I initially thought of the idea during my earliest days on the social media cesspool that is Instagram. It literally just popped in my head while thinking of hashtags in my earliest posts. Then after a while, I began pondering what the phrase “LIFT WITH HATRED” would look like on a shirt, or even a gym style stringer. I hope to have THAT made one day!
It then was a long, on again-off again process between not knowing my ass from my elbow with design programs and personal shit over the last few years. My favorite was when an old friend, who I’ve mentioned on here three times already and will not name in this article, volunteered his services to help me with a design based on a picture I gave him, only to vanish out of my life without warning. So, I just recently decided to stop waiting around for nothing and just went for it.
If you’re reading this, the Lift with Hatred clothing line is FINALLY available, and you can click here to see the designs I came up with. You’ll see five different variants of the Lift with Hatred slogan available in t-shirt form, along with option of buying pins, hoodies, posters, coasters and even a gym duffel bag! Get a shirt and wear it to the gym for your next Deadlift PR, or even your next concert. Get a pin and put it on your denim vest (the term battle jacket is fucking gay). Get a poster and a tape that shit on your wall over your couch. Spread the fucking word!
Also, I have started a Lift With Hatred IG account. If you buy any merch, make sure to take pictures of yourself wearing my merch, pissing on it, fucking like two dogs on the street over my shirts, setting them ablaze on a dumpster fire, etc, and tag the Lift with Hatred IG account to be featured on the page!
So, here we are. Ask yourself, “Do I have what it takes?” Do you? Do you have what it takes to be real? Are you realistic enough to know that only YOU can change yourself? Do you look in the mirror and hate what you see so much that you’ll do whatever it takes to not be a weak, fat piece of fucking shit? Do you have what it takes to take channel your anger and to give yourself the single most intense bench day you’ve ever had in the gym? Do you have what it takes to proudly be yourself and not give two shits about what anyone else thinks of you?
If you said “yes” to any of this, click here now, and show that you belong…
It had only been a few weeks since my previous, and first visit to the then-newly christened Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, NJ. That show was fucking amazing beyond words! But this time would be drastically different. I don’t remember if I was invited either before or after my band fired me; but Idrees, Chad and I were going to go to see Black Label Society at Starland with Chad’s friend, who apparently met the band before at the now-defunct Slipped Disc Records in Long Island and was hoping on this night to present Zakk Wylde himself with a guitar he’d built just for him. Chad, Idrees and I had seen Black Label Society months earlier on Ozzfest ’04, but this was to be the first time any of us would see the band or Zakk as a headliner in their own show as opposed to a festival setting.
Quick Backstory
Zakk had released Mafia, Black Label’s seventh album not even a month earlier on Tuesday, March 8th, 2005. Why do I remember this? Because I drove out to Best Buy in a snowstorm after class ended that day just to buy it.
There was a shit ton of anticipation leading up to the release of Mafia. It would be the band’s first release on Danny Goldberg’s Artemis Records (which was purchased by E1 Entertainment the following year) after six albums on Spitfire Records, and the lead-off single, “Suicide Messiah” was gaining airplay pretty quickly. But there was one crucial aspect to Mafia’s release:
It was released four months to the day after Dimebag Darrell was murdered on stage during a Damageplan show.
For those of you who somehow don’t understand the significance of this event by now, Dime and Zakk were best friends since they met in 1994 during the Monsters of Rock Festival in Castle Donington…which you younger fuckers would now know to be the Download Festival. Dime played with Pantera and Zakk played with his Southern Rock wannabe band, Pride and Glory. The track “In This River”, while not written about Dime since Mafia was recorded well before he was even murdered, let alone before the album’s release, would subsequently morph into Zakk’s tribute to him. More on that later.
The Night of The Show
As I had mentioned in my Motorhead article/podcast not too long ago, my band had fired me a good week or two before that show in particular. Funny thing is we were still friends afterwards, proving that it can be done. Chad’s friend, who’s name I think was Mike, picked me up in his Jeep with Mafia just BLASTING through the speakers. In the Jeep was Idrees, me, Chad and Mike’s girlfriend, who looked like she was way too pretty for him. Her hair was long, dark and flowing, the type of hair any red-blooded straight male would have way too much fun pulling from behind!
We had a bunch of musical conversations, a lot of them centered around the new album, which I had quickly decided was the best album Black Label had released to date. The songs were far more consistent and even the guitar tunings were consistent for once! What I had also really liked about Mafia was the fact that Zakk had continued the retro sound he’d started with Hangover Music, Vol 6 just a year earlier, with the inclusion of 70’s era synthesizers peppered throughout the album, along with the fact that, by this point, Zakk was probably the only artist I knew of who was still relying on 2-inch tape to record his albums. By the time of Mafia’s release, the last factory that was producing 2-inch tape had ceased production, and you therefore had to special order it if you really wanted to record in the old school way.
Chad appeared to be the one guy not too interested in the album. This was not because he wasn’t a Zakk fan; but rather because two weeks earlier (I think), he’d seen Steve Vai at Starland (this might’ve been his first Starland trip) and it apparently was a hell of a religious experience of sorts to him. So, for a short time, literally nothing else mattered and no one else impressed Chad because he’d just seen God. He worshipped Vai the same way I worshipped Zakk, so I understood. In fact, I tried to get him to hear the guitar solo to a track called “You Must Be Blind“, one of my favorite songs and solos on the record while we were driving to the show, because of its diminished, dissonant nature…he never even paid attention and missed it. Ok, fine.
I tried.
I don’t know if this was the case when I went to see Motorhead since I had gotten in with Dave Lowe before the crowds began to show up; but upon arriving through the front of the building this time, security was very heavy and intense. Everyone was being searched, not just in the corridor before the main room, but even at the entrance. I could only assume that either Zakk demanded that take place, or every venue in the country began doing it. Or both. And all for the same, obvious reason. Either way, this was the night I decided it would be better to never wear my chains to a show again, just because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle again. I don’t have time for that shit.
We’d missed the opening act, which was Nick Bowcott playing Pantera riffs along with a drum machine. Well whoop dee fucking doo! Some of you only know Nick as a major contributor for Guitar World Magazine. Some of us know his…deeper history…and it sucks. Clearly, we didn’t miss much there. But what we did walk in to was a Swedish band called Meldrum, who were in the middle of the single WORST cover of “Walk” I’ve ever heard in my life to this day. On top of this horrid cover, guitarist Michelle Meldrum-Norum, who has since passed away, looked like a fucking Zakk clone, from the hair to the appearance to even her tendency to rest the guitar on her knee…even if she wasn’t doing so to solo like Zakk did. There’s probably a reason I don’t remember anything about their set, and it’s not “just” because more than eighteen years have passed since this show either – it’s because Meldrum sucked balls.
After Meldrum finally fucked off, covers protecting Black Label’s backline had been removed. Craig Nunemacher had a BEAUTIFUL double bass kit with the Mafia artwork on the bass drum skins. I’d seen videos and pictures of this huge wall of Marshalls with no signs of bass amps in sight. But this time, the entire left side contained all Ashdown bass amps. That was a first. Before the lights went down to begin Black Label’s set, there was a couple standing in front of me, but not in my way, as we’d found a good spot on the left side up by the balcony area, behind one of the bars. The cute blonde girl bent backwards, her hair hanging down, as she looked directly at me and sensually signaled for me to come to her.
