Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 5

Well, again I'm late to this thing. In fact it's now 2012 and I said I would be kicking these things out weekly didn't I? That goal was a bit too ambitious. I'm not really a person who likes to set a routine. I mix shit up and if I realize I've looped myself into a routine, I break it up. That and I'm REALLY fucking lazy.

So let's get this sucker started...

RotP was recorded in or around February of 2009 at Trench Studios in Corona, CA with John Haddad as the recording engineer and producer as well. Not that anything has changed, but Gravehill in 2009 was pretty fucking broke. Recording and creating the final mix at Trench Studios was the only financially viable thing to do at the time. Haddad did a great job of keeping the sound we wanted. Gritty with just a little shine.

The recording itself was spent mostly in a drunken stupor. Barring Thorgrimm and Zyklon who recorded their parts relatively sober, Abominator, Bodybag, and myself showed no professionalism whatsoever. That's not to say Thorgrimm and Zyklon didn't partake in the alcoholic festivities, just not while recording.

Thorgrimm attempts to drum.
ATTEMPTS!! He only has one stick!

Bodybag pleased with his one-take performance.
That's a wrap!

Zyklon practiced solos before recording.
Who does that??

We had all sorts of visitors come over and you could tell that, after finishing tracks on certain nights, Haddad was getting annoyed that we hadn't left and continued to fill his recycle bin with empty beer cans. Gravehill really knows how to wear out their welcome! But we somehow stayed on target and finished the recording on time.

Me with short hair, listening to how shitty I've played.

We put the microphone in the bathroom
so Abominator could shit and sing at the same time.

And now with his own retrospective, here is Abominator with his thoughts on the recording of Rites...

In Russia, blogs stare at you!

Holy fucking shit. Trying to go back to the “Rites....” sessions is a hard thing at this point. I don't think it is possible to drink as many beers as we did during this time. And since the brain cells were killed at a historic rate, trying to piece this story together is a tough thing. It was an interesting time with the band. It was to be our debut album. We had done the “Metal of Death” EP and started to make some noise in the underground. That release was recorded by our old guitarist at the time in our own Hellheim Studio jam space. We wanted to get a better production, but we were racking our brains trying to figure out who to go with. We didn't have a lot of money to work with, so it was hard to find someone that was good and also cheap. I think at one point, Thorgrimm and I remembered our old friend John Haddad. John had a home studio out in Corona, California. So once we met up with John and explained our situation, he was on board and we scheduled our sessions. Since time and money were of the essence, he agreed to our crazy schedule of attack and we got set to record this beast. I remember we practiced the SHIT out of these songs to make sure we were tight for the studio. Then as the first day approached, we were all set to start the madness. Once all of the gear was loaded up and ready to go, the caravan of death made its way to John's Trench Studios.

Now, the 91 freeway east is a fucking nightmare. Just imagine a million cars trying to get through a freeway that only fits a few thousand. The traffic situation there gets REALLY BAD. I wanted to make sure I got out there before it got too crazy. So I would end up getting to John's house around 11am. Of course this would be after I got the 36 pack of beer from the local AM/PM market, hahaha. To John's absolute horror, I would be banging on his door, ready to rock, bright and early. Most of the time, the front door would be open, so I could then go into his room and yell at him to get in the booth and get going! Hahaha. John hated me by this time I'm sure. But it was a good time. The drum tracks were banged out pretty quickly. The guitar tracks took a bit, but once the guys were done with them, the bass was done quickly. It was my turn to do the vocals. To be honest, I'm disappointed with my performance on “Rites....” I was smoking way too many cigarettes and I tried to go for a Cronos/Venom type vibe to where you could hear each and every word and line that I was saying. I tried my best to get the phlegm down and get the growls done. But I think everyone has negative opinions about past performances when they go back and listen to them.

At this same time we were at John's recording, we were also getting ready for the big California Metal Fest that would be going on the next month. We had to sell presale tickets and many times had friends and other people show up to John's house to get those tickets. And they pretty much became part of the party! More beer was consumed during these sessions than an Oktoberfest in fucking Germany. Going back and listening to the songs in John's booth was killer. Just listening to this album come together was quite an experience. John would burn us copies of the recording and we would play those copies in our vehicles and other various players that we had around to get the feel of how it would sound in different players for people. But we were proud of what we had accomplished. And believe it or not, in the beer infused haze that we were in, we sure did some good stuff and worked pretty quickly and efficiently to get this album done. In all of our drinking madness during that time, we actually were also “working” in a sense. This was early 2009. And we got the debut full length under our beer bellied belts. The death metal was raging and the trash bags were full and ready to be recycled. John was happy about that aspect since he got the cans! Hahaha. But it was an awesome time and I had a total blast. And as I say when we play the title track live: “RITES OF THE FUCKING PENTAGRAM!”

