To Live Is To Die: The Night Cliff Was Taken.

by Creed Griffiths

Senior Editor

/ FEATURE

October 5, 2019

“The most dangerous band in the world! That’s what they think of us, that’s what they’re calling us…. Fuck yeah!” Thought James Hetfield, Metallica’s lead singer and guitarist. Hetfield was always the centre of attention. Always the loudest in the room, always the biggest. His long, tangled blonde hair the crown of his Rockstar royalty; the crowd his loyal subjects; on their knees begging for more as he conjured rage inside them like a magician performing a spell.

Hetfield was dosing off in the back lounge of the tour bus, away from the rest of the group. The stench of a good time lingered. Stale booze, sweat and nicotine stained all in sight around him and the air was just as thick with the consequences of too much booze.

Touring was always fun at first, but quickly became a chore; playing the same songs to death with the same people in venues across Europe that all seemed to resemble one another. Play, party, pass out, play, party, pass out, play, party, pass out……

It was taking a toll on all the band members, but it weighed James down the most – lately more than ever. But the drugs, the booze, the women, “oh, the women” he thought; that always helped pick him up again.

At the back of the tour bus, alone, was the only solace James could get and he wanted to stay awake a little longer to enjoy it. The cold Swedish air wasn’t good for James’ throat. Neither was the whiskey, the beer, the cigarettes, or screaming his lungs out for two hours on stage; but that was all part of touring he thought. This cold European air? That can fuck right off!

James finally let his eyes win the battle and gave way to them, the warm comfort of sleep washing over him. The silence felt like the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, like warm, sweet honey filling him up and taking him away. That perfect state, somewhere between consciousness and deep slumber felt better than any drug he could remember using. He’d make up for it tomorrow night he thought.

James was woken by a sudden lurch and a deafening bang. Dazed and confused he found himself sprawled across the cold wet bitumen, his face burning, either from the force of the impact or the blistering midnight wind. He lay motionless for a few seconds, “What the hell….?" The smell of burnt rubber and fuel filled his nostrils, screams filled his ears, blood filled his eyes, anger filled his heart. James clawed his way up to the side of the upturned tour bus. “Lars, Kurt…… Cliff. What the fuck man?!” Drummer Lars Ulrich and guitarist Kirk Hammett were at the other end of the bus screaming, but not at James. What were they doing? James leapt off of the bus, stumbled a little and slipped on the cold, harsh ice underfoot, crashing face first in the process. On hands and knees, he could see Lars and Kurt doing their best to pull bassist Cliff Burton out from under the wreckage of the upturned bus. They managed to pull him out, his motionless figure bloodied and bruised, arms and legs mangled from the crash. Dead.

Wearing nothing but his underwear, James raced towards the driver of the bus in a fit of uncontrollable rage his hands outstretched for the man’s throat. “What happened! How much have you had to drink! Let me smell your breath!” The driver said nothing. He couldn’t even look James in the eye. His unblinking gaze, unable to be broken from the horrors of his reality. James threw him roughly to the ground and reeled off down the road, searching for the remnants of the groups alcohol that had survived the crash. James planned to cope in the only way he knew how – beer, whiskey…. anything that would get him totally ripped enough to make all of this go away. James’ planned night off from the bottle had lasted all but a few hours, instead he was half a bottle of whiskey down and without one of his lifelong friends. He offered Kirk a swig, he desperately snatched at the bottle and greedily gulped down the remaining pain remedy.

The world’s most dangerous band had become the world’s most lost and broken overnight, an event that would eventually fracture the group into many pieces over the coming decades.