Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 3

Last weekend was a goddamn blur. Friday consisted of practice in the new Hellheim studio and Hellfiend, Bodybag, and myself wound up almost drinking the whole night away. Luckily I made it home early enough to where I could pass out for about three hours, wake up feeling like shit, and still manage to get it together and head down to Hollywood on Saturday night to play a free show. And of course more drinking and drug-use was had, both in the parking lot and inside. The Three Clubs was packed! There's nothing like playing a show where it's standing room only and there's barely enough stage space available to play (if you're lucky enough to even have a stage). Lightening Swords of Death and Destroyed in Seconds were crushingly powerful so it was hard to top those guys that night. I think we stepped up to the challenge barring the disaster of trying to play cover songs none of us have played in over a year. Sunday consisted of more drinking and carousing around Hollywood and I found myself back in Three Clubs drinking in the dimly lit shadows with several lovely young ladies. It's a hard knock life. Monday morning I paid dearly.

So yeah, let's see... I joined Gravehill, took a short vacation to England, and then began my work with them in earnest.

Know what I mean?

One of the stipulations on me joining was that I had to grow my hair out long. I had no problems with that and in fact I was planning on growing it out anyway. They just gave me the kick in the ass to get it started. Of course long hair doesn't grow overnight. Thorgrimm, Bodybag, and Zyklon all had long flowing locks and Abominator had his own bald look. So, in essence, if I went on stage with these guys, I'd be the only douche bag with a short, little-boy hair cut.

Actual douche pictured.

Well fuck that! If I was going to look like a douche bag, it was going to be a douche bag with his face covered up! I came up with the idea of the helmet as I was casually browsing a Medieval-porn themed website called "Wet Wenches Hungry for Anal Pillaging". It was a very niche porn site. And then I saw it. A rather dastardly looking metal helmet that looked evil as fuck. I brought the idea to the guys and they seemed to like it although I could sense a little hesitancy. Thorgrimm mentioned that instead of buying the metal helmet, I should look into the guy who crafted Gravehill's spiked gauntlets. Apparently he was a skilled leather craftsman and made a lot of armor sets for renaissance fairs and LARPers (that's Live Action Role Players for you non-nerds out there).


I contacted the guy and specifically designed the helmet. We went back and forth via email laying out the details and then he went to work. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't that expensive. While he worked on that, I scoured more Medieval-porn themed websites for armor. I submitted an order but unfortunately the armor was made in the UK and wouldn't arrive for several months. Until then I had to make do with what I had for my first gig which consisted of the helmet (which arrived only a week prior), two bullet belts, and spiked leg greeves and arm gauntlets. Looking back on it now, it did look rather silly without the armor to complete the whole image.

Why don't girls like me??

My first gig with Gravehill was the Watain show at the Knitting Factory in Hollywood, October 2008. Before the gig and before my first practice with them, I was learning a bunch of stuff by ear off of the EP which consisted of a whole 5 songs. Learning them WRONG I should say as I completely suck shit learning music by ear. I'm a very undisciplined musician and prefer all of my music to be presented to me on a silver platter, tabbed out, and ready to go. Oh, I also had a new bass which was large and unwieldy and I had to practice by myself wearing the fucking helmet while playing. Yes, I sat in my small closet of an apartment, alone, with a helmet on, and played bass. It was pretty sad. Sadder still is that I'm in a larger apartment now and still wear the helmet when I wash the dishes, play video games, drink alone, and masturbate.

I digress! Back to the Watain show! For a first go, it wasn't too bad. I wasn't nervous and was eagerly looking forward to hopping back out on stage. Backstage was a nightmare as Watain's rotting lamb heads permeated the air and it got so bad that several people were getting nauseous. Putting on the helmet for the first show felt weird and was extremely awkward. As we made our way to the stage, the horns kept getting hung up on curtains, hitting walls, and I poked some poor stagehand who was standing idly by. He's dead now.

We lit some incense for him.

But like I mentioned, it was an okay show. We played a few songs from Rites of the Pentagram which hadn't been released yet and there were a few diehards up front headbanging. Pretty much what you would expect from being one of the first openers of the night. Our stage presence was...well, there wasn't really any stage presence. Bodybag wowed the audience with his helicopter headbanging and Abominator impressed no one by calling the rest of the bands on the bill a bunch of faggots (the audience as well). If you can believe it, Abominator was much more of an asshole three years ago than he is today. I know, I know! Believe me, it's true. As for myself, I couldn't see what the hell I was playing. When I practiced at home, it was in regular light. On stage, there's a bunch of shit flashing, then red lights, then strobes, and so I spent most of the time concentrating, hoping I didn't fuck up. I blame it all on that helmet which I continuously wore up until, shit, early 2011!

Fresh off the stage and stuffed into an elevator
with four sweaty dudes. Rockstars!

Coming up next on Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 4-Chicago, Milwaukee, a Basement, and Hair-covered Floors!

Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 2

I moved to California from Texas back in 2001 because I didn't have anything better to do. My roommate was my best friend from the Army days and we were both jobless and living off the government's dime (and my credit card). As much as the Army had cleaned me up, I fell back into some old habits. I started smoking pot again and since I lived in the hood (commonly known as Riverside), I was required to start smoking crack. It was part of my lease unfortunately.

This chick had the highest quality crack.

