To Be or Not To Be Cult (Heavy Metal Hipsters)

As I sit here in the closed confines of my work cubicle stealing company time writing a column specifically targeted for my mom (Hi Mom! Love you! Remember to iron my heavy metal slacks!); I find myself drifting into the nether regions of my cloudy, almost brain dead mind dredging up what I've been listening to these past few days. Whether it has been in the car, on my iPod or computer, I've been floating in the heavy metal dark-matter void of music that some may call "cult" (or kvlt depending on if you're REALLY cult or a member of the Nuclear War Now message board). But just because I sometimes veer into this region of heavy metal and partake of bands like Pallbearer or Stargazer doesn’t mean I intentionally stay there because the bands aren’t widely listened to. I’ve found something about them that distinguishes them from the rest of the garbage out there. And there’s a LOT of garbage out there.

Garbage is a fascinating thing. You see, it accumulates everywhere you go. It could be some dog poop on the sidewalk or a gum wrapper at the beach. You probably have some garbage in your house you haven’t thrown away yet but you’ll get to it eventually. Hell, I still have several used condoms and a tennis ball with pubic hair glued to it under my bed (it’s best not to ask). Underground heavy metal music is similar. But unlike most of us, some connoisseurs of our scene feel the need to fill their homes full of garbage similar to a hoarder that collects piles and piles of bullshit until their entire house is filled with...piles and piles of bullshit! I like to think that a majority of us are discerning fans with refined tastes on what we like. On occasion we find that piece of garbage demo or album you grabbed a few days or years back, but on the whole, our collections are filled with pristine trophies and true classics. I may be deluding myself on that last sentence, but bear with me.

What defines cult in heavy metal music? Does it have to be so underground that the number of Hessians who listen to it number in the one of tens? Perhaps the band has a bunch of splits, EPs, and demos but no full length album? Or is the band long defunct; its members middle-aged, working 40 hours a week, raising a family, and have all but forgotten about a period in their life when they used to be a mediocre heavy metal band in the early/mid-80s? When does being cult and "true" become just more words in the hipster dictionary?

So this inevitably leads me to heavy metal hipsters. If you thought hipsters were regulated to the indie scene and all live in Portland, then you would be wrong. Hipsters are everywhere and can be involved in anything. There’s video game hipsters, sci-fi hipsters, horror movie hipsters, etc... Hell, I’ll even admit to being a know-it-all hipster asshole on occasion. Especially when I’m fuckin’ right!

Heavy metal hipsters are fellow Hessians who make it their goal in life to find the most obscure heavy metal/hard rock music, buy the expensive vinyl and then proceed to say, "You haven't heard of Satan’s Love Pump? I thought you were metal. They put out a 7-inch in 1983 in Greece and have a song on a vinyl comp. They're awesome!" And when you ask, "What else do they have out?" They look at you as if you're retarded because that 7-inch and 1-song contribution to a vinyl comp is literally the ONLY music that band has released. What makes Satan’s Love Pump so awesome besides the incredibly badass name I made up? Is it the fact that they have no discography whatsoever? Or that the songs they do have are nothing more than basement recordings where the drums are too loud, the guitars are barely distorted, no bass at all, and the vocals aren't in key?

Look, I'm not bashing obscure music; I love good obscure music. Yes, there were bands back in the day that never got the recognition they deserved and their discography is limited. I get it. But for a lot of those old bands, there's a good reason why they never made it into the big time. All those demos, EPs, and contributions to comps never went anywhere because the band itself was subpar at best. The same goes for some of the newer music being released today. This obsession with bestial blackened war thrash “play-fast-as-fuck-with-no-discernible-riffs” metal has been trending for years with hundreds of bands vying for top position on who’s the most unoriginal. Do I like some of it? Yes. Again, there are always a few that stand out above the rest (i.e., Impiety); but the majority are fucking garbage and I don’t fill my music collection with garbage. See what I did there? I knew the garbage analogy would eventually work. I spent all day on that fucker.

