Welcome to the "No-Thrash Zone": Embarassing Confessions About Growing Up Non-metal in Small Town America

It's been a fucking wild past couple of days--Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Karl Malden and Billy Mays are dead and Bernie Madoff will be rotting in prison for the next 150 years. Since I'm still recovering from all this shocking news and busy being lazy and Lucho and his bro are on vacation and the Sarg is busy fulfilling his fantasies of being a 16 year old scene slut I bring to you another reader contributed post, this time from Mr. Shelby Cobras. It's a touching piece that deals with the loss of innocence and finding one's metal self. I hope you enjoy!

Sergeant D is applauded by a group of sniveling yes-men at a recent Metal Inquisition Excellence In Blogging Seminar just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

It is fairly obvious that the creators of Metal Inquisition are slowly falling out of touch with their hip, young readership. As Sergeant D's elderly mind slowly waddles off into territory best left unexplored and Lucho Metales spends more and more time pontificating on crates of garbage from his youth, M.I.'s so-called "fan base" is losing interest quickly. That's why I'm here. You see, I'm only 30 (a "spring chicken" by comparison) and had a completely different experience in my metal education. While the creators of Metal Inquisition grew up attending the earliest Milwaukee Metal Fests and tape-trading with dudes from Impetigo, I grew up in a small town completely devoid of any sort of metal element whatsoever (Eureka, California - an hour south of the Oregon border with a population of roughly 25,000). With all due respect to Sr. Metales, Eureka was every bit as isolated (metal-wise) from any sort of cultural center, 5 hours from San Francisco and 8 from Portland. Lucho often complains that he had to subsist on 3-year-old copies of Metal Hammer, but we couldn't get Metal Hammer AT ALL, 3 years old or otherwise. It was a lot like Footloose, except with metal instead of dancing. Eureka was a cultural wasteland, devoid of access to "underground" music (besides our own little sheltered scene) or cool places to buy T-shirts. The closest (decent) record store was 20 minutes away in Arcata, and while their "punk" selection was decent, their "metal" selection was limited to stuff like Barren Cross, Cold Lake, and Stryper. While a few death metal bands existed in the area (such as Empire of Dust, Locust Furnace, and Transi), Hessians at the time were usually big, scary, leather clad barbarians, with swastika tattoos and goats living in their kitchen (this is NOT an exaggeration). As a result, me and my friends were denied access to all but the most "mainstream" metal bands of the early 90's, causing my metal upbringing to be backwards, scattershot, and most of all, embarassing. For example, I heard Cryptopsy WAY before I ever heard Broken Hope or Morbid Saint. My first exposure to At The Gates was on the flipside of a dubbed cassette copy of Stikky's Where's My Lunchpail?. I heard Formulas Fatal To The Flesh YEARS before Blessed Are The Sick. As Mike Browning could tell you, time was moving in the WRONG DIRECTION. By the time I heard Butchered At Birth and Legion in 1995, it was already too late. So here's a list of my 5 most embarassing secrets concerning my "metal education". I'm sure that not all of you can relate to the rich metal upbringing that the senile old codgers at Metal Inquisition were fortunate enough to be exposed to. But maybe some of you guys can relate to MY embarassing past, and the sad events that served as milestones for me.


1) MY INTRODUCTION TO "METAL" WAS D.R.I.'S THRASH ZONE This is tough to admit, but Thrash Zone was the album that actually GOT ME INTO METAL. In my freshman year at Eureka High School, I was listening to some really weak shit, like Pearl Jam and Alice In Chains. So when my buddy Julian showed up one day with a copy of Zone, it seemed like a breath of fresh air. Although the songs were way too long, unbearably stupid, and featured dudes in their 30's spouting lines like "School's a job... but... you... don't get paid!", we had no frame of reference whatsoever. D.R.I. sounded like nothing we'd ever heard before. When they shouted "Like a wild Indian from outer space / Drunk and high on WEED!", it pumped our nads. Although we'd never actually been in a mosh pit, we could FEEL the intensity. Soon, me and Julian had formed our own (instrumental) "thrash" band, which we called Kill Whitey (Flesh Parade later stole the name from us). We had a Christian dude named Matt on bass, and we totally RULED. Unfortunately, Kill Whitey didn't last long, as Julian got addicted to speed and ended up stealing my baseball card collection for drug money. But I got the last laugh, because he eventually went to prison for multiple armed robberies. Oh, and I was making out with his younger sister behind his back the whole time. Sucker! Sing along with the old classic, D.R.I.'s "Thrashard", which features quite possibly the best use of fake crowd noises EVER (con sibtitulos en Espanol):