She gently cupped my ear, still bent backwards in her boyfriend’s arms. I immediately wondered if she was going to tell me that the guy wasn’t her boyfriend and then invite me to fuck her that night! But no, she just was being polite and wanted to know if they were blocking my view, to which I told them they weren’t. You tease…you big fucking tease…
The lights finally died down.
However, instead of the usual air raid siren that the band were known for, the main theme to The Godfather played through the PA, smoke covering the stage. THEN you heard the air raid siren after a minute of silence! New Jersey is where Zakk grew up, so the crowd was ballistic. The band, Craig Nunemacher, James LoMenzo, and future registered sex offender, Nick Catanese would walk on stage and strum a huge A chord before Zakk Fucking Wylde went whammy dive-happy on his Karl Sandoval Polka Dot V Replica, seamlessly, violently transitioning into a blazing solo that lasted a few minutes before breaking into “Stoned and Drunk”.
The Setlist
Stoned and Drunk (The Blessed Hellride) Destruction Overdrive (The Blessed Hellride) Been a Long Time (Mafia) Funeral Bell (The Blessed Hellride) Suffering Overdue (The Blessed Hellride) In This River (Mafia) Suicide Messiah (Mafia) Demise of Sanity (1919 Eternal) Spread Your Wings (Mafia) Zakk’s classical guitar solo spot Spoke in the Wheel (Sonic Brew) Fire It Up (Mafia) Stillborn (The Blessed Hellride) Genocide Junkies (1919 Eternal)
Pros
Upon watching Black Label’s Broozed, Boozed and Broken Boned DVD, I noticed that you couldn’t really hear Robert Trujillo’s bass if at all, with the exception of one track at the end. But on this night, James LoMenzo’s bass was as clear as Zakk and Nick’s guitars. The band had performed a lot of tracks off of the new album, along with The Blessed Hellride, which I think needed to be done. Black Label never toured for that album because Zakk chose instead to tour with Ozzy that summer, which I still think was a real stupid mistake.
To introduce “In This River”, Zakk showed everyone his guitar of choice for the song. It was a prototype Dean Razorback that was designed by Dimebag Darrell himself, and made with some of Zakk’s trademarks, including the exact EMG pickups he’s used since time immemorial, and his classic bullseye design as the finish. In trying to explain the significance of the guitar, I supposed he was distracted by some people, prompting him to tell the crowd in his oddly New York City-like accent “Yo, shut the fuck up! I’m tryin’ to tell a story!”, before telling the crowd that not only would he never get over Dime’s murder, but that “In This River” would never leave the setlist.
I call bullshit there. When I saw Black Label in 2011 in Manhattan, I was waiting for “In This River”. The band never played it. Explain that one, Zakk!
What was also a welcome surprise was that, while I was waiting for a blistering, ear splitting solo section from Zakk in the middle of the set, in its place was Zakk sitting on his speaker cabinets with a classical acoustic guitar. He began playing on that while the remaining BLS members, along with the members of Meldrum went on stage and played poker.
I can’t make that up.
Interspersed in the solo set were pieces of “Diary of A Madman” and Zakk’s own Ozzy masterpiece, “Mama I’m Coming Home”, which prompted the entire building to sing along while he played. After that was done, he finished this segment with “Spoke In The Wheel”, which began with just Zakk, but ended with the entire band rejoining Zakk on stage so Zakk could solo his ass off some more. But would you believe me if I told you that this is what I found to be the biggest con of the evening?
Cons
Ok, Zakk’s playing, as usual, was loud, violent, precise, muscular, aggressive, intense. You name it, that’s Zakk’s style. But Zakk did not NEED to perform long ass, extended solos in between songs and even during songs. This is where shit got redundant. Seriously. I get that maybe Zakk might’ve seen it as his nightly tribute to his best friend, as it was increasingly, visibly taking its toll on him. And believe me girls, the drinking didn’t help one bit. But if you’re not going to change up the style even just a little, it’s going to get boring.
The only other con, while not a big deal at all, is that I would’ve loved to have heard more tracks from other albums. I understand that The Blessed Hellride and Mafia were his two most popular releases at that point in time (Mafia would actually go on to sell 250,000 copies); but his other albums had some amazing tracks that should’ve been revisited. He eventually would, just not on this night.
If I recall, after we all left, we were waiting for Mike to see if he was able to give his handbuilt guitar to Zakk after the show. I don’t believe he was successful; but Chad, if you’re reading this, since you did find my blog in 2020, feel free to lend me your insight if you remember anything, and let me know if he was successful or not. Also, let me know if I’m right about his name being Mike. Thanks! But what I do remember is that, on the way home, Mike reminisced about the night in 2002 when BLS played the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. He confirmed what I already knew, which was that show was far more chaotic, and added that he saw multiple cars being pulled over by the police for drunk driving before any of those people could even leave the immediate area.
Bried Update on Lift with Hatred T Shirts
If you’ve been following me on Instagram – and I could give two shits if you do, trust me – you might’ve seen stories and posts that indicate that I’m actually making it happen. After years of just thinking about it I’m finally putting together my own line of Weightlifting meets Extreme Metal themed shirts for your disgust! I received a test copy just yesterday and realized immediately that it needs to be adjusted. So, stay tuned for more information as this story progresses. Or don’t.
It was 5:00 yesterday morning, as I type this, when I was awakened by the sudden urge to take a big shit. I’d taken my phone with me, since there were no books in there to read. Within a few minutes I’d received a notification from Yahoo! News which read: “Jimmy Buffett, Singer-Songwriter Who Turned ‘Margaritaville’ into an Empire, Dies at 76”. I was too tired to really show excitement at that moment; but it certainly made my shit that much more glorious – probably because Jimmy Buffett was just that, shit!
It was later in the morning when I received the following greeting from the owner of the Lift for Satan clothing line:
“Good morning friend, let me start off the day with the good news that Jimmy buffet is DEAD!!! Enjoy that cheeseburger in hell you dork haha”.
You think he was just a tad more excited about this than even I?
But since I don’t intend to make this too long of a post, here are some things I will NEVER forgive his ass for:
He apparently coined the phrase “It’s 5 O’ Clock Somewhere”.
It’s true. It’s actually a song he wrote and performed with country artist/fellow homo Alan Jackson. The phrase is just fucking stupid and so is the fucking song. Are you that idiot that uses the term “It’s 5 O’ Clock Somewhere” as an excuse to have a drink? You have far bigger problems to worry about!
And you sound retarded.
He Ruined a Good Portion of Key West.
See, in the years preceding Jimmy’s arrival to Key West from Mississippi, Key West was just a bohemian, counterculture-oriented remote island city off the Florida coast. Was it the best place to be back then? Hardly. But in the 70’s even New York City – which was home to an INDESCRIBABLE music and art scene! – was a literal Hell on Earth! However, as economics go, rent in these cities was still cheaper than a $2 hooker.
But that was the allure of Key West. Unless you were living there, and knew where to go for a good time, the place was truly a mystery in the decades preceding the internet. Jimmy came along, and he later would donate money to help save the manatees. Ok, that’s admirable and I can respect that. But things changed when just a few years later he opened up a restaurant/souvenir shop named after his signature song (more on that later) in Key West.
What followed was massive financial success via the tourism it brought in. It sure sounds good on paper until you find out that Jimmy would go on to buy more and more properties, which would include more restaurants, hotels, and even retirement communities. And what does this lead to in Key West, as it would any other not-so-well-to-do place that’s generating that much money? Gentrification, something I’ve ranted about a few times on here over the years. And suddenly, Key West natives that were living there before Jimmy even arrived in 1971 can barely afford to stay there.
