Dear Scott Ian,
You don’t know me. Maybe you know “of” me though. It’s me, Don de Leaumont, The Great Southern Brainfart. Yeah, I’m sure you have no fucking clue who I am. I mean, why should you? You’re a huge fucking rock star. You also wouldn’t know who I was because the first time I ever met you as an excited, young teenage fan, you didn’t utter a single word to me at the Attack of the Killer B’s signing in Atlanta. Frankie was amazing to us and took a great photo with us while you just stared at the camera like we asked you to give us 100 bucks or something. While we didn’t a pic with Joey, Joey was cool as all hell and Frankie even arranged for us to get into the show that night since we didn’t have tickets. Yeah, pretty fucking cool huh? I wonder if Frankie remembers that. Probably not but yeah, it was fucking cool.
The 2nd time I met you was after a show here in Atlanta. Me and my two buddies stood outside for hours waiting for you to come out and you came out the backstage door and said, “Back the fuck up” and blew right past us and onto the bus. Once again, Frankie and Joey signed autographs for us and were really cool. Finally, the 3rd time I met you was as an adult music writer when the Jagermeister tour came to Atlanta. Anthrax, Megadeth, and Slayer. It was a Clash of the Titans class reunion and I couldn’t have been more excited.
I was standing backstage in the hallway waiting to interview Shawn Drover of Megadeth. Joey Belladonna walked by us, saw my buddy’s King Crimson shirt and said, “Love your shirt!” and started singing a Crimson song as he walked away. Even Dave Mustaine who was sick and looked terrible said hello to us and offered a smile as he was being escorted down the hall. But you? Scott Ian? You walked toward us and we said “Hey, Scott” and you looked at the ground and blew on by. You know it’s a cold day in hell when Dave Mustaine is a nicer guy that you are.
Scott, I just have one question for you. Why are you such a goddamn fucking prick? The very people who allow you to live the life you live and do the one thing you love to do always seem to get treated like dogshit by you. I have yet to meet anyone who isn’t some sort of an industry insider say anything positive about you. As a matter of fact, the reason I’m writing this letter to you today is because a good friend of mine actually had an interaction with you recently. Here’s what she had to say:
“Anthrax guitarist Scott Ian is in a cabana near us. One of my friends here is a big fan and is totally his doppelganger, and we were so excited to take a picture! Worlds finally colliding! We worked up all our courage, my friend told him he’s a big fan, I asked if I could take a pic…and he said no. Dreams crushed, hearts broken.”
Seriously, Scott? I mean, when are you not a fucking douchebag to your fans? Oh yeah, when they pay money to meet you. I have met so many of my favorite musicians over the years in random places and while I was very respectful, I did acknowledge them (as long as they weren’t eating) and every one of them were nice to me. I met the late great Gregg Allman once and he was humble and as kind as could be. I met Alice Cooper backstage (no, I didn’t pay) and he was engaging, kind, appreciative, and even took the time to listen to my story about how I got into him as a young man via my deceased father. Alice told me that it meant a lot to him that I shared that story with him and when I started to tear up he hugged me.
See, Scott? These are the kinds of moments you could experience if you would engage with your fans and not treat them like shit under your shoe. Maybe instead of treating them like they’re ruining your day, maybe you could take a minute or two, hear a story, be engaging, and maybe even find yourself engaged. As a matter of fact maybe all of this is just mute and you really and truly don’t care about your fans because all the people I love and care about get treated with respect, kindness, love, and compassion. You, Scott Ian, have never treated me or many other countless fans with any of these actions. You treat us like we should be honored to be graced by your amazing guitar playing and stage presence (which you really do excel at both) and that we’re not worth much more than the concert ticket we paid for.
Scott, I have Anthrax stories from my youth that I would love to share with you. Stories of… well, fuck it. I’m not going to tell you. If you’d really like to hear them, please reach out for me on Twitter at @tgsbf. If you’re interested, I’ll share. If you’d like to talk, I’ll talk but until then, continue being the pompous, stuck up, snotty asshole that you are unless you want to prove me wrong.
Thank you for your time and best to your family,
Don de Leaumont
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