And with that, enjoy more sexy recording pics!

Del Taco almost everyday. I classed the place up
with Chick Fil A.

This is how they spent their downtime. For SHAME!

Fuel for inspirational moments.

Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 4

I think it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that I missed a week of updating this thing. It was bound to happen, but I have a legitimate excuse: I was busy working! I did find some time to see Saxon play TWICE in one week which was very fucking cool. I also had a little time to make party with some good friends. Unfortunately some of my good friends are friends with some people that really hate my guts. I wound up bugging out early lest I find myself beaten to a pulp by a drunken mob of knuckleheads. I can't help it if I'm rich, good-looking, and have a rapist's wit!

I'll just stand here and put out the vibe.

After the Watain show, I had more time to really sit down and learn the newer Gravehill songs. I may have mentioned it, but I'll mention it again, 95 percent of Rites of the Pentagram was written (the song A Celebration of Wounds was still being heavily tweaked) and the guys gave me some rough demo tracks to practice to. On top of those tracks and practicing almost four times a week, needless to say things were much tighter.

The next set of gigs would place us in Chicago for a mini-tour with our good friends in Cardiac Arrest. I had first poo pooed the idea of me going because I didn't think my familiarity with the songs was all that top notch yet. Plus, since I'd just got back from England a month prior, my finances were still in recovery mode (aka I was fuckin' broke). But I caved in soon enough and Abominator bought my plane ticket for me. We had shipped all of our stage gear via FedEx to Grindhead Jim's (Cardiac drummer) house so most everyone packed lightly for our 3-day stay. Except for me! I brought an inflatable mattress, several changes of clothes, a portable DVD player, DVDs, iPod, Nintendo DS, books, magazines...yeah, you get the picture. I'm an idiot. What can I say? I love my luxury.

I arrived at Midway around 11:30 PM Thursday night to a freezing Chicago. Granted, it was probably only in the mid-40s but still... Out of all the items I packed away, I neglected to bring a fucking jacket. Southern California Falls and Winters are somewhat mild and that one day, at the end of October, it was beautiful. So stepping off the plane in Midway felt like stepping into a freezer. Me not packing a jacket was a fairly regular thing. Luckily Bodybag had an extra one available. Bodybag lending me a jacket would start to become another regular thing as well.

Tom from Cardiac and Abominator picked me up and we headed back to Tom's house. From there, we took off for Grindhead Jim's house which turned out to be about an hour away. All of us pretty tired from the trip, we arrived at Jim's house, bullshitted for a few minutes and began finding places to sleep on the floor, couches and chairs. I took the floor because I had my wonderful air mattress with me. It wasn't until after the air mattress was fully inflated that I noticed the carpet wasn't a natural shag but layers on layers of dog and cat hair! Bad news for a guy with shitty allergies but also bad news for a group of guys who like to dress in black! The full effect of it didn't hit me until the next morning when I started sneezing my ass off and my eyes started to itch. Plus Zyklon and Bodybag had slept directly on the floor and they were just covered in hair the next morning.

It was Halloween weekend in Chicago and our first show was slightly on the outskirts in a city called Dekalb. Small and unassuming, I immediately became biased about the show that night. Who's coming to Dekalb to see anything? The venue is a literal rehearsal space with no stage whatsoever! This was going to be a disaster! I couldn't have been more wrong. The place quickly started filling up with millions (give or take a million) of people. Some dressed up in costumes, others just the curious passerby wondering what all the hub-bub was all about. The first couple of bands raged through their sets and the reaction was pretty good. While we got ready outside in the cold of the parking lot, people started coming by wondering why we were dressing in costumes outside. We told them we were playing the show in a few minutes so they hung out and took a few pictures.

I was horny. HA! I saw the cheap joke and I went for it!
Don't judge me.

We were ready to go and had to struggle to get through the crowd with all of the spikes and shit we had on (not to mention my very pointy helmet) without seriously injuring anyone. Soon enough we plugged in and we barely had enough room to stand and play. Thorgrimm started us out with Murder and this little rehearsal space in the middle of unassuming Dekalb, Illinois erupted into chaos. People were slamming into us, the equipment and at one point I found myself holding my bass almost over my head because of the fury of human violence that was swirling around us. Fueling the chaos was our frequent spitting of blood into the crowd which inspired chants of "MORE BLOOD! MORE BLOOD" as our set continued. One girl screamed that she wanted us to spit blood specifically on her so we obliged.