2) THE FIRST TIME I EVER HEARD ANTHRAX, IT WAS ON THAT REMAKE OF "BRING THA NOIZE" THEY DID WITH PUBLIC ENEMY Embarassing but true. I was a huge fan of P.E., beginning with the release of Apocalypse 91 back in, um, 1991. But what really blew me away was the totally innovate amalgamation of rap and metal they placed at the end of the album, a totally slammin' little ditty called "Bring Tha Noize". After doing some deep research (i.e. reading the liner notes), I found that the song was a collaboration with an awesome group of surf-trunks-wearing thrashers called Anthrax. I quickly rounded up copies of Attack of the Killer B's and Sound of White Noise, which, to my knowledge, were the only releases from these rap-metal masters. They even threw some sweet funk into the mix, which to my 13-year-old mind seemed like the best idea EVER. With 20/20 hindsight, it is fairly obvious that Public Enemy has retained their dignity better than Anthrax over the years, Flavor of Love nonwithstanding.

3) I USED TO PUT SLAYER AT THE END OF MIX TAPES... AS A JOKE I spent LOTS of time making mix tapes for my bros (and yes, chicks I had "secret" crushes on) in the early 90's. Usually chock-full of hideous garbage like Screeching Weasel, NOFX, Guttermouth, and Skankin' Pickle, these tapes were, unfortunately, a pretty accurate documentation of where my head was at the time. But the best part about making a mix tape was the extra time at the end of each side, which I liked to fill up with random sound clips and comedy bits and stuff. Usually anywhere from a couple seconds to about 2 minutes long, these leftover areas were a great place for me to flex my creative mix tape muscle, inserting samples from Adam Sandler's comedy album ("Fuck me in the goat ass!" was a popular choice) or a piece of dialogue from a cartoon I had dubbed off TV. But here's where it gets embarassing: My friend Nate, who had been a metalhead in the past but "progressed" to pop-punk, was embarassed of his old music collection and kicked me down his copy of Slayer's 1991 live album Decade of Aggression. This hurts to say, but Decade was the FIRST TIME I ever heard Slayer. Immediately confused by the excessive speed and pointless guitar solos, Slayer became my new favorite for time-consuming mix tape fodder, a ridiculously over-the-top "joke band" I could add on in 30 second increments to fuck with my friends. Unfortunately, by the time I realized that Slayer was actually pretty good (1994 or so), they had already gotten bad again. Oh well. Looking back on this, I would probably still use Slayer songs to take up extra time at the end of mix tapes, if I still made them. Except it would be jock-rock stuff like the songs on Christ Illusion or that cover they did of "Born To Be Wild". That shit is hilarious.

4) THE BLACK ALBUM WAS THE FIRST METALLICA TAPE I EVER BOUGHT AND it was the first time I'd ever even HEARD Metallica. AND I liked it. Wow, it actually feels kind of good to get that off my chest.

5) BODY COUNT SEEMED SCARY AND HARSH Keep in mind that this was before Ice T had appeared in Tank Girl (right) or smoked a joint with the Leprechaun in Leprechaun In The 'Hood. We was some backwoods, rural folks out there in Humboldt County, and "Cop Killer" seemed like the most hardcore, gangster, inner-city shit out there. Never mind Beatmaster V's inabilty to play a steady beat or Ernie C's atonal, amateur solos. Body Count was the REAL DEAL, a ghetto nightmare come to life on our very own Discman. Ice T was, without a doubt, a ruthless killer, a hardened criminal and a threat to the security of our country. And rap-metal, like I said before, seemed like a really good idea. In retrospect, it's pretty amazing that ANYONE could take the band that wrote a song like "The Winner Loses" seriously. Except Eastern Europeans, of course (PS - these two videos were the only versions of said song I could find on Youtube).

