One legendary heavy metal band is letting the world experience its final show in an entire new way. Here’s how to see it.
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Finnish progressive metal pioneers Amorphis are making a highly anticipated return to Australian shores this week, marking their first headline tour down under in 13 years. The four-date trek kicks off on September 22 at The Croxton Bandroom in Melbourne, before hitting Brisbane, Sydney, and Canberra over consecutive nights. Fans can expect a career-spanning set […]
In 2019, following a routine dental check-up, Megadeth frontman Dave Mustaine was diagnosed with throat cancer. In his new book, In My Darkest Hour (published on September 24), Mustaine charts his long and often painful journey back to health in vivid detail. In this exclusive extract from the book, he reveals what kept him going during his treatment, including the support of friends and peers such as Ozzy Osbourne, Kiss’ Paul Stanley and his old Metallica bandmate James Hetfield, with whom he had a sometimes fractious history.
After my cancer diagnosis became public, I heard from a lot of people both in and out of the music industry. Ozzy Osbourne reached out. So did Paul Stanley of Kiss. And James Hetfield.
I don’t want this to sound like my getting cancer was the impetus for some sort of cease-fire between Megadeth and Metallica. That fight had been over for years. But wounds leave scars, even after healing, so it would be inaccurate to say that James and I were best buddies. But we have a shared history that will always be deep and profound; I care about him, and I know that he cares about me. Hearing from him just as I was about to begin treatment, when I was at a pretty low point, meant a lot to me. Fuck the drama. Be a human being. And don’t do it for clout or likes on social media. Pick up the damn phone and reach out. Privately. One to one. That’s what James did.
At the time, I was scared and vulnerable. (By the way, anyone facing a cancer battle who tells you they feel otherwise is full of shit. Fear and anxiety are perfectly normal, acceptable responses.) I valued every single positive interaction both before and during – hell, even after – going through cancer treatment. I’m not big on doling out advice, but I’ll say this: if you know someone who has cancer, don’t hesitate to reach out. Don’t let your own discomfort be an impediment to support. We know how you feel – scared for us, scared that you might be next, uncertain about what to say or how to behave, queasy about the prospect of being in the orbit of someone who is sick. But you know what? You can’t catch cancer. And we forgive your awkwardness. Just be there. Be a friend. Be a son or a daughter, a husband or a wife. A father or a son. Don’t worry about saying the wrong thing; if you’re there, if you took the time and made the effort to show up, there is no wrong thing to say. There is only love and support and friendship, and those things play a vital role in the healing process.
By the time of my diagnosis, I had mellowed considerably. As recently as 2010, when I published my first book, I was still one pissed-off motherfucker. A decade later? Not so much. But cancer was a transformative experience in so many ways. Even in the worst of it, I became a more grateful person, which I realize probably sounds kind of weird but is absolutely true. Not once did I ever think, Why is this happening to me? I don’t deserve this. Bad shit happens to people, somewhat randomly and arbitrarily, so I’m much more inclined to think, Hey, why not me?
Even before my diagnosis and recovery, I’d like to think that I was not an ungrateful person, that I had evolved and matured to the point where I could look at the people in my life – my wife and kids, my friends, my bandmates, past and present; the career I had built – and realize that I was a hell of a lot more fortunate than most people. But as soon as I was diagnosed with cancer, something clicked. I realized that I couldn’t beat this thing alone, that I was about to engage in the hardest battle of my life, and that I had an army on my side. I had spent a lot of time – wasted time, really – reflecting on all the shitty things that had happened to me instead of how good things were. And suddenly none of it seemed to matter; none of it was worth an ounce of energy. All that mattered was getting better and having more time with the people I loved, more time to write and perform songs.
More time.
This was my reality check: appreciate what you have, and stop whining and complaining about what you don’t have or what you lost. Take this terrible thing that is happening to you and learn from it, even as it’s ripping you apart.
Extracted from In My Darkest Hour by Dave Mustaine, published on September 25 by Constable. Order it here.