Many a night was spent sitting around playing video games, eating TV dinners, and talking about getting jobs. Now don't get me wrong, my roommate (let's call him Ru Paul) and I went out to several job interviews but 90% of them were scams. I actually scammed people into signing up for a modeling agency that was pretty much nonexistent. I feel bad about it now, but shit, I got to talk to hot chicks without them running away in terror. Let's see, I also tried the door-to-door salesman routine but every time I knocked on some poor schmoe's door I wanted to kick my own ass.

"As you can see here, ma'am, there is a clause
that says you can beat my ass with your
walking stick at any time during this conversation."

Money was running dry, we had used the last of any cash reserves to pay for at least one more month in the apartment, and my credit card was maxed out. As luck would have it, Ru Paul found a temp agency and got a job within a couple of days. I signed up at the same place and got a job just as quickly. This was an actual grown up job. Monday to Friday, 8-5, benefits, vacation and sick days, man...what the fuck was this. I was officially an adult! It only took me 27 years to get there.

Before I knew any of the turd burglars in Gravehill, most of my weeknights and weekends were spent looking for any and all metal shows. There were none too big and none too small. I just wanted to watch bands play. Another good friend of mine (let's call him BeelzeBob) knew Lilith Sanchez whose father owned the infamous Wild Rags Records and in turn, Lili eventually hooked up with Thorgrimm. Frequent parties were held at Lili and Thorgrimm's pad and that's where I met a majority of the creeps I hang out with today. That's also where I got the Gravehill demo "Metal of Death". Soon after, Thorgrimm gave me "The Advocation of Murder and Suicide" EP. Gravehill knew I played guitar because of a previous black metal project I worked on so Thorgrimm approached me soon after they sacked their bass player and asked if I wanted to play bass for them. I think my reply was, "Nah. I got better things to do." I was a fan of the band but I was trying to pursue a career in Hip Hop so my priorities were elsewhere.

Months later, I started to get bored again and my Hip Hop dreams were dashed upon the unforgiving rocks of the music industry. Did you know there were already white Hip Hop artists out there?? Fuck, if I would have known, I wouldn't have tried. My goal of trying to start up another LA Dream Team was crushed.

R.I.P. Dreams of fortune and fame! :(

I hadn't smoked, inhaled, or taken a suppository full of PCP in several years since getting my grown up job. While I was making decent money and still in party mode every once in a while, I realized that perhaps I needed a money pit to sink my dollars into instead of saving and investing like I was. So in September 2008 at the Masters of Metal show in San Bernardino, Thorgrimm once again propositioned me, "So we still need a bass player..." And I said, "Fuck it. Okay. I don't have anything else better to do."

Coming up next on Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 3-

The evolution of the Helmet, Mexican Hookers, and my first show.

Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 1

This my friends, is the debut post in what will hopefully be the first in a series of blog entries detailing the wild, wild world of Gravehill. So when did I join this group of collective heads of knuckle? Three whole years ago in September of 2008. Yep! This month is my 3rd anniversary but it feels soooo much longer than that.

But before we delve into all that hub-bub, let's go back to my origin story. Please note, as I have mentioned in other posts (I think), my mind is quite fuzzy and has been decimated by lots of drugs and alcohol. It's a bit hard at times for me to decipher what is real and what is fantasy. I'm hoping most of these memories are real.

A lot of people think I was a blond boy who pranced around
in wigs and dresses. The truth is, I was Steve Martin. I
grew out of it though.

I was born a poor black child. I remember the days, sittin' on the porch with my family, singin' and dancin' down in Mississippi... Wait, wrong origin story. I was actually born in the swamps of Florida. You know Florida, right? It's the state that fucked everything up back in 2000 and they've been on a roll ever since. I wish I could say that I had a bad childhood and that I grew up on the streets to give me a little street cred. The truth of the matter is, I was raised by a single mom in a nice neighborhood tucked away and bordered by woods, swamps, canals, and lakes. Growing up there consisted of building forts, riding dirt bikes, sports, lots of voyeurism, poking dead things with sticks (cats, dogs, birds, dismembered body parts, etc...), and rummaging through the local jiffy store trash bins for discarded Penthouse Magazines caked with dried semen, stained with urine, and smelling of rotting garbage.

YES! A vintage Hustler 1979!

My dad was a musician and could play the shit out of a guitar. He was into the Eagles, Dire Straits, Eric Clapton and he tried to show me a few scales but I think I was too impatient or he was. Either way, he said, "Here, kid. Just take the fucking guitar and try to do something with it." It was an imitation Les Paul. Cherry red. A real beauty! It sat in the corner of my bedroom gathering dust for a long time. It wasn't until I met up with my friend Gary that I started to really get interested in playing. He was new to the neighborhood and with his long hair and denim vest with patches all over it, I knew we would be like Amos and Andy! Of course I was sporting a killer mullet at the time which all the ladies loved. "You look like MacGyver!!" was something I commonly heard. What can I say? The mullet pulled some tail! Anyway, he showed me riffs and I in turn would practice the shit out of them in my hot-as-swamp-ass garage in the middle of a humid Florida summer. Soon I was jamming to nothing but my Slayer, Metallica, Iron Maiden, and King Diamond cassette tapes and we would often challenge each other to learn songs so we could duel guitar attack them. Gary wasn't in the neighborhood long as his family moved about a year or so later. But I still credit him with inspiring me to play guitar.

Holy shit! Fuckin' MacGyver!

Here's where we fast forward. Several years passed, shit happened, I cut my hair and joined the Army. I won't dwell on my Army days. I just wanted a brief origin story because every superhero has one so why can't I?

Coming up next on Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 2-

The move to California, Mexican hookers, and the Gravehill ladies.