Above and below: Two crown jewels from my mid-90's Humboldt Metal collection, Drunk By Noon's I'd Call In Sick If I Had A Job cassette demo (featuring the songs "Meat Box" & "Morbid Goat") and Locust Furnace's Ignorance Through Perception. The Locust Furnace CD is actually pretty good, but take a close look at the cover art. They just cut out and blew up a chunk of the cover art from Altars of Madness. Genius.

Now that I've gotten all this shameful information off my chest, I'd like to add one more thing, something that I've never told ANYONE: Once, when I was about 10 and bedridden with a terrible fever, I crapped my bed. There, I said it.

Now that we're acquainted, please take a moment to check out MY blog, Illogical Contraption, which one reviewer called "quite possibly the best thing on the internet, EVER" and another dude referred to as "the poor man's Metal Inquisition". Which it is.

Metal Archeology: Artifacts from a lifetime devoted to metal (Part 4)

Archeologists from UNC Chapel Hill uncover my oversized copy of Convicted. Thanks, dudes! I've been looking for that!

Yeah, I know it was my brother Lucho who started the Archeology posts (part1, part2, part3), but to be fair, most of the digs were done in OUR mom's basement, so in a way, they are my posts, too. Anyway, last time I was there I dug through old Metal Hammer magazines and Blue Grape backpatches to find a small box of tapes. Let me share some of my finds...



Ordered off some local rag in the late 80's in Toledo, Ohio, this was the very first demo tape we ever owned. Undertaker were a terrible thrashy band with horrible production, a terrible cover and a song called "Sesame Street Mosh". What a treasure!



I've talked about Impetigo a lot on past posts. They are still one of my top 10 favorite bands of all times. I was SO amped when I got this in the mail from Mark! He told me he took the tape to practice specially to get it signed for me. I'm not sure if that was true or not, but I was the KING of the metal scene that day and this tape was my crown. A really lame, lame crown.



This find goes back to the 80's. I hope you find this as funny as I do. Back in the day, in South America, it was hard to get original tapes, so dubbed tapes were the norm. This guy in my class, Eduardo, went to Miami for the summer and brought back a bunch of metal tapes. Of course, I dubbed them all, walked to a near by pharmacy and photocopied all the covers. One of the tapes he brought back the summer of 1988 was Maiden's "Seventh Son." Not sure why I felt the need to use color pencils and a black ball-point in a sad attempt at make the cover look "real", but I'm glad I did. I was 13, what an idiot!



There's plenty more junk where these came from, so stay tuned and watch out for the next "Metal Archeology: Artifacts from a lifetime devoted to metal" post!

Moving Sale - Everything must go... into storage.

Ah!! It's good to be back! This is my first post since 9/24/08. As some of you may know my life has been a total pile of dog shit since. As we have said many times before, MI staffers are reluctant to reveal too much our personal lives, but I'm gonna make an exception and tell you that my wife fucking left me. The details aren't important, but what matters here is that we are selling our place and I have to move out. I'm selling a lot of my stuff, but not all. I have no idea what shithole in Bed-Stuy I'm gonna end up into, so I'm moving what I'm not selling into storage. As I'm packing, I'll share with you a few things I run into that may be of interest to our readers. Today: some awesome T-shirts.

Crappy art by Stevo

It's no secret I love Impetigo. You can read about my obsession on this post from last year. This sweet Impetigo T-shirt was given to me as a gift by Richard C. of Wild Rags himself, outside the Eagles Auditorium in Milwaukee, WI on July 30th, 1993. It serves as the only piece of hard evidence and proof that I was present during Impetigo's good bye show later that evening. I also wore this T-shirt proudly as we visited Jeffrey Dahmer's place the next day. I was wearing an Impetigo shirt as I stood in front of apartment 213.





This is one of my favorite T-shirts ever. It's pretty bizarre. I traded this shirt with this guy I knew named Brian. I can't remember what I gave him for it, but I know he got ripped off. This shirt is the cat's pajamas! I've only worn this tee a handful of times, since acquiring it in '92. It's spent most of the last 10 years in a plastic bag as demonstrated by its wrinkled appearance. The art is not by Stevo, as Impetigo shirts usually displayed, but it's just as shitty. It looks like it was hand done, not silk screened and the back glows in the dark. That's fucking right bitches, I have an Impetigo shirt that glows in the motherfucking dark. That's how I roll, son!