Thanks a lot, you ass!
His fans are “Parrotheads”
As the Lift for Satan guy said to me yesterday morning, Jimmy Buffett essentially wrote music enabling middled aged, white jackasses to get shitfaced. Jimmy described it as “escapism”. Uh huh, sure thing, buddy. These rabid fans have taken part in actual Jimmy Buffett Conventions taking placing in Key West every year since 1985. They all come down with their parrot hats, flip flops and Hawaiian shirts – all Jimmy’s signature garb! – and they couldn’t wait to see Jimmy play on the Parrothead Cruise.
That’s not a convention, that’s a fucking cult!
He wrote “Margaritaville”
Released in 1977, this absolute shit-sterpiece of a song jump started the fledgling career of an undeserving Jimmy Buffett. It also gave aspiring beach bums everywhere a reason to flock down to Key West, ultimately ruining it, as their money enabled him to turn that one song into an empire the likes of which I personally hope I never see or hear of again because it’s that cultish and fucking gay. I guess everyone was able to relate to a song about some moron who ran off to a beach resort to hide from his self-inflicted problems and drink his sorrows away(?).
The Aftermath
So where do we go from here? He’s dead. Much like when certain politicians bought themselves a third term as New York City mayor, it’ll take an awfully long time to get the stench of Jimmy Buffett the fuck out of the Florida Keys in particular. Yeah, Jimmy has chain restaurants and hotels scattered throughout other parts of Florida as well as the country as a whole. There was even a Cheeseburger in Paradise restaurant not too far from where I live. But what I can only hope for now is that, in time, the fake beach bums and tourists will sooner or later get over themselves, stop using that idiot’s music as an excuse to get shitfaced, get rid of the stupid Hawaiian shirts and flip flops, and realize that much like the guy that was actually from Mississippi, they never really were true islanders.
I came up with the idea for Lift with Hatred, possibly in 2016. I wrote my first article about it in 2018; but I never came up with a real philosophy or lifestyle behind the idea. But after being inspired by a lethal combination of caffeine and the hideous site of people while training, I have finally created one, coming up with things and typing them up on posts in my Instagram profile so I wouldn’t forget. Read the following and see if you belong…
The Philosophy
Lift With Hatred because you eternally hate yourself and the way you look. You see men and women with unhealthy, fat bodies and you know you can do way better. You also refuse to let everyone else drag you down to their level of mediocrity as a means to quell their own insecurities.
Nothing screams “I’m a lazy fuck” more than the phrase “I don’t have the time”. Oh? You sure had the time to get blackout drunk with your jerk off friends and totally embarrass yourself in front of girls that would never fuck you anyway. You sure had the time to go out with your soccer mom girlfriends (and not the hot ones either!) and drink more white wine and then complain that you’re getting fatter.
You sure had the time prioritize anything else that was probably worthless and brought you several steps closer to becoming even more pathetic than your parents. That’s why in ten years, while you’re all fat and absolutely HORRID looking, I of all people will be far stronger and able to take care of myself than all of you. I’ll probably still be a great fuck too!
So go ahead, keep saying you don’t have the time to get your fat asses and some kind of shape. Do me the fucking favor and die off so I don’t have to look at you. Really, it’s ok!
Lift With Hatred because you hate people. You hate people because they’ve absolutely wronged you or their mere stupidity and/or presence alone absolutely DISGUSTS you.
Lift With Hatred because getting your anger out of your system by punishing your body is far better for your arrest record. It’d be fun to run some piece of shit down with your car, or even take a baseball bat to some stupid cunt; but you simply can’t afford to go to prison just yet.
Lift With Hatred by leaving your commercial fitness center behind. Find a more intimate setting – an actual GYM, even if it’s half the size of your soon-to-be former fitness center, where you will no longer be targeted for training with intensity and with purpose. Find a gym so you won’t ever again be accused of “slamming the weights” just because you pulled more weight than everyone else there. Find a gym so no one will stare at you for being “loud”, not because you were just grunting for the sake of grunting, but because you happened to challenge yourself and just maybe lift something neither you ever lifted before, or that they ever will because they don’t understand the concept of EFFORT.
Lift With Hatred by either surrounding yourself with greatness – another reason to join a real gym – or take all that anger, frustration, violence and rage, and channel it into a singular, laser sharp focus. Tune out every single annoying voice in the place; or maybe you’re fortunate enough to have your own gym at home with all the necessary basic equipment (bench, power rack, some sturdy bars and several plates). All your sights should now be set on that bar on your shoulders, over your head, or on the ground, all waiting to test you. Chalk up – gloves are for pussies after all! Choke the life out of the bar as if it’s someone’s neck. Squeeze tighter than you ever have in your entire life.
Is this you? Do you think you’re worthy? Tell me if you think you’re worthy, and why in the comments.
Brief Sidenote: This main picture above is actually a rough draft for a potential Lift with Hatred shirt.
It’s been brought to my attention via e-mail that the cost of my premium subscription to Spotify will be increasing in less than two months. I don’t believe it’s going to affect me too much, as what the cost will be is not even a dollar above what I currently pay. With my subscription also comes Hulu, which I partially rely on for TV, as I “cut the cord” more than four years ago.
Fuck cable.
It was a day later, however, that I read a Metal Injection article which indicated – not surprisingly – that, while the fees are going up, artists royalties are to remain the same. In fact, it’s also been brought to my attention over the years that the royalties artists receive via Spotify alone are actually disgraceful. How disgraceful you ask? The traditional, long-standing royalty rate a typical artist receives in terms of record sales is $00.08 per record sold, eight measly cents. Spotify’s royalty rate per regular stream?
Anywhere between $0.003 to $0.005.
That’s pretty fucking bad last time I checked. But hey, at least Apple music pays their artists up to a penny per stream, right? Anyone? That’s no way for any artist below megastar caliber to live. There’s a reason why there are so many bands these days that, despite possibly having all the potential in the world, call it quits eventually. This goes for ALL genres of music, by the way.
This is also another instance in which I will ABSOLUTELY point the finger to my generation, the ones who, in an act of self-righteousness act like their time was the pinnacle of society. By the way, it wasn’t. The mp3 format was invented in 1989, a whole decade earlier than I previously thought. It was in 1999 that jackass of the year Sean Fanning along with Sean Parker created Napster. It was a slow, steady build, leading to mass popularity within not even a year. The purpose of Napster? It was essentially “digital tape trading”.
Sounds good on paper, sure. But the difference was, with traditional tape trading, which I definitely partook in, record sales were still a thing. What Napster did was enable users, using the concept of “peer-to-peer file sharing”, to upload and download music in the form of mp3 files for anyone to take. And THAT is what disrupted record sales for the first time, paving the way for the slow bleed of record sales across the fucking board.
Most people I knew turned their backs on Metallica after Lars decided to sue Napster in the summer of 2000. I, along with most, already had turned my back on Metallica not too long before this, when I realized that their first four records were the end all be all, while their mid-late 90’s output was pure, weak shit in comparison. I understood however, as someone who thought he wanted a career in music, exactly why Lars was suing. If new music was really being leaked before it could properly be released, allowing everyone to download it, no one would buy anything. One poignant piece of information Lars pointed out in his testimony to the Senate Judiciary Committee was that, while they were doing just fine from a fiscal standpoint (and still are), most artists beneath them were barely scraping by. While selling 100,000 was peanuts to Metallica by that point, that same number would be a MILESTONE for any underground band or artist.
