A Band Called Death

I've been busier than usual, and it's because Mrs. Deathrage bought me a new video game, and by "bought me a new video game" I really mean, "bought herself a new video game which I get to use occasionally". It's called Rocksmith, and you use an actual guitar to play the game. Meanwhile, you learn to play your guitar better, or at least that's the idea.

I have been a novice guitar player for years, being able to strum a handful chords and never really progressing. Mrs. Deathrage does not play guitar. However, she has been picking along impressively to the likes of Radiohead, Muse, and the Shins for the past 5 days, and she's kicking my sorry ass at this game. I am having the most difficult time mastering skills I was fairly certain I already had and creating an awful racket. Growing increasingly frustrated with my hammer-ons and pull-offs, I have plateaued; and by "plateaued" I really mean "screaming hysterically and hurling approximately a dozen guitars off the penthouse balcony in an absurd rage, while chunks of splintered wood, necks, strings, and pickups are piling up in the alley 42 stories below".

It's fine.

Using interviews and family photos, the story of a Detroit band called Death unfolds. Touching and bittersweet, the story really gets exciting when Death's records are literally rediscovered after the master tapes sat in an attic for over 30 years. I enjoyed the film A Band Called Death, but Rocksmith may be the death of me.