I forget the precise reasons for the riot, though essentially I think it was caused by jealousy. The inner-city districts of Bristol and Liverpool had already held splendidly successful riots (or race-riots, as the police insisted on calling then) and Brixton felt honor-bound to uphold London Pride by staging its own pageant. Whatever the reasons it was a splendid success. Many cars were burnt and a great deal of energetic looting went on.

And Metallica are absolutely right: The looters were common.

I spoke to many of them and I can tell you with absolute certainty that I didn't meet a single duke or duchess, marquis or earl -- not even a lowly peer of the realm -- among them. They were not out of the top drawer. They were simply common. We should pause for a moment to consider the debt of gratitude each of us owes Metallica for drawing our attention to this likeness.

If the extraordinary insight demonstrated by Metallica's drummer, Mr. Lars von Ulrich, is anything to go by, our music is in safe hands with Artistes of this caliber at the helm.

Mr. Ulrich (clearly an original and fiercely analytical polemicist) says, "We take our craft, whether it be the music, the lyrics, or the photos and art work very seriously, as do most artists."

You see? Craftsmen.

Not like you or I.

He continues, "It is therefore sickening to know that our art is being traded like a commodity rather than the art that it is."

Sickening indeed. I think we all feel it.

You can read Marcuse (or shoot smack) till you're blue in the face, but you won't achieve that sort of understanding: It's something you only come by through personal experience. You have to Live It.

In that case, you may ask, on what basis do I enter the debate? What are my credentials? A most reasonable question. Very well. I was a member of a minor Beat group in the middle of the previous century -- though I never aspired to create Art.

My group, the Only Ones, formed in London in 1976 and recorded a series of albums for the mighty Columbia label. We toured extensively for the next four years and finally split up in Los Angeles in 1980, when we became unable to bear the sight of one another.

The band continue to sell small quantities of CDs per annum, bringing in unspectacular, though regular, royalty checks, mechanicals and publishing monies right up to the present day.

In fact, I learned of Napster when a friend e-mailed me an MP3 of the Cure performing an Only Ones song, "Another Girl, Another Planet," at a Pittsburgh sound check. Never having had the good fortune to play Pittsburgh, I was thus indebted to Napster for allowing me to share the experience.

I became very fond of Napster, using it to track down deeply loved songs that are otherwise very hard to come by -- obscure Delta Blues recordings, long-deleted country-Western rarities and so forth.

Most recently, I downloaded a song I've always treasured but somehow never managed to buy -- the beautiful "Mandy" by Barry Manilow. Goodness it's wonderful. Listen to the implied rallentandos at the chorus ends -- or check the string arrangement where the key modulates from B-flat up to C. Priceless.

But I'm getting carried away.

My computer's current hard drive isn't large enough to post the entire Only Ones catalog, or I most certainly would. It's a good rule in life to put something back for something you've taken.

To this end, before buying a larger hard disk, I wrote on behalf of the band to Sony (which now controls the Columbia catalog) stating, with Neville Chamberlain in mind, that unless we heard from the company by 11 o'clock p.m. on the 23rd of April that it would immediately waive its copyright, a state of unpleasantness would exist between us.

I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received.

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