My brother had Napster on the computer we had at our father’s house. One day, without even asking my thoughts on the subject, he just proclaimed in disgust, in an even more disgusting Brooklyn accent “I can’t believe you don’t like Napster!”. Believe it fuckface! But it’s also easy to be for any kind downloading if you aren’t a musician. And the reason I spoke so much about Napster here is because Napster co-creator Sean Parker decided to invest in Spotify in 2010, a year after the company’s inception, because he felt they were continuing Napster’s legacy.
But hey, want to know a secret? Want to know how you – yes you! – can help make even a splatter of a difference.
Ready…?
You sure…?
Really sure…?
Ok here comes….
BUY THE FUCKING RECORD YOU FUCKING CHEAP FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If you’re reading this, you are a Metalhead who probably does this already, or I hope your ass does. But for the rest of you: do you really like an artist? Do you really want that artist to succeed? Has said artist or band made such an impact on your life that you don’t know what you’d do if they disappeared tomorrow? BUY THE FUCKING RECORD! I don’t give a shit if you but a cassette, CD, vinyl. Fuck, go to any metal show in some shithole bar and you might find bands selling cassettes of their music along with digital download cards.
For those of you who are not metalheads, consider this: an artist’s livelihood depends on record sales first and foremost. I don’t want to hear about touring and merchandise, especially since labels now offer 360 deals in which they literally take money from EVERYTHING the artist does, including selling merchandise. The artist’s ability to stay on any label has always been dependent on if the sales numbers are good. If those numbers drop more and more, the label has no reason to keep that artist.
Quick Tips
Before I go here’s some advice. It’s not a big deal to use streaming services such as Spotify and Apple Music to discover new artists. That’s what I’ve done in the past, even going back to the Napster days. It’s how I first heard key tracks off of Rust in Peace. But guess what I did afterwards? I BOUGHT THE FUCKING RECORD. I discovered Nails through Spotify in 2015, a year before they released You Will Never Be One Of Us, their most important album to date. But after I heard them in 2015 and shat myself, I BOUGHT BOTH OF THEIR FUCKING RECORDS. Go ahead and look for new music; but if you find something that truly HITS YOU, support that artist.
And speaking of Megadeth, another thing you can do, especially if you want to outright get rid of streaming, is to do what I did in 2018. Get yourself an mp3 player and transfer your music onto the player, that way you have at your disposal the music YOU want to hear, not just what Spotify or Apple Music has. Case in point: I unconditionally DESPISE the remix jobs Mustaine did with Rust in Peace though Youthanasia in 2003. But only those remixes are what’s available on Spotify now, not the originals. However, with my music transferred to my tiny little Sandisk, I can hear those aforementioned records in all their TRUE glory any time I want!
It’s rare for me to able to see a show in my neck of the woods anymore, even though I live significantly closer to this venue than The Borgata in Atlantic City, which is where I last saw Jerry play. I haven’t been to too many shows lately; but outside of my last time seeing Black Label, most of the shows I’ve been to required me to travel. And keep in mind again, I didn’t attend too many shows between 2019 and now. I also am hesitant about seeing musicians twice on the same tour because I’ve heard stories regarding their inability to change things up. Zakk had that ability, hands down. I saw him live three times in 2005 and each time was DRASTICALLY different!
By the way, we’ll be getting around to him again real soon.
But nevertheless, I just to give this a go. It’s Jerry after all, and this was the final leg of the Brighten tour. My understanding is Alice are to reconvene soon so they can record their follow up to 2018’s Rainier Fog. This time they had a different opening band, an all-female group calling themselves Thuderpussy, not to be confused with Alabama Thunderpussy.
Thunderpussy began their set with guitarist Molly Sides playing a guitar propped up on a stand with a violin bow. I was a tad taken aback by that, as that was EXACTLY how Tyler Bates opened up Jerry’s set and encore in Atlantic City when I saw him previously. So, was this to mean Tyler wouldn’t be doing that tonight or even on this leg of the tour at all? Stay tuned to find out, girls!
The rest of the band walked on stage, and they began to play, their music reminding me of a modern-day Heart if Ann Wilson circa-1976 transcended time somehow. There were undeniable traces of Led Zep and Allman Brothers in their music peppered throughout. As if the violin bow on the guitar didn’t immediately give that away! Whitney Petty can sing her ass off. And she knows how to physically express herself on stage in a way that’s equal parts provocative and elegant.
There was one point that I do have on film, in which Whiteny is on her knees. Molly walks to Whitney and begins to lean over Whitney, Whiteny leaning back for her like they were going to kiss. HOT. Even hotter? Finding out later on that they are in fact a couple, and that the band are ALL lesbians. And I’m not even talking about the K.D. Lang/Indigo Girls style of butch dyke. I’m talking the hot lesbian type – the type I almost forgot existed!
So, between Thunderpussy’s kick ass live show – because their album, while not bad at all, sadly is a gross misrepresentation of the band! – and their physical performance, I’m convinced I want to fuck every member of Thunderpussy. Hard. I’ll fuck one while the three other members scissor each other while waiting their turns! I’ll make it work!
Did I ever mention I love lesbians?
Now for Jerry’s set!
Tyler Bates did in fact open up with the violin bow on the guitar. I guess there’s a theme here. I knew by the fact that he was bowing in the key of F that Jerry was going to open up with “Atone” and I was pretty much right. Before I continue, here’s the set list. All songs are solo songs unless noted otherwise:
Atone
Psychotic Break
Them Bones (Alice In Chains)
Siren Song
Cut You In
My Song
Check My Brain (Alice In Chains)
Black Hearts and Evil Done
Between
Angel Eyes
No Excuses (Alice In Chains)
Lesson Learned (Alice In Chains)
Man In The Box (Alice In Chains)
Would?
Encore
Whale And Wasp (Alice In Chains)
Brighten
Down In A Hole (Alice In Chains)
Rooster (Alice In Chains)
Goodbye (Elton John)
Notice a difference compared to last show, if you read about my last time seeing Jerry? More on that in a minute. The three-song opener was somewhat similar to the previous show, with “Psychotic Break” and “Them Bones” appearing early. One thing I noticed right away was his organ player. This time around, he took Lola Colette, his opener from last year with him as part of the band this time. Lola’s presence was made apparent almost immediately, not “just” because I was sitting in the middle of the building this time, but because Jerry had her playing organ on “Them Bones”. So, this wasn’t a situation where she was going to step back during the Alice tracks, Jerry made sure she’d be part of the show. And I have to say, while I understand Jerry wanted to do something different, organs and Alice In Chains songs go as well together as rock and rap ever did.
But this is a minor complaint.
The good news was that I was able to hear the entire band this time. The bad news is that I was able to hear Greg Puciato this time. I said it. Fuck, what was Jerry thinking to take Gil Sharone’s advice?? Greg was so pitchy, and so fucking WHINY! Greg, please, stick to sacrificing your body jumping off balconies. But the important part of this show was that this time around Jerry played a LOT more solo material than he did last year. Unfortunately, this doesn’t mean he did a deep dive of his previous two albums. He in fact performed the exact same tracks for those two records that he performed last time. But when I heard “Siren Song”, which I’ve dubbed “Breaks My Back Pt.2”, I was pleasantly optimistic. I also thought it would’ve been one hell of an opportune time to break out “Breaks My Back”! He did preform about 90% of Brighten, however. That alone was a major step up because any time Jerry plays solo is a rare privilege. I might be wrong, but I feel like he toured for this album longer than he did for Degradation Trip back in 2002.