My type of girl!
Well almost. This one's still alive.

Needless to say the crowd wasn't into the
whole blood thing right away...

...but they warmed up to it soon enough!

The Dekalb show will go down in the books as one of the best shows Gravehill has ever played and is something the guys and I will bring up and reminisce about every so often. That's not to say we haven't played stupendously awesome shows since then, but this one always has a little place in our hearts.

The drive back to Jim's house was just as chaotic as everyone seemed a bit tired and anxious all at once. Thinking that the party was probably going to wind down, I dragged my deflating mattress down into the basement and set up shop there to sleep. It wasn't long until I was awakened by loud music, laughter, and drunken debauchery. Apparently a lot more people had arrived to rage a bit more. At that point I was already suffering from an awesome beer-fueled headache from earlier in the night so I attempted to go back to sleep. Only to be awakened later by two people fucking in the basement right near me! Ignoring it, I drifted off again just to be woken up in the early morning by Bodybag leaping on top of me and trying to wrestle while everyone made fun of my desperate cries.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin was our next stop and the drive there was about 2 and a half hours. I rode up with Tom in the van with the gear while everyone else piled in various vehicles. We arrived at the venue which happened to be nestled in what looked like the party district of Milwaukee. Lots of clubs, bars, and hot chicks in slutty Halloween costumes prancing up and down the street in freezing temperatures (again, probably only in the 40s or high 50s but freezing to me). The bar we were playing in was on the 2nd floor so we had to lug the gear up a couple of flights of steep stairs which sucked. I caught some of the openers and scarfed down some free food and free beer which the promoter was awesome enough to set us up with. Abominator met up with friends from MySpace (when that was still the "thing") and Thorgrimm took care of a lot of the merch. Zyklon, Bodybag, and I wandered around the club district ogling the local flesh parade of college girls.

Our set in Milwaukee wasn't that spectacular. There wasn't a large crowd and those that were there were there to see the local acts (not everyone, but most). The owner of the place thought we were using real blood and was freaking out that we couldn't use it because his establishment served food. Abominator finally convinced him that it was fake. The owner was relieved but he didn't want us to use the bathroom so we could douse ourselves in it. But at that point, I had already poured mine in a stall and it looked like a bloody foul creation had pooped out of someones ass and made a dastardly get away down the pipe and into the sewer. Oh well.

So yeah, the set was okay given the crowd and we refrained from any real blood spitting since no one was up front. At one point some dude yelled out "YOU SUCK" which enraged Abominator. Abominator saw him and he made sure the guy knew because he was going to be looking for him later. After we played, Abominator made a bee-line straight for this guy. But it turns out that the dude was mentally-disabled and that was obvious after seeing him and hearing him talk. Abominator's an asshole but he's not THAT big of an asshole. He let the whole thing go and the dude's "chaperones" apologized and bought us beer (even though we were getting them free).

The drive back from Milwaukee was brutal. Tom from Cardiac had taken off early with the van so I caught a ride back with the rest of the nitwits. Falling asleep at the wheel was a real concern so at times we had to stop and change drivers out. Zyklon wound up behind the wheel at one point and there was still some debate on if he actually had a driver's license. But up to that point, no one cared and the guy drove like a maniac which kept us all up and on our toes. Except for Thorgrimm who was laughing manically at Jim who had a look on his face that screamed, "We're all gonna die!"

That night was a bit more subdued and everyone drifted off to sleep pretty quick. I slunk down to my temporary basement home and crashed.

The last show on Sunday would take place at Ye Olde Town Inn (YOTI) in Mt. Prospect which was about an hour north. The YOTI is known for its metal shows and the heads showed up to support. Not quite the numbers of Dekalb but significantly more than Milwaukee. The set went off well and much headbanging was had. Jim came up and sang Ravager with us and a few random people sang along as well.


Purifier of Flesh at the YOTI

Killer crowd at the YOTI.
Spot Bodybag and you win!

Obviously by this time my memory is shot of every little detail from the last show but I remember lots of White Castle being purchased afterward and many a groan of despair hours later.

My time in the midwest was done though. I had an early flight out of Midway around 6:00 AM while the rest of the guys didn't have to leave until later that evening. I was exhausted. As soon as I sat down on the plane, I didn't wake up until it landed several hours later.