I'm not telling people what to listen to or what to like. In the end, it's all in the ear of the beholder. I'm just saying, be true to yourself and what you like. Finding an obscure band that really fucking rocks is refreshing and awesome; finding a mediocre, uninspired obscure band isn't. Even though you may have stumbled upon something that no one else has heard in years, if you don't think it rocks, then leave it alone and let it die. My record, cd, and cassette tape collection encompasses bands that I love; not bands that I think are "ok". Padding your collection of heavy metal music with mediocre bullshit garbage isn't metal. It's hipster. Don’t be that guy, friend. Okay, pal? Thanks, buddy.

Goregon Massacre Fest III: 2012

It's weird how writing sometimes seems like a chore and at other times is quite an enjoyable experience. The roughest part is where do you start? What kind of introduction do you want to grab people with and hopefully lure them into a false sense of security so that they think they are about to read a professional, thought-provoking piece on metal music, concert critiques, or the secret life of Gravehill's Hell Messiah and his obsession with homemade scented candles? It's not as easy as it looks; but luckily I just did it and thus I feel like I have accomplished at least one thing today.

Hell Messiah's obsession with urinals and candles is frightening.

The Goregon Massacre Fest III: 2012 was held in Portland, OR on June 22nd and 23rd and the ladies in the Gravehill camp were chuffed to play it. Our plan was to do a mini west coast tour with our brothers in Destroyed in Seconds (DIS) where we would hit San Francisco, Portland (for the fest), and then back down south to Oakland for a final show. But of course, nothing exactly goes to plan for Gravehill.

It turned out that of the 11 people in my group at my "regular" job, 5 of them decided to take vacation the same week as the fest and all of them asked for it way in advance of me. I mean, as soon as these fuckwits got off of Xmas vacation in December, they immediately put in for Summer vacation. So this meant that I got the figurative vacation shaft up my poophole and couldn't take off, even for a couple of days. At the time, I was furious and I was about to tell my job where to shove it but then came to my senses after a few bumps of blow. Coke really makes you focus on what is important. What was important was that if I was going to fight for time off to go on tour and play shows, it better be worth it if I was risking sudden unemployment. The guys were a bit annoyed (as they rightfully should have been) but luckily we had an "ace-in-the-hole" with Bodybag.

Bodybag: Ex-Gravehill Guitarist/Current Exhumed Bassist. I couldn't find a better pic in my archives.

Bodybag had been on tour with Exhumed for a couple of months and was back briefly before he had to take off again. If anyone knew the riffs to Gravehill songs it was him and he had two pluses going for him. One, he's a beer-swilling, rape maniac who has been playing bass in Exhumed for about a year now and two, he knew the songs and can play bass ten times better than me. Needless to say, most anyone with a fundamental knowledge of music can play bass better than me but instead of hiring an 11th Grade band major, the Gravehill camp opted for one of our own. Bodybag covered for me in San Francisco on Thursday night and I'm glad he was there to take up the slack. I owe him many beers and besos!!

Possible Corpsemolester replacement.

So what the fuck did I do? Well, since I couldn't get the days off to drive up to Portland, I had to fly up. I bought a one-way ticket through Southwest and flew up to Oregon on Saturday, the day of the fest. I arrived with no problems and since I only had my handy man-bag with me (IT'S NOT A PURSE!!), I was traveling very light. Portland has excellent public transportation so instead of opting for an expensive cab, I bought a $2.00 light rail ticket and got off at a station that was only a 10 minute walk from the venue. I'm all about the cheap!

I walked into the venue and was greeted with various cries of joy and relief that I had arrived safely. You know how it is, "It's about time you got here, FAG!", "Nice purse asshole! Did you pick that up at Victoria's Secret along with your see-through panties.", "Hey, look who decided to join us. Mr. 'I'm-too-good-to-drive-up-with-the-rest-of-us Corpsemolester!" It was a very emotional day. Lots of crying and hugging.

