I picked up my first guitar when I was in elementary school, and I asked my father -- an amateur guitarist who strummed along along to David Bowie vinyl records for fun -- to teach me a basic chord. It wasn’t 15 minutes before my whining began: my fingers were too small, the strings were too tough... the human hand doesn’t stretch like that, I complained.

Long story short: I decided I was fine listening to Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” while playing Metroid; I didn’t need to be playing Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” while listening to Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid.”