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 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.