Sorry about this long write up. I wasn't terribly witty either which probably made for a dry read. I'll make it up to you in the future. Remember, we still have to talk about all the hookers!!!

Coming up next on Me, Hookers, and Gravehill: Part 5-

A slight hiatus as we record Rites of the Pentagram. It might be a short one, but I should have some good pictures.

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.

Wyoming, Colorado, and the Wolves!!

Gravehill's priority this year was getting "When All Roads Lead to Hell" released and jumping on the festival circuit. The Maryland Death Fest was up first on our festival list and we played in front of at least a million people. I'm guessing on the numbers but I'm pretty sure that's a close estimate. Maryland was a great success for us and our next venture was the Central Illinois Metal Fest which was located in...uh...Central Illinois!



August brought us yet another fest, except this one was located in the most unlikely place...Cheyenne, Wyoming. You remember Wyoming, right? It's where Brokeback Mountain is supposed to take place. I didn't know this until someone told me. I haven't seen the movie. Did you know Heath Ledger is in it?? Anne Hathaway shows her boobs too which somewhat counterbalances the gay butt sex throughout. I mean, that's what people have told me. I'M NOT GAY! I'M NOT GAY! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7NeXSs2Z8M)



So what does any band say when the promoter offers to pay for your plane tickets and hotel so you can come out and play one show on a weekend? Reply in the positive of course. But I had my reservations and suspicions about the whole thing. Does the promoter know who Gravehill is?? Is he luring us out into the backwoods of Wyoming to kill us and possibly stew our genitals? Was it a conspiracy to wipe out Gravehill once and for all so no one would have to witness the disaster that is usually our live show???



Since the offer was out there, we certainly couldn't turn it down. Even if we played to 20 people, we wouldn't lose any money so why not? We only had a slight problem. Hellfiend was going to be on tour with Exhumed and when he got back to the States, he was supposed to go on vacation with his family. Like our San Diego show waaayyy back in April of 2011, we had to find a replacement guitarist. Tom Knizner of Cardiac Arrest filled in for Hellfiend for the San Diego date but he couldn't commit to Wyoming. The search went out and finally we found Neil Burkdoll from the Swedish Death Metal-inspired band Fatalist. By the time Neil came to his first practice with us, he had learned 80% of the set list with only a few open questions about certain sections. Otherwise he was on his game and he wasn't there to fuck around. Unfortunately Neil got to see Gravehill in our "practice" mode which consists of Bodybag and me drinking, Thorgrimm talking about various television shows and movies, and Abominator telling lots of off-color, racist jokes about white people (Abominator thinks he's a cholo). Since Neil is a pro, I'm sure he was very disheartened with our, "Let's-arrive-at-the-studio-for-practice-early-but-not-actually-practice-until-hours-later" attitudes.



The name of the fest was "Wolves of the Apocalypse" and was set for August 20. On August 19, we got one more practice in. It was a late practice and by the time we decided to leave the studio, it was almost 12:00 AM. Neil and Bodybag were going to stay at my pad so we took off. Unfortunately for Neil, Bodybag and I had already started drinking. Neil attempted to sleep in a separate room while Bodybag and me stayed up the rest of the night getting drunk. 5:00 AM came around quick, and in a bleary, still somewhat inebriated haze, we drove to the airport. (Note: Don't drink and drive kids!!)



The plane ride was smooth despite me vomiting in the bathroom and passing out on the elderly Asian man in the seat next to me. That's right ladies. I'm still single!!



My Saturday consisted of one hella hangover and all I wanted to do was sleep. The trip from Denver, Colorado (where we flew in) to Cheyenne, Wyoming is about an hour...maybe two and I was miserable. Meanwhile Bodybag is walking around like nothing is wrong but I know that fucker is hurting to! And if he isn't, then I blame his youth since he's 10 years younger and can recover from a hangover quicker. In any case, I hate him!!



We arrive at the venue and Matt from our label Dark Descent Records is there. He taunts me with beer from his cooler and every time I see him he says, "Hey, Jason..." and then holds up a beer. I turn green, everyone laughs maniacally, and I go quietly weep in the rental vehicle. Who am I kidding? Quietly my ass. Luckily we head to the hotel just a short distance away and I crash out immediately. A hour later I wake up and feel 100% better.



