“You mean, it’s a new kind of rock music?” she asked, her fro all-bouncing around from side to side.

“We live in a very angry society, Bethany. They will sense the anger …and it will be heavy,” Dirk said.

“Heavy, like, metal?” “Yes.”

And so came the birth of metal.

Dirk plugged in his Stratocaster, all black with skeletons painted on it, and writhed away, flicking his fingertips across the taught guitar strings. The sound eroded the quiet around him. Bethany wasn’t sure why Dirk was so angry. He used to write such beautiful, acoustic love songs, so this side of him was new. She patted her big hair and plugged her ears. People who were masochistic about headaches were the only ones who would like this.

“What happened to all the love songs you used to write? You made it on the radio all the time with them.”

“Babe, it’s not over yet with the love songs,” he said. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to express myself differently is all. You haven’t even heard the lyrics yet.”