Yep, this is pretty much what I think of these assholes, with the exception of Kirk Hammett and the bass player:
Enough has been said about how Metallica sold out, collaborated with the Enemy (the RIAA), blah blah. I gave up on their music after …And Justice for All. The “Black Album” was pointless, and I never forgave them for their flirtation with late-90s hipsterism that culminated in the atrocious “Whisky in the Jar”.
But he breaking point came when I saw their docu-therapy session Some Kind of Monster. I prefer my thrash metal mythology to remain inviolate thank you, and didn’t need to see Lars and James take turns as whiny drama queens. I want my rock gods to be trashing hotel rooms, snorting the ashes of dead groupies, waving guns at holiday shoppers, not in thrall to some creepy Svengali therapist.
At the end of it, I just didn’t care what happened to this band. As I told a friend of mine, it’s like learning how sausages are made. I’d rather not know.