About the fest. I know I go on mostly about shit other than what's going on at these gigs, but in this case and at CIM, I get idiotic with the drinking so I wind up missing a lot of bands or can't remember who the hell played. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it sounds like I have a problem, but I don't. Really!! I just drink when I'm depressed, out with friends, by myself, playing video games, at lunch at work (and on breaks), or to wash down various barbiturates. Wolves of the Apocalypse is no different. I missed pretty much all the bands and wound up drinking in the parking lot with some nefarious people. This is the part where the promoter and all the bands can send a boo my way because I suck. I wound up chatting with this one dude who was an actual hobo. He said he jumped trains and went from town to town. He even got jacked by other hobos who wanted his sleeping bag. I realize that those paintings of sad hobo clowns are more poignant than ever now.



Several bands canceled and the turnout for the fest was sparse. In any case, Gravehill stayed true to form. We took the stage and played like we were in front of 1,000 people instead of the 20 diehards who were still at the venue. Some even knew our songs and we treated it as a big party. We thrashed, people headbanged, horns were thrown high in the air, and our last song, Decibel Ritual, ended with an epic bang. After the show, we signed some guy's truck which had autographs from dozens of different bands all over it. It was super sweet and the guy was stoked.



Once everything was loaded up, we drove around for a while trying to find a restaurant to eat at. We found a Denny's instead. The waitress was really open with us and she mentioned getting ass-raped by something or other. I'm sure she meant it metaphorically. I hope so at least.

Sunday consisted of visiting a cool independent record store in Cheyenne which had a great selection of new and used heavy metal/punk rock vinyl, cds, and shirts. We all bought something and the store owner loved us for it. He even gave us free soda and discounts on merch! After that, we spent the rest of the day in Denver driving around, looking at the sites, and visiting another record store. Eventually, we had to return to Denver airport and soon we were in the air on our way back to Southern California.

THE END!!! Yaaayyyy!!!

Central Illinois Metal Fest 2011: Part 3

DATELINE: 11:10 PM - July 24, 2011



Pouring over the copious amount of notes I made from the Central Illinois Metal (CIM) Fest, I see that I mostly wrote the following:

• A rough picture of Mike's beard with two eyes that are crossed.
• A pentagram. I was obviously feeling very metal.
  
  
• "Where all the white chicks at?"
• "This pen feels buttery slick."
• "Black and white cat, black and white cake."
• An accurate representation of Cthulhu.
• Several games of Tic-Tac-Toe. Except instead of "Xs" and "Os" they were multiplication symbols and zeroes.
  
  

So obviously, this last installment of my CIM adventure will be filled with more misinformation than a Fox News segment (BOOYAH!). I'm all about the cheap shots.



I was reinvigorated with new energy on Sunday. I had been drowning in a vomit-filled vat of misery since early Saturday morning and now I was awake, hungry, and ready to get the hell out of the hotel room because the corpse I found lying next to me started smelling like an Asian grocery. Rhett, Lili, Mike, Tom, Jill, and myself all decided to head across the street to this family run restaurant to get our grub on. We met up with the guys from Exhumed (and Cephalic Carnage and Withered I believe) and soon the restaurant was filled to the brim with out-of-town Hessian degenerates. The owners didn't mind at all since we were paying with cash for once and not small trouser buttons and pieces of lint as is usually the case.



Belly full, we left for the venue around 4:30 PM to catch our friends from Texas, Hod, take the stage to crush and kill. They did as such, playing some newer material as well as older stuff. They were definitely one of the highlights of the fest for me. I even bought a shirt. After about five minutes of digging, Dustin from Hod found a suitable size Large. By the way, that Celtic Frost shirt I bought? What a fuckin' ripoff! $20 and the Large I bought shrunk down to almost a medium. Cheap-ass t-shirt fabric is bullshit guys and dolls! T-shirts are a BIG part of the heavy metal scene correct? Sure, music will always be numero uno, but t-shirts sell just as much, if not more, than the music itself! You'd think the people who decide to get into the business of selling heavy metal merch would produce something of quality instead of finding the cheapest grade shirt available and slapping a band logo on it. Take a little pride in what you sell ya stingy fucks!



Let's see, where was I...oh yeah, just bought a t-shirt from Hod! After that, I mostly hung out at the bar with my friend Deedee who was working with Exhumed as their merch person and also Bodybag Bob Babcock (Gravehill/Exhumed for those not in the know). I started drinking but not as much as Friday. I was still haunted by the past two days so needless to say, my beer consumption was considerably lower. Bodybag certainly tied a few on and a few hours later he wanted to either wrestle you or kiss you (gender isn't of specific concern to Bodybag in either case hahaha). I'm used to his drunken antics by now after being in a band with him for 3 years so it wasn't too bad. The strangers he wanted to wrestle probably were a little more put off though!



