the fuck I want!  All the while, guys like Scott Ian are busy fighting for their lives. 
  Sure, every aging band is faced with the times a-changing and the youth nipping at their heals.  Some bands, and some scenes, age gracefully and have the room to incorporate influences from without.  Metal bands…not so much.  We metal fans can be a bit narrow minded when it comes to what is and what is not metal. Heck, me and my friends initially rejected the acoustic guitar that opens Metallica's "Ride The Lightning."  Tough crowd, right.  Anyway, the aging metal bands in the early 90's all lost me for a time.  Metallica shoved me away with the "Black Album", Megadeth lost me with the horrible "Sweating Bullets", Slayer, God bless 'em, didn't give a shit that I left them for a bit, and Anthrax lost me when they kicked Joey out of the band.  Holy shit I could write an entire other piece just on my (and it turns out, Scott's) complicated relationship with one Joey Belladonna.  Let's just say we have both made our peace with him and are both stoked he is back in the band. 
  So, Joey was out and  John Bush joined the band, the band put out "Sound Of White Noise" and it did pretty well (without me).  BUT, it did not do as well as the label predicted and petered out at 700,000 copies sold.  Anthrax were not going to be the next Metallica.  Then came "Stomp 442", the record that sold a mere 100,000 copies and was the topic of the passage that really hit me in the gut.  Let's just throw some quotes out there from the man himself: "It was hard to believe that all those fans of "Sound Of White Noise" were listening to Soundgarden, Alice In Chains, and Nirvana and wanted nothing to do with Anthrax anymore."  "Far worse--our audience didn't seem to care about us either, anymore."  And the one that really stuck out for me: "Nobody had our backs.  Nobody wanted to book us, nobody wanted to promote us.  We weren't selling tickets.  Those tours for "Stomp 442" lost money.  The world totally changed, and to this day I don't have an answer for where 600,000 people went."  UGH!  Scott, I'm sorry!  I left because, unlike you, I could.  I often tell the story of my roommate Bruce, upon hearing me listening to Low in my bedroom one night, asking me what 16 year old Ross would think of this musical choice.  I could only honestly answer that he'd think me a pussy.  But I wasn't 16 year old me anymore.  And I wasn't in a band beholden to piling riffs upon riffs with double bass pounding underneath.  I was gone, Scott, but you guys weren't completely forgotten.  That's probably not much in the way of consolation.  Me still occasionally putting "Among The Living" on, while I'm sure cool, wasn't putting any money into your pockets.  Again, all I can say is sorry.  I feel like a heel.  But...
  Now it's safe to say 16 year old me has reared his adorable can't grow a beard face once again.  If it wasn't made abundantly clear in the few other things I've written, the almighty riff has been restored to its rightful place (coming from my speakers, that is).  Lo and behold, the old guys have been kicking up some decent dust lately as well.  I bought (with actual money) "We've Come For You All" and it got some fair rotation driving my Jetta around the streets of Oakland.  Better yet, I got to see the first tour with Joey back in the band (something that was apparently way more rad for me than the band) and waited and waited and waited for "Worship Music" to become a real live boy.  Maybe I don't love it as much as I hoped (it's kind of too much "Persistence" and not enough "Among", perhaps a product of not being written for Joey specifically) but it gives me reason to be excited for the next.  All I can say is that I am happy that Scott is a stubborn motherfucker and that he and his band mates were waiting for me when I decided to come on back. 
   Added bonus:  the book tells the story of the first time Scott met Lemmy, all laid out in graphic novel form.  Also, Neil Turbin.  What a tool.  Hey, if you slogged through this nonsense, you can surely get through Scott's book.  We're all survivors!