The energy in the place also was MILES ahead of the crowd at the Borgata. I didn’t need to be told it would be, as Montclair, being in northern New Jersey, is essentially in the shadow of New York Shitty. Therefore, there was definitely a mixed, yet equally rowdy crowd. I even bumped into someone I hadn’t seen in almost a decade, while walking to the back of the line. Jerry himself even commented that we were “the best crowd on the tour so far!”.
That energy was made apparent when, for the start of the encore, Jerry had broken into “Whale and Wasp”, the gorgeously depressing instrumental off of Alice’s 1994 EP, Jar of Flies. No one could’ve expected that. I know he performed it in 2019 in Seattle, before he even announced he was even writing a solo record, but that was a completely different situation. So this was a treat! When he broke out “Down In A Hole”, one of Alice’s greatest songs of ALL TIME, the entire crowd, minus a few, joined in one big singalong. The only thing that damaged the moment was Greg’s WHINY bitch vocals. I will never forgive Greg Puciato for that or for even having any kind of a career.
Upon leaving after Jerry’s final performance of the classic Elton John track “Goodbye”, I walked out of there feeling like he might’ve actually listened. The biggest complaint of the tour’s previous leg was addressed – he played more solo shit this time instead of turning his band into an Alice cover band! Fuck yes! I just wish he performed more material from the previous solo records. They could’ve proven to be an interesting challenge for the rest of the band, and even for Jerry. We’re talking tracks that, before 2019, he hadn’t performed for the better part of two decades!
So, with Jerry poised to record with Alice again, the question remains: will he ever record or even perform solo material again? I guess only time will tell…
I knew it’d take a while for me to get to covering this show; I simply didn’t realize it’d take me more than two years since I wrote about my previous concert experience leading up to this point, which took place just four months prior. But in the case of this particular experience, there are a few moving parts here. I’ll get to that momentarily. But any time from here on in that I write about any of my experiences seeing Motorhead live, there will forever be a big hint of melancholy running through my mind, primarily because Lemmy’s gone. And this article will prove difficult for me to convey my thoughts, and you’ll eventually figure out why.
Let’s set the stage, shall we??
Not too long after I began hosting my college radio show, Ali, alumni volunteer host of Ali’s Little Corner of The World, which aired directly before my show on Thursday afternoons, informed me that her boyfriend was a singer in a New Jersey-based Metal band called Arctic Flame. Ali also is one of the two DJ’s who trained me, which means a lot to me even more than eighteen years later because I widely viewed her and the other guy who trained me to be THE two best DJ’s in the entire station at that time. If I’m not mistaken, she’d asked me if I wanted a copy of his band’s unreleased Jack Frost-produced demo to possibly play on my radio show, since we had that freedom at the time. I’d also invited her to see my band play within the next few weeks at Dock St aka the biggest shithole on that dump of an island.
A good week or two before the show, Ali let me know that her boyfriend would be at the show to pick her up, as I’d be driving her there, and because he apparently wanted to meet me. No, I have no pictures from that show, or I would’ve made a whole separate post on that alone. I just remember, if I’m not mistaken that we performed two shows, one that Saturday night, and another the next night. Ali was front and center; and as we said our goodbyes at the end or our set, she was talking with a man wearing glasses with thick, black hair. Dave Lowe has just shown up right before we wrapped up our set, so he missed everything. But the four of us, meaning Dave and Ali, myself and a former friend of mine who I’ll never mention because he doesn’t deserve to have his name spoken, went to get food at the now-defunct Mike’s Place on New Dorp Lane (it may be closed; but the Greek son of a bitch bought nearly every other diner on the Island since that time).
In short, we bonded very quickly over all things Metal and fake wrestling – and I mean to the point that Ali to this day tells her now-husband that he took her friend away from her!
Sorry Ali.
Not too long after this meeting, Dave called me up and invited me to go with him to see his band open up for Motorhead at the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, NJ. A week or two later, that aforementioned former friend of mine and I went to Dave’s job in the mall to buy tickets. It just took my friend telling Dave that “he’s ready to play the game!” for Dave to immediately take an envelope out of his pocket with a smirk on his face. If you watched fake wrestling at the time, then I don’t need to explain how those two understood each other with that statement, clever as it was…and mark-ish as it was.
Now that the history’s out of the way….
On the evening of March 9th, Dave picked me up at my house to head out to Starland Ballroom in Sayreville NJ, to see a PACKED bill. Arctic Flame were the openers to be followed by Zeke, Brand New Sin, Corrosion of Conformity and of course, Motorhead. This would be my first time in Sayreville since I lived there for 5 seconds when I was 15. This would in fact be my first time in this building under the Starland name because, the last time I was anywhere near that building, I was living just seconds away from it and it was a techno club called Hunka Bunka Ballroom.
Also with Dave was a 15-year-old kid named Derek, who happened to live on his block. This kid looked awfully familiar, when I suddenly remembered seeing him in one of the pictures from my first Vangaurd gig just over a month earlier. Quite a bit had changed since that show. The biggest change?
I was fired from the band two weeks prior to this show. Funny enough, while I was initially pissed off, I actually felt relieved afterwards. The band would regret their decision almost immediately, but that’s a story for another time, nothing major though.
Because Derek and I arrived with Dave, we were able to get in and actually watch Motorhead do their soundcheck.
Let me say that again so it registers…..
WE WATCHED PHIL CAMPBELL, MICKEY DEE, AND LEMMY FUCKING KILMISTER DO THEIR SOUNDCHECK.
My first memories of Starland Ballroom will always be Derek and I walking in to feeling the floors vibrate to the point that it felt like the earth was about to fucking split open. I couldn’t put my ear plugs in quick enough! The PA speakers were tied together, and there were all three guys tearing ass on stage. To be just a matter of feet away from Lemmy Kilmister was like being in front of God, Yahweh, Muhammed and Allah all in one speed-addled, facial wart infested, hot mess playing a Rickenbacker bass.
After destroying about 200% of my hearing (and me loving every moment of it!), Lemmy and Phil broke out acoustic guitars to rehearse what was supposed to be their encore. I’ll explain my wording later on. They played “Whorehouse Blues”, a track off Inferno, the album they were touring for at the time. After they finished that track Derek and I immediately applauded and rooted them on. “Thank you, thank you very much.”, Lemmy immediately replied. I couldn’t help but yell out “Lemmy, you’re a fucking GOD!”. His response?
“No, no, no, God’s a lot taller!”
I will always remember that to the day I finally get my wish and die.
Following that brief, yet life changing verbal exchange, Lemmy walked over to take pictures with the hot, fake-titted bimbo bartenders. Derek suggested we go over to him right now. I suggested that we wait at least a minute or two and let him finish with the bimbos, that way we don’t come off as fangirls. He then walked away. We assumed he’d be right back. The band couldn’t possibly be finished with soundcheck, right?? Well, within moments, the club started letting people in and I found myself feeling like a total dipshit as I apologized profusely to Derek.
And Derek, if you ever somehow come across this article and accompanying podcast, I’m STILL so fucking sorry!
