To Never Recover the Pieces to All That We've Lost

Following up on last week's post, I have an awful lot swirling around in my head that I want to write about.  For the moment, that'll have to wait for me to collect my thoughts.


I'm writing this morning because I just read that Lamb of God front man, Randy Blythe, is facing 5-10 years for an alleged assault on a fan, who later died from his injuries.


These sorts of things are difficult to discuss. Much like the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman issue, I don't really have a good grip on what actually happened, so perhaps I should keep my opinions to myself.  

And, yet, I have to admit that I am going to give Blythe the benefit of the doubt on this one. Sorry, Zimmermen.  Them's the breaks.


Because I met Randy in 2010.  It is a story I've been meaning to capture here, but the short form is that my wife and I bumped into him while touring the Forbidden City in Beijing.  Even though it was his first day in China and he told us the jet lag was killing him, the guy could not have been friendlier:  he asked us about our trip, he talked about his wife and he even put us on the guest list for the Lamb of God show the following evening. Even as both my wife and I started to worry that we'd taken up too much of his time, Randy just kept on chatting.


This past year, I dropped him a tweet before their show in D.C.  Much to my surprise, the guy responded, referencing our conversation from nearly two years earlier.  Totally unnecessary, and very cool.


I guess that even in my old age, I'm apt to be a fanboy from time to time.

The truth is that I don't really know Randy at all.  But I'm inclined to say that he's a good guy, which is why this is so troubling.  

If you're skeptical, I invite you to read two selections from his highly entertaining (though desperately in need of editing) Tumblr page: I Love Boobies, and What Its Like to Be In A Band.  I like to think that they're both very good indications of the man's character.

Sadly, not lost in any of this discussion is the fact that a fan is dead. And quite, frankly, I'm struggling to create a pithy conclusion to follow that.