As the night wore on, I caught Engaged in Mutilating (TX) who were good but I can't remember anything from them that particularly stood out. By this time, The Canopy Club was getting sparse. Like masturbating five times a day, 3-day fests are always a test of endurance. With the heat and humidity punching everyone in the nuts and the constant eardrum imploding sounds of death/grind/hurble-scurble metal for two days straight, by Sunday, most people were tired and started the drive back to where ever their hometowns were in the wasteland of the midwest. I stuck around and caught Flesh Parade (LA) who were grindy as hell but since I'm not much of a grindcore head, they didn't do much for me either. The band that did stand out was Embalmer (OH) which had Lou Spencer from Manticore playing bass. The dude's a madman and is such a pro on the bass that I wish he lived closer so I could get lessons. Apparently Embalmer has been around for years but this was my first time seeing and hearing them. I was impressed as it was a nice old school death metal sound which was a considerable change of pace since Hod took the stage hours earlier. I think their set was just a bit long though.



Unfortunately Mike and I had to prepare to leave the fest early as we had to wake up, turn in the rental car and be at the Bloomington airport on time the next day. We slowly but surely extricated ourselves but it wasn't an easy task as there were a lot of people to say goodbye to. Despite my disastrous Saturday, I still had a good time and always love events like this. I feel more at home amongst my own Hessian friends than I do anywhere else. And that includes my family who live 3,000 miles away.



The next stop on the Gravehill train is in Wyoming for the one-day Wolves of the Apocalypse Fest on August 20. We are actually headlining! Hahaha Well, hopefully there will be some people there. If not, then we'll make it a party anyway!

Central Illinois Metal Fest 2011: Part 2

DATELINE: 11:10 PM - July 23, 2011

Today started off in Hell. After passing out, throwing up, passing out, throwing up...ehhh...you know what? Repeat this cycle on and off from the wee hours of the morning to the early afternoon and that’s what I was doing half of Saturday. I probably had a minor case of alcohol poisoning that left me out of commission the entire day. Well, most of the day...I still had a show to do!!

The phone rang early this morning around 7:30 or 8:00 and it was Lili asking if Mike and I wanted to grab some of the free continental breakfast the hotel was offering. I was in no mood. In fact the phone ringing so early in the morning enraged me and I let out a string of expletives that would make Satan blush. Mike took her up on her offer though and left to go eat. This granted me a little reprieve as Mike’s snoring is notorious within our circles. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s out and it sounds like a tornado is raping a herd of cattle. I was out of it most of the time to pay attention but once he left, I noticed how quiet it was and quickly drifted off. Ahhhh, the blessed sweet dark oblivion of sleep!

As the day wore on, I started to feel a bit better. My knees were a little wobbly and I still hadn’t eaten anything since that stop at Arby’s the day before and some nibbles on stale donut sticks which were still open and sitting on the dresser. Mike, Lili, and Rhett took off to the fest early while I stayed behind and tried to get more rest. Around 5:00 PM, Mike came to pick me up so we could start getting ready. We were supposed to go on around 7:30 or 7:45 PM.

Of course the heat and humidity are still oppressive as hell and does nothing to help my condition. I was sweating profusely which is saying a lot because I’m not really a sweater. I’m not a cardigan either! HA! Ehhhh...I’ll edit that out later.

I headed inside and talked with a few people but I was in no condition to chat. I found some water backstage and just proceeded to drink like I would never drink water again. I was extremely dehydrated and I could feel it. The cold darkness of the backstage area was comforting though so I sat in a dark corner and suffered in misery by myself while The Horde played. The Horde impressed the hell out of me and even in my delirium I was jamming along to their thrashy style of metal. Gorgasm was next. They had brought their own drum set which added to the set up time and when they started playing, they were late. They also played their entire set which cut into our play time. This annoyed the guys and also some fans. In a way, it was probably for the best because Bodybag (who is playing bass in Exhumed) was back at his hotel trying to fix a chainsaw for his performance. If Gorgasm would have been on time, Bodybag would have been late and that would have been a disaster. But the stars aligned somehow and we were all ready to go.

The show itself went off great. I pulled from the last of my energy reserves and thrashed around on stage. Hellfiend, Bodybag, and myself did some Judas Priest type antics while Mike entertained the crowd with his comedic banter. One of the best lines involved Amy Winehouse being more Death Metal than Morbid Angel now (she died this weekend). We had to cut out one or two songs from the set so the setlist wasn’t exactly correct but it was nice to hear the crowd chanting for “one more song” at the end. That’s a real ego boost! We would have done another song but we didn’t want to throw off the fest schedule more than it already was. Many thanks to Dave Holland of Cardiac Arrest for letting me use his bass head. He had all of these other fancy bass gadgets I could use but in the end I stuck with the basic head and a bass overdrive pedal.