As mentioned earlier, Arctic Flame would be the first band on. Dave seriously had a set of pipes on him. Their style was more Power Metal, which I’ve never really liked; but just shut the fuck up and listen to Dave’s opening wail on this track! The band received a very good response from the crowd overall.
Next up was Zeke, a Punk band from Seattle. I’m extremely selective with my Punk music, but Zeke were really fun. I was very impressed by the band’s ability to stop right in the middle of certain songs so their guitarist could break out pieces of the a cappella guitar solo to Led Zeppelin’s “Heartbreaker”. You know the one. If not, you know nothing about music. Regardless, he was very selective of which songs he’d use to break out those fragments. And you either knew what he was doing – as I sure did! – or you were as fucking clueless as most of my high school graduating class. I would see the band’s bassist, Jeff Matz again. Only next time, it’d be with High on Fire in late 2007 in Webster Hall.
Up next were Southern Metal band Brand New Sin. I remember thinking that Corrosion were going on stage, until I saw Joe Alter hit the stage. I think Chuck, their bassist looked like Mike Dean. That’s probably why. After that, I remember absolutely nothing about the band’s set. That sucks because I actually like them. I would be able to see them again before year’s end at the same venue, where they’d be opening up for Black Label Society.
Next up were Corrosion of Conformity. The place was getting packed at this point. I had a good spot behind this younger kid with a leather jacket and sleeveless denim vest much like mine, although I simply didn’t wear mine on this night because it was cold as balls out that night. This would be my first of two times seeing Corrosion live. But there were two noticeable differences between both times I saw the band. On this night, Mike Dean looked a LOT cleaner cut, whereas when I saw him a decade later, he looked a lot more like Dr. Brown from the Back to the Future Trilogy. The other difference? The band were five years into a decade-long period where Reed Mullin wasn’t in the band.
I don’t remember too much about this set, except for the fact the Mike turned out to be an EXTRAORDINARY bassist, and that the band were on tour for their yet to be released album, In the Arms of God, meaning they’d be playing a few of those tracks on this night. They broke out the track “Paranoid Opioid”, which told me all I needed to know about this yet-to-be-released album. Funny thing is, when Pepper Keenan announced the title of the song, he introduced it by saying “This is off our new album that’s coming out next month, but y’all probably already downloaded it”. Most probably did. I actually bought it upon its release and wasn’t surprised one bit that it was just DRIPPING of Sabbath worship, which only started once Pepper joined the band in the early 90’s.
After Corrosion left the stage, more people started to push their way through to the center of the floor and beyond. It wasn’t too long of a wait, if I’m not mistaken. As the lights went out, the crown lost their fucking minds before any of the guys in Motorhead even stepped on stage. Lemmy walks out…
“Hello, we’re Motorhead. We play Rock ‘N’ Roll…” was the Johnny Cash-like intro he gave, as he cooly flicked a cigarette into the crowd. Mickey counts to four….
The whole fucking place EXPLODED. Megadeth four months ago had NOTHING on this. And that fucking docile kid that stood in front me? He woke up right the fuck on cue, his Mexican Jumping Bean like moves causing the back of his head to headbutt me right in the goddamn nose – the second time I was hit in the fucking nose! And just like at that last concert four months prior, I lost my spot, the crowd forcefully shoving my skinny ass out and back so they can all pay worship to Lemmy.
The Setlist:
Doctor Rock
Stay Clean
Shoot You in the Back
Love Me Like a Reptile
Killers
Metropolis
Over the Top
No Class
I Got Mine
In the Name of Tragedy
Dancing on Your Grave
R.A.M.O.N.E.S.
Sacrifice
Just ‘Cos You Got the Power
Going to Brazil
Killed by Death
Iron Fist
Encore:
Whorehouse Blues
Ace of Spades
Lemmy’s thunderous Rickenbastard bass, plugged into a wall of old, beat-up Marshall heads, torn through the entire room as everyone acted the craziest I’d ever seen up to that point in my life. My first Crowbar experience comes very close, although unlike the at the Crowbar show, the crowd didn’t partake in one room sized fist fight.
Remember earlier when I said Motorhead were “supposed” to do an encore? It started off just as I’d said, with Lemmy and Phil breaking out acoustic guitars to play “Whorehouse Blues”. After that, they plugged back in and tore through “Ace of Spades”, the one song everyone had been waiting for. And the crowd sure didn’t disappoint, let me tell you. If you’re somehow new to Motorhead, the album of the same name is absolute required listening. Not up for debate. After “‘Spades”, they left the stage and we all assumed they’d be back in a minute for more. Instead, Lemmy walked out without his bass and told the sound guy that the show was over, that Mickey was apparently taking a huge shit. “No really that’s it, it’s over”, Lemmy said as the house lights gradually came back up. Everyone was let down, but I doubt anyone was too pissed off. They just saw fucking Motorhead.
Dave drove us all home afterwards, dropping off Derek first, I think, since he had school the next morning. Dave and I got sandwiches and ate in his car (Ali I swear that’s all we did!) and talked about our musical backgrounds and music, my desire to start a new band after being dismissed, and how this show light a fire under my ass. I’d go on to see Motorhead one more time after this, but that was more than three years away.
I need to thank Dave Lowe for his help in verifying key parts of this story, because I didn’t remember everything and this is THE hardest article I’ve written to date. These days Dave can currently be heard on the Warped Reality Podcast, available on Spotify. You can also click here to see all the shit he has on his Link Tree, including a 2007 live clip of Arctic Flame at the now-defunct B.B. King’s.
This is one of those passings that many of us, not just me, could say did not see coming. I’d received a text on Friday, November 11th from my ex, simply reading “Kevin Conroy”. I asked why she brought him up and you don’t want to know my reaction to her response. Celebrity deaths mean shit to me. But this was not the usual celebrity death.
Kevin Conroy wasn’t an ordinary celebrity with longevity. No one voice actor in history since Casey Kasem as Shaggy in the Scooby Doo cartoons has EVER had the distinction of being a generational representation of a nationally recognized character the way Kevin was in regard to his affiliation with Batman, and the way he should sound. It’s rare for anyone to have that uniqueness, that natural ability, but Kevin was IT, in the same way that Mark Hamill, who before 1992 was just known as Luke Skywalker from those gay ass Star Wars movies, would be considered to be the single greatest Joker of ALL TIME.
It was 1992 when, on the heels of the release of Batman Returns, FOX premiered Batman: The Animated Series. It was infinitely darker in tone, making this supposed kid’s show appear to have more in common with Batman Returns than the campy Adam West show I just watched two years earlier, or even the old Batman cartoon from the late 60’s featuring Olan Soule as Batman and Casey Kasem as Robin. The show premiered on a Saturday. The episode was titled The Cat and The Claw, Pt. 1. Click here and skip to the 1:51 mark to see and hear for yourself why you’d be absolutely deaf if you didn’t shit yourself the moment you heard Kevin Conroy say “So… our new cat burglar’s a woman.”
With that one simplistic line, it was made clear that this Batman would be far more serious than what my eight-year-old self was accustomed to. It was darker, it was huskier, as Kevin himself said several times, and it was drenched in all things intimidating. The strangest part is that, even in 1992, I just knew that I was going to read every Batman related comic I’d go on to buy in Kevin’s voice. I also expected to hear his voice in any other Batman cartoon that would be released after Batman: The Animated Series. I don’t need to be told that I wasn’t that only one, and we were all right.
