The boy plays guitar. Night after night. Hour after hour. The rankling of electric twang eminates from the guitar room. The Schecter, the Dean Dimebag and the Fender. Eminating from the Marshall amp like a howl from a wounded fox. And yet, in the cacophony, there is a method. Tnere is a tune. There is some metal rock and roll. It is, in a word, good.