Kreator 1993 Coma of Souls tour T-shirt. I think the sleeves were removed a few years after that. Not much to say about this one, really. Just that, as you can see, this shirt has been washed a shitload of times and it's so wide it can only be worn by George Costanza.





I don't know WTF I was thinking. Why did I cut the sleeves off on all these T-shirts? I weighed 117lbs up until 1999. My arms were the size of toothpicks, yet I felt my tiny guns needed to be displayed?



This is my favorite T-shirt of this bunch. If I remember correctly, I got this classic tee at a comic book store in Miami. My friend Camilo was waiting just outside in his white Grand Am. I grabbed the thing off the rack and bailed. I wore it at least twice a week since the summer of 1991 until 1998 or so. I'm wearing it in half of our band photos during that time. Many of the scars on the tee are pretty fucking metal, too. A few of the rips came in the pit and all the small holes at the bottom are from the spikes on my belt. The big chunk missing from the bottom happened after a patch I had sown to cover another hole, ripped off during a show in Dee-troit.

Once again, the sleeves were removed at some point. This time, the sleeves ripped and I've had this safety pin holding the thing together for years. I actually still wear this thing once in a while. I usually wear a Harmony Corruption long sleeve under it.

There's a whole box of these things. Every one of them filled with memories and stories.

Alright, like I said, it's good to be back and I hope to get back in the groove and start posting regularly again. Thanks to all the fans that cared enough to realize I hadn't been around. You all need to get a life. Stay metal.

Impetigo: REAL GRINDCORE

I was blessed to have been at the Milwaukee Metal Fest XII in 1993. Not only did Phantasm play a kick-ass show, but I witnessed the final Impetigo show...ever. it was better than a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich that has been sitting at the bottom of your schoolbag for the whole day. It was awe-inspiring. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Really. I’m pathetic, OK?

I was introduced to The Masters of Goregrind by non other than the infamous Richard C. of Wild Rags. After a few letters back and forth, he sent me a flyer for a new CD he was about to put out: Ultimo Mondo Cannibale. The art on the flyer was so sick I knew I had to get it. It looked like a retarded 14 year old had drawn it while in prison for double homicide and rape. I was doing my metal radio show at the time, so I requested a promo copy. When I first played it, I was blown away. It was SO raw! It was so...so...so BRUTAL! The production was crude, but so brutal! The music was simple, but so brutal! The lyrics were cheezy as all hell, but so brutal! Stevo's vocals were terrible and awesome at the same time...and also so brutal! The cover art was simply AMAZING. As sweet as seedless organic green grapes! I was impressed at the obvious Gauguin influences in Stevo’s art.


The thing about Impetigo was that their sound was very unique. It's probably because of the low-budget production and their simple riffs. But it was all memorable and (dare I say it) catchy. Impetigo had entered my life and they entered like a freight train (Nitro reference). My band decided to cover "The Revenge Of The Scabby Man", I put an Impetigo sticker on the bumper my 1986 Dodge Horizon and another one on my white flying V geetar. I played songs from Ultimo on the air so often people would call to yell at me, but I didn't care I was in love! As it often happens in situation like these, I needed more. I had to get their demos. I wrote a quick note to Mark, the guitarist. He responded quickly and within a few weeks I had a dubbed copy of Giallo.

The demo is a bit more hardcorish sounding than Ultimo and honestly I don’t like it that much. Anyway, Mark and I wrote for a looooong time and he even said he liked my band when I sent him our first demo. I know now, of course, that he was lying (no one can possibly have liked my band then…or now). Still, it was a nice thing to say. Anyway, Horror of the Zombies came out in 1992 and instantly became my favorite CD. Even today, Horror is in my top 10 records of all times and Boneyard in my top 20 songs of all times. The cover was, again, sick as shit! Looks like Stevo remained influenced by Gauguin for this masterpiece.


Impetigo was a TRUE grindcore band. No PC stupid and simplistic pseudo-socially-conscious lyrics here. No guys in dreadlocks preaching against sexism. No black and white patches with left-wing slogans. Impetigo were pure fucking GRIND. They had gore lyrics, hyper-cheesy and offensive cover art, samples