Over the next three decades, we’d be fortunate enough to hear Kevin resume his role as Batman in several incarnations of Batman: The Animated Series, including two absolutely stellar Justice League based shows, multiple straight to DVD releases, and subsequently, the CLASSIC Arkham video game trilogy. Neither of those three games, Batman: Arkham City in particular, would be the same without Kevin’s dark, brooding Batman. Only Kevin could properly articulate the process of Batman slowly losing his mind within three increasingly intense stories.
Anyone else could have tried to put their own spin on it. At this point Kevin’s voice was considered THE gold standard in which all other Batman voices were supposed to amount to. But it’s never the same and, for the purpose of this trilogy, authenticity WOULD have been examined and NO ONE could NATURALLY make Batman feel authentic the way Kevin Conroy could. This is something that’s been going in and out of my fucking brain as I’ve been watching playthroughs of all three Arkham games ever since the news of his passing was released.
But that’s why there will always be one Batman. That’s no one’s fault. Of anyone who’s portrayed him in live action movies and those who portrayed him in animated films, there’s only one man who had this natural ability draw from the memories of his rather shitty childhood, which I will not discuss here, and combine that with his Julliard training to relate to the tortured soul that is Batman. It’s Kevin after all, who came up with the idea the Bruce Wayne is the disguise and Batman is the real person, not the other way around. I caught that immediately in ’92 when I’d see a scene in which Bruce would talk to his colleagues in a rather high voice, but when he was alone again with Alfred, that voice would just DROP a whole two octaves because he no longer had to pretend.
It’s the total opposite of Clark Kent and Superman, or any other Superhero. It’s probably an accurate representation, as well, of how most people feel on a day-to-day basis. That’s why it worked. Some will say Michael Keaton started it in his first Batman movie. But what he was doing was mixing a standard talking voice as Bruce Wayne with a whisper when he was Batman, probably to conceal his true voice so no one could ever identify him. But it’s not the same as Kevin’s groundbreaking approach. Kevin’s approach evoked far more emotion regardless of the tone of any episode of any show or movie he appeared in over thirty years.
I’m going to end this by thanking Kevin. This isn’t just another piece of my childhood being taken away from me; this man defined a major portion of my fucking life as a whole. That’s not an everyday occurrence.
So, I’m guessing that, minus the band’s 2019 EP, The Last Rager, Municipal Waste have come to the conclusion that the best way to continue to make quality music for the long term is to release new albums every five years. It’s been five years since the release of their second masterpiece, 2017’s Slime And Punishment, and before that it’d been five years since the release of 2012’s Nuclear Blast debut, The Fatal Feast. And with each release there’s some sort of subtle shift in the band’s sound.
The Fatal Feast sounded to me like a traditional Crossover record, which is probably why I wasn’t a fan of it. I’d actually kind of written the band off with that one. Slime… came off as a major breath of fresh air. The songs were short, fast, intense and even introduced a new member – along with guitar solos – for a different dimension. That brings us to Electrified Brain. I just read that, according to guitarist Ryan Waste, his goal this time around was to write a dynamics-based record. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that because you CAN have MORE than enough dynamics in any song regardless of style, length, etc. But now I get it. However, I found Electrified Brain to be more of an album of musical diversity than anything else.
If Electrified Brain really is produced by the band, then they sure did a hell of a job making the record sound unusually slick. I’m talking the head room and reverb found on 95% of everything you’ve ever heard in the 80’s. You hear it in the punch of Dave Witte’s drums right away on the opening title track which comes out the gate like a rampaging fucking bull! It’s fast and HOT until the two-minute mark, where it turns into a traditional Metal headbanger that rides on for the next 45 seconds until the song’s end. It’s immediately followed by the Maiden-like harmonies of “Demoralizer”. It’s a great mid-tempo track that quickly segues into faster territory with a blazing, Mustaine-like solo by Nick Poulos.
Everything sounds….so much bigger. I don’t mean in the same way that everything sounder bigger on the previous album. The guitars AND Tony Forresta’s voice sound like they can truly BREATHE. I’m wondering if that has to do with the way the amps were miked this time around. When Jimmy Page recorded the guitar tracks for Zeppelin’s first album, he remembered that distance equals depth. That’s why he placed the mics relatively far away from the combo amp he used to make the record and wouldn’t you know it, a small sounding amp suddenly sounded far more monolithic in tone. Could that be the approach here?
“Last Crawl” and Grave Dive” seem to fall into a similar formula, the former being faster paced than the latter. And there’s nothing wrong with this because each song has its own character. I’m grateful that a lot of Tony’s lyrics have not changed that much since Waste ‘Em All. “Grave Dive” alone is purely about the allegiance of the band’s longtime fans as he screams “We dig up our fan base/The real ones that count/We’ll bring up their corpses/And toss them all out”. “The Bite” has a little more of my favorite lyrics, as Tony screams “A symphony/Of blended heads/Forced gore/Rotting legs/Skull shards/Springing forth/Bludgeoned with/A spinal chord”.
That song, along with “High Speed Steel” sounds a lot like songs Metallica could’ve written had they recorded Ride the Lighting today. They’re a lot more Thrash in that vein along with some harmonies blended in with the chord changes, something I’d never hear in a Municipal Waste song. Then something happens not to long before this track ends; it transitions from being a Thrash song into sounding a lot like the best Mercyful Fate song they never wrote for Don’t Break the Oath. The gang “whoa” vocals could EASILY be replaced by King Diamond doing the same thing, and Nick’s short solo spot is something Michael Denner probably would’ve played himself! That diversity I spoke about? Here it is.
“Thermonuclear Protection” kicks the album back into a much-needed high gear with its immediate breakneck speed. The more I hear Electrified Brain, the more I wonder how much of an influence Nick Poulos was this time around, especially since he’s been in the band for a while now. Is HE a bigger traditional Metal fan than the others in the band? I fucking LOVE “Blood Vessel-Boat Jail”. It’s a no bullshit, mid-tempo instrumental palm muter until the second half kicks in. It seamlessly transitions between a normal tempo and Dave ripping out blast beats. I fucking shat myself because I had a feeling I wasn’t going to hear that again. Sadly, I was right. The rest of the song had me envisioning the time an old friend of mine jumped off the faux balcony of this loft the band played at in Brooklyn in 2006, forcing Tony to warn people to not jump off it because you can die. This actually happened.
I swear that “Restless and Wicked” is a King Diamond tribute. The first half of the song sounds like a less technical “Welcome Home” from Them before transitioning to break down that comes off as a slightly faster “Curse of The Pharaohs”, the overplayed, yet classic track off Melissa, Mercyful Fate’s debut album. “Ten Cent Beer Night” was NEEDED. It’s CLASSIC Municipal Waste, from its bar fight lyrics to the non-stop speed. No breakdowns into tradition Metal territory here. Minus a few slight nuances, it’s the ‘Waste we all loved in the mid 2000’s. “Putting On Errors”, the penultimate track on Electrified Brain is the most BRUTAL track on the album. Hear that fucking furnace of a voice making Tony sound like a chihuahua? That’s Barney Greenway of Napalm Death. This was more a of a grinder at the end, and Tony couldn’t EVER do that last part justice. Ever.
So how do I feel about Electrified Brain?
