Despite my best efforts, there are times when this humble column just goes horribly awry, and this week was one of those times. Utterly thrilled that the watermelon-smashing comedic hijinks of Gallagher were rolling through our fair city this week, I set out for an interview with the famed comedian. No luck. The rejection sent me reeling, but at my darkest moment, I stumbled across a beaming light that gave me hope and purpose: the single greatest band ever—Metallagher.

Based in Minneapolis, Metallagher is a cover band that is true to their name, as they are most likely (and hopefully) the only Metallica cover band with a Gallagher impersonator as a singer. Please do not turn the page, or crumble this paper in anger; I'm totally serious. They even have a website: Fronted by a poor-looking Gallagher impersonator and backed by Kirk Ham Sandwich, Cliff Cruton, Lars Casserole, Dave Mustard—Metallagher obviously has no albums and not even a song posted online. In a radio interview posted on their MySpace page they attribute that to fear of being sued, which I suppose is a possibility, but the question is, by which party? Who is more litigious? A dinosaur metal band whose best days are behind them, or the wacky prop comedian whose followers cover themselves with a tarp to avoid being hit by projectile melons?

Metallagher's very existence is either a sign that the cover band culture has gone completely off the rails, or further proof that MySpace is the gutter for which all bands, big or small, real of fake, exist in harmony. While the traditional cover band will always have a market in drunken nostalgia, you can imagine a "legitimate" cover band such as Super Diamond shedding a few tears over the recent popularity of ironic tribute acts such as Iron Maidens, Mandonna, Hell's Belles and the worst of them all, MiniKISS, the all-midget KISS tribute band.

But back to Metallagher... if there are worse things than being rejected for an interview by an ironic Gallagher tribute band, I don't want to know what they are. I tried my best, but all attempts to reach the "band" went unanswered. I suppose they are too busy either working on their riffs or smashing some sort of produce, while I am left to swallow the bitter pill that is missing quite possibly the greatest music interview ever.

While deep inside I long to talk to the band whose motto is "Melon Up Your Ass" and "Imagine being pummeled in the face with chunks of watermelon while 'Master of Puppets' is filling your ears," I knew it was not meant to be. And for that, dear reader, I am truly sorry.