We're very emotional.

The fest was pretty damn busy and I wanted to start drinking like, IMMEDIATELY. So I threw on my cool as fuck leather jacket, slathered on some eye shadow, feathered my bangs, and scooted up to the bar and ordered a local craft beer. After a few of those I eventually resorted to the cheapest brew available which was PBR because, if anything, I'm a pretty cheap bastard and as much as I like craft beer, I'm perfectly fine with the cheap stuff as well. After chatting it up for a bit with the Gravehill crew, a few local friends, and some of the fellas in Cardiac Arrest, I went to go check out some of the bands and to have a vegan gyro.

The bands I caught and who stood out were Heavy Voodoo, Bone Sickness, Mutant Supremacy, Coffin Dust, Blood Freak, and of course Cardiac Arrest. All of these bands flattened my face and pummeled my guts into mush. Now Blood Freak and Bone Sickness I had seen before and they always deliver the goods. But the east coasters (I believe they are anyway) Mutant Supremacy and Coffin Dust had me caught up in their thrashy as fuck hooks and technical proficiency. I've been kicking myself since Goregon that I didn't grab some merch. Luckily Gravehill will be seeing them again when we play a fest in New York come October (I think).
 

This is a random kitty photo I thought was funny.

So I guess I should mention at this point that Cianide had dropped off the bill due to a set of unfortunate events. The stars didn't align for them and so Gravehill was pushed to headlining status. Now Gravehill headlining anything is always a crap shoot. Sometimes it's a home run and at others it can be a bit dismal. We're not a high profile band like Exhumed so our crowd draw can be weird at times. Don't get me wrong. Even if the crowd is made up of a few people, those few people are die-hard Gravehill fans (or fans of good old fashioned death metal at least) and we always have a good time. But I don't think it's necessarily an incorrect reaction when promoters tell us that we're headlining and we have a little apprehension.

The crowd was thinning a bit but that's too be expected as it was pushing after 1:00 A.M. We got ready in our usual manner of spitting blood on each other and giving back massages (CC is the best at those) and we took the stage around 1:20 A.M. Now to me, the crowd looked pretty good. Of course it was dark and everyone I saw was up front but still, a better draw than I thought it would be. The stage was extremely small and I had the unfortunate place right behind Mike Abominator. During every one of his screeches, a hellish "silent-but-violent" chemical cloud of nausea-inducing fart stank assaulted my nostrils. This cloud would creep back to Thorgrimm as he dropped a drumstick twice!! The crowd raged, sang along, crowd-surfed, moshed, and proceeded to "out metal" us on stage. Portland knows how to fucking kill! Someone offered me chips during one of Abominator's ill-timed awesome jokes and Hell Messiah spat a big lugie of blood into my face effectively welcoming me back into the fold after not being able to play in San Francisco. What a great show with chants of "one more song" after we had already bulled through 10 fist bangers! Gravehill has always had a home in Portland and those guys welcomed us back with open, bloody arms!

You can see my hair being blown back from a massive Abominator fart.

Many thanks to Brandon and Jason and whoever else helped in organizing this awesome fest and treating Gravehill and the rest of the bands in such a professional manner. YOU ROCK!! Next time we see you, CC is gonna give you the most erotic massages EVAR!

Links to awesomesauce and more sweet sexy pics below:

https://www.facebook.com/bonesickness

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mutant-Supremacy/121440554551204

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Official-Blood-Freak/130816076957363

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cardiac-Arrest-US/92250701414?ref=ts

https://www.facebook.com/CoffinDust

Cool Lovecraft-themed bar just a block down from the venue!!

Members of DIS, Cardiac Arrest, Blood Freak, and Gravehill acting the fool.

Trying hard not to be sexy and failing.

The initial blood spattering went well.

Thorgrimm and I playing "Trolls Under The Stairs".

I give this latest blog post a Corpsie-approved thumbs up!!

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.