Enter Sandman (part 1)

       Metallica was never one of my favorite bands. Never, that is, until I heard the song “Enter Sandman” in the fall of 1991.
       I’m not sure where I first heard it, which is too bad. Sometimes, we remember those moments with stunning clarity. The transcendental emotions we experience become part of our body, part of our DNA. During those first few virgin minutes, our entire beings become galvanized by music.
       But, come to think of it, there aren’t very many songs where I can recall the very first time I heard them. Songs that stay with you are probably less like sledge hammers and more like seeds that grow once they’re inside you.
       Sometimes, those seeds are large and delivered with maximum impact, so we recall the moment of inception. Or more accurately, our moment of impregnation. Other times, the seeds are small and more discrete. In either case, a song that remains a part of you somehow makes it’s way in. It feeds on whatever is inside of you - your pain, your joy, your thoughts, your dreams. As it feeds, it grows. And, just like a tree or a flower, it also gives something back. That’s where the magic is. What this piece of music gives back to you as it grows inside, subtly transforming you.     
       These were the days before I kept a journal, for if I had, I may well have written about “Enter Sandman” then, when it’s initial impact was as fresh and drenching on me as the sweat from a run in torrid heat.
       What I do recall is buying the CD and playing it ad infinitum. At volumes that caused the walls of my five-hundred-eighty-five square foot condominium to vibrate like a tuning fork. With two sets of speakers, one in the living room and the other in my bedroom, my entire little home would be completely awash in sound. There was nowhere to run to escape the deliciously deafening roar of music. Not even the bathroom. And that’s exactly how I wanted it.

To Be Continued....