After a few listens, both caffeinated while heading to and from the gym and with no caffeine in my system, I’m impressed. I can easily see why one reviewer felt that most tracks blended into each other, as they do follow a similar pattern. But, as I said, I do feel the songs all have their own character. I’m convinced that Nick is the catalyst for the increase in the 80’s Metal influences outside of the Thrash subgenre. I found it to be a treat to hear Municipal Waste step out of that zone and managed to sound good because this experiment could’ve QUICKLY gone South. The only thing I’d hope for, when they release their next album five years from now, as that Ryan and Nick find a good balance between the two styles.
I give Electrified Brain 4 out of 5 middle fingers.
Recommended Tracks: Electrified Brain, Demoralizer, High Speed Steel, Blood Vessel-Boat Jail, Putting On Errors (w/ Barney Greenway)
It had to be sometime in early 2003. I was on a bus heading home, and, while I still had probably fifteen more minutes before I reached my destination, I pulled out the latest issue of Revolver Magazine from my backpack. If memory serves me correctly, the magazine included a one-page section highlighting recommended up-and-coming bands. There were three bands, one definitely was Himsa (fucking absolute vomit!), and the only other band I remembered was some band called The Black Dahlia Murder, whose music the magazine categorized as “Megadeth Metal”.
That’s not a joke.
Time would go on and a whole year and a half would pass before I finally came across Unhallowed, The Black Dahlia Murder’s 2003 debut album, probably in Sam Goody. I remember that this was also the same day that I bought the very denim jacket that I’d cut the sleeves off of to make a vest out of.
Unrelated note: Don’t ever use the term “Battle Jacket” to describe your denim vest with patches and buttons and spikes on it. Or go ahead and do so and be as retarded as everyone else that uses the fucking stupid term.
Anyway, my dad drove me home, as I still didn’t have a car yet. I opened up Unhallowed and looked at the cover. What’s in a name? What’s in a cover image? In the early days of mp3 downloading and, with a whole decade to go before Spotify existed, I still bought CDs, and still do so to this day. Therefore, the only way to find out what any band sounded like, was to either download a track or two, or to simply BUY the album. I popped the album into my five-disc changer and the following two tracks fucked me up.
The music in this video is actually the opening instrumental title track to the record and it breaks right into “Funeral Thirst”, so it made sense to just post the video instead of two separate links of any kind.
Either way, upon hearing those two tracks now I remember EXACTLY what stood out to me those most. The music alone was not just balls-out heavy, but those minor chord harmonies happened to make me feel every single negative emotion I ever knew or felt in my entire life. I wanted to cry, I wanted to die, I wanted to choke anyone I could get my hands on. It was hopeless. It was beautiful.
Then I heard that fucking voice. It was like nothing I had heard at the time. It was a hell of a lot more screetchy than most Death Metal bands I’d heard, with the sole exception of Chuck’s vocals on The Sound of Perseverance, Death’s last record. He hit the traditional guttural style as well and I realized that he was using the two styles for the sake of a dynamic that was not there at the time. It changed things up in all the songs and it fucking made things far more exciting.
Clearly whoever described this band as “Megadeth Metal” in Revolver Magazine a year earlier must’ve been either high or just absolutely clueless. The Black Dahlia Murder, especially as made evident in their latter-day releases were more like the greatest Carcass disciples you’ve ever heard!
This was just the beginning of a long ride for the band for the better part of two decades, two decades that would especially see Trevor Strnad standout among the traditional Death Metal frontman stereotype. As serious as he was in the video posted above, his sense of fun and humor would become FAR more prevalent not just in the videos the band would make in the coming years, but in his persona onstage. The best thing about it all was Trevor manage to balance this act out to the point that his goofiness NEVER took away from the band’s or his onstage intensity. He never took himself seriously and that connected with all of us because we knew it was genuine.
But to be clear, his lyrics were as Death Metal, and as brutal as it got. He’s a line or two from “Christ Deformed”, one of my ALL TIME favorite TBDM tracks:
Diabolic ritual open the portal to damnation Dark legions gathering for virtuous insemination Molest and sodomize deride the seed of god’s creation Impale the Nazarene succumb to a spiritual inversion
In our unholy father’s disgusting house of shame We revel in endless hatred burning so absolute Corrupting all who’d enter here surrender to darkness We kneel to those no more who’d burden and beguilt
Within these wretched walls a summoning proceeds What form will manifest of this abysmal devilry The children now are bleeding, we eunuchate his sons To evil blood and fire this earth will soon succumb With hell reborn Your Christ be scorned Dead faith now torn His love deformed
That’s why I intentionally waited before I wrote this piece. It was hard to let sink in, that not only is Trevor gone, but to think about how it just might’ve happened. But much like with my tribute to Chris Cornell, I will NOT discuss what happened. Enough people have written about that, and we still haven’t a clue as to the whole story. But I, like most fans of The Black Dahlia Murder, have memories of meeting Trevor and even talking with him at length. Things like this, along with his ability to ACTUALLY HAVE FUN are truly why he’s the single most important Death Metal frontman in DECADES. While my memories aren’t as amazing as others, they meant something to me then, and they without question mean something to me now. So, I’ll share them.
It was the summer of 2006, and I traveled with two friends (one of which eventually got what was coming to him via a heart attack) to the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, NJ for the Sounds of The Underground Tour, which included The Black Dahlia Murder, GWAR, Behemoth (and you bet your ass I met Nergal on this day!) and several others. I walked by TBDM’s merch table when I noticed a tall, flabby looking guy with a tattoo that read “HEARTBURN” across his belly. It was Trevor. I walked up to him and introduced myself when he replied, “talk a walk with me for a second”.
“Do me a favor, will ya?”, he asked me, as we walked. “We’re shooting a video for “Statutory Ape” today, and I need you and everybody else in that crowd to go fuckin’ crazy. Can you do that for me?” “Fuck yeah!” I immediately said. Hours later, the band walked on stage and Trevor immediately called out the entire crowd “C’MON YOU PUSSIES!!!!”, as they grinded out “I’m Charming” off Miasma, the same record that includes “Statutory Ape”. Sorry to say that no, I wasn’t crazy enough to be a part of that pit, but once Trevor called them out all bets were off.
My last memory didn’t involve a request to sacrifice myself in the pit, no. I traveled to the now defunct B.B. King’s in Times Square, New York Shitty (I said what I said), to see TBDM along with Hate Eternal and 3 inches Of Blood in January 2008. There might have been one other band on the bill, but I forgot who it was. Anyway, my friends and I arrived at B.B.’s and almost immediately I spotted Trevor at the bar. He looked a lot like he did two years prior, funny looking shorts, topless, hair all disheveled. I walked up to him again and he laughed as we reminisced over our previous meeting.
We parted ways after that, and he eventually found his way backstage. But what I always remembered about both those times was that he made himself accessible. It’s a story we’d ALL go on to hear about him over the years. He always hung out with the fans. Upon moving to Brooklyn (and I’ve to this day no idea why he’d do that to himself!), he apparently hung out at St. Vitus on the regular and would support the local bands and talk with everybody there. He even wrote a column for Metal Injection where he’d recommend underground Extreme Metal bands.
I don’t know many other frontmen of legend status like Trevor’s who’d do all those things. We might not ever completely know what happened to the charismatic (that word doesn’t even do it justice!) frontman of THE single most important Death Metal band of this century so far. But he left an UNDENIABLE mark that can never be removed. There will never be another frontman as genuine as Trevor Strnad.
Confessions of an Angry Metalhead 