After the adrenaline of playing wore off, I quickly started feeling like shit again and packed up my bass gear and spikes. Mike was gracious enough to drive me back to the hotel where I showered up and fell into bed.What really sucked about today is that I was looking forward to it for so long. I wanted to hang out and talk to my friends, drink, watch some killer bands, especially Bodybag who I had yet to see play live with Exhumed. But I missed the entire day. Of course this was all my stupid fault and I say that I’ll never let it happen again, but it probably will someday. Maybe not in the near future, but I have to get really shit-faced, puking drunk at least one time a year. It’s the hard liquor that does it though. I’m not a whisky man and that’s what I was pounding and I paid for it. Luckily I’m feeling ten times better and my appetite has returned. Those leftover donut sticks on the dresser are about to be devoured!!!

Central Illinois Metal Fest 2011: Part 1

DATELINE: 3:30 AM - July 22, 2011

So much for trying to get to bed early and getting a good night’s sleep. By 1:00 AM I had dozed off and it seemed like mere minutes had passed by until the alarm woke me up. I’m never quite happy in the morning so I curse quite profusely as I stumble out of my sweat-drenched, blood-soaked, crust-caked sheets. You’d think I would wash the linens regularly but in all honesty, I love my own and other people’s filth. The grunge and crust of it all arouses my tender loins!

With most of my luggage packed and ready to go, all I need to do is brush my teeth and drive the 50+ miles to Orange County where I will meet up with Mike Abominator at the Santa Ana Airport. Oh, and I guess I need to put on some pants as well. TSA is really picky about people and their pants.

6:45 AM

Mike and I make it through the bag check-in process and TSA security with no problem. I chuckle to myself as I see an elderly man pulled for a rigorous pat down and anal cavity check. Mike and I look like the biggest troublemakers in this upscale, white person haven and the fact that the gentlemen was Latino didn’t pass unnoticed to even my alcohol-dulled senses.

SOME TIME MID-FLIGHT

The girl that sits next to me has some fine gams on her. Quite a little dame. I don’t engage in any small-talk as it looks like she’s fairly uncomfortable sitting next to me. I don’t blame her; especially after I ask if she wants to sit on my lap.

2:35 PM

We had a brief layover in Dallas (less than an hour) before taking off to the small airport in Bloomington, Illinois. The journey itself hasn’t been bad and is uneventful. Stepping off the plane in Bloomington is like stepping into Hell. Illinois, like most of the Midwest and east coast, has been plunged into this massive heat wave. The humidity has to be 100% and it’s oppressive. Mike’s face is beaded with sweat as we wait outside for the rental car company to pick us up. I offer to splash him with some water from my water bottle, but he’s not fond of hot urine. Whatever.

4:45 PM

The trip from Bloomington to Urbana is relatively short. It’s about 50 or so miles. The bitch of it was that I had directions to get back to the airport from our hotel on our last day, but no directions to GET to the hotel. Since Mike and I are navigational geniuses, we turn the map around and reverse the directions. After numerous wrong turns and second guesses, we find ourselves on the right track. There’s an Arby’s off the main highway and we’re starving. Neither of us have had anything to eat all day. We grab some grub and proceed to Urbana with no more problems.

5:30 PM

Apparently, back in 2007, the Lincoln Lodge in Urbana was the shiznit. All I heard was good things about it until we arrive there. Thorgrimm and his girlfriend Lili have been traveling with Tom from Cardiac Arrest and his fiancé Jill. We arrive only to find that the hotel has been taken over by new owners and crackheads and tweekers now live there. Actually sounds rather pleasant. I love my fellow crackheads and tweekers. That’s only because there’s usually a surplus of filthy hookers walking around. Plus the air conditioning doesn’t work. I think if the air condition worked, we probably would have stayed. Instead of finding another hotel right away, we take off for the venue because Tom has to get there for the Cardiac Arrest performance which is in about an hour and a half.

7:00 PM

We dropped Tom and Jill off at the venue while Thorgrimm, Mike, Lili, and myself searched for another hotel. Thorgrimm suggested the Comfort Suites so we headed there. Compared to the Lincoln Love Lodge (as I so warmly call it now), the Comfort Suites is the Hilton of Urbana! A bit more expensive but Gravehill isn’t known for being particularly cheap when it comes to finding suitable accommodations when out on the road. We like our comfort goddammit!!

The Canopy Club seems to be embedded with several other local businesses on the same block. Across from the main campus of the University of Illinois, the area reeks of patchouli and hipster premadonnas. Otherwise, it’s very nice. Better than I expected. I feel right at home and actually manage to find my way around the town quite easily.

I head inside, get my paper wrist bands, and make a beeline straight for the bar. I buy a drink and saunter down to the stage area as Cardiac Arrest starts to play. Cardiac starts their set and they rage as usual. I’ve seen them numerous times and it’s just unbelievable how heavy they are; straight, pure, death metal from the bowels of Satan’s colon. During the set I finish my beer and head up for another one. While I’m waiting, I meet up with Beer Reebs from Hod. We chat for a few seconds and he buys shots for me, the bartender, and some random fellow who just happens to be lucky enough to be hanging around the bar. I don’t know what it was I drank, but I downed it quickly and chased it with a couple of gulps from my beer. I head back down into the pit area with a nice buzz already ringing between my ears.

While Cardiac nears the end of their bowel-destroying set, I notice a dude has the same shirt I’m wearing. That annoys me to no end. I don’t know why I’m obsessed so much with it. I guess it’s almost a heavy metal fashion faux paux. It’s an Asphyx “Death the Brutal Way” t-shirt and while it’s one of my favorites to wear, I’m determined to find something else. After Cardiac ends, I look around at all the merch tables and see nothing but indecipherable logos of bands I’ve either never heard of or bands that, more than likely, all sound the same. Herble-scurble bullshit. I like my Death Metal old school. Finally I come across a table that has a smattering of cool t-shirts. I see a Morgoth one that looks promising but then my eye catches a Celtic Frost “To Mega Therion”. That’s the one. I want it! The guy wants $20. FUCK! I pay it anyway. It’s Celtic Frost anyway. If it were any other band, I’d say fuck it and continue to wear my Asphyx shirt.

Sporting my new shirt, I strut my shit to another bar and grab some more brews. I meet up with some Facebook friends and meet some new friends as well. The drinking continues and some drugs are consumed. By the time I head back into the bar for another round of drinks, I meet up with Beer from Hod again. He buys shots, I throw back, and I buy more booze.

10:00 PM(?)

I stumble into the main room to catch some of Putrid Pile’s set. The lone man bands aren’t my style but I have to give them credit. It takes some talent to throw all that shit together.

Things are blurring now. I don’t know what time it is. I vaguely remember talking in Spanish to some Mexican kids who looked at me with amusement. I guess I thought I was asking where they were from but instead I told them to “Keep your burrito out of my face!” Very rude.

Another beer down and Nachtmystium plays. They sound out of place among all the grind, death, and herble-scurble bands; and it’s refreshing. I dig it. More beer is consumed somehow. I don’t know how or why, but I’m two-fisting beers. One is a Pabst and the other a Bud Light. What the hell?

11:00 PM(?)

I’m outside the club and I stumble toward where we parked the rental car.

A light shines in my face and I realize I’m lying on the curb beside the car. A University of Illinois campus cop is asking me, “Hey, you okay, pal?” I tell him I’m just waiting on friends and amazingly enough, he leaves me alone. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the sidewalk but I’m fed up with waiting around and decide to walk back to the hotel.

12:00 AM(?)

The walk doesn’t seem long and I assume I stay on the sidewalk with relatively little problem. Some black kid on a bicycle is riding in my direction. I hold up my hand for a high five and he slaps it as he cruises on by. The brothers know I’m down.

I try to bull my way into several convenience stores but out of the four I try, all of them but one are locked! The one I find open is manned by a long-hair, scraggly-bearded gent who has this large, heavy brow from which tiny, porcine eyes peer out. I feel vaguely uncomfortable as this blast from the past of human evolution judges me. I wonder if he has a gun under the counter or a large wooden club.

12:30 AM(?)

I stumble into my hotel room munching on stale donut sticks, strip down to my boxers and pass out on the bed.

Several hours later, I wake up to find Abominator, Dave from Cardiac Arrest, and several other people hanging out. It matters to me none. I walk by all of them in my boxers, tell them to fuck off, collapse in the bathroom and start to give sacrificial offerings of vomit to the Porcelain Altar. Hey, it’s Saturday. Oh shit, we play Saturday! These next 24 hours are going to be rough.