-“That guy. He’s always here, by himself. He requests Metallica songs and pretends he’s Metallica and sings along. He never talks to anybody.”
I followed the direction of my companion’s gaze. She was glancing at youngish man standing close to the DJ who had about as much resemblance to the Metallica frontman as a tall skinny rabbit in thick glasses has to a panther.
-“Really? He pretends he’s James Hetfield?
The girl gave a snort of amusement at my incredulous look. “Yes, and he plays an air guitar as well. Look.”
Rabbitman had walked up to the DJ and was whispering urgently to him. Suddenly he brandished a red guitar. I turned to my companion: “Is that a pretend guitar?”
The girl seemed to find my incredulity hilarious- she laughed so loud that other people sitting at our table shushed us.
Rabbitman was talking incoherently in the microphone. I could distinguish words “experiment..,process…” Then he launches into the Red Hot Chili Pepper song “Snow”, while throwing himself and his pretend red guitar around like, well, like, not like Slash, who has more restraint and less movement, but like a crazy psychedelic version of Slash. I wonder whether his thick glasses will slide off his nose.
The girl is speaking: “I feel kinda bad for him… I guess somebody should talk to him… he’s here every Friday and Saturday night, singing to all these hard rock songs, never talking to anybody…”
But I don’t agree with her. “No! Why? Don’t feel bad for him! He’s obviously doing what he loves! Good for him! I wish I had a hobby I felt like this about!”
Nevertheless, despite defending Rabbitman, I feel slightly uneasy. Look, I say to myself. Look. This is what happens to people who take rock too seriously. Perhaps I should listen to some Beatles again.
UPDATE: for more commentary on James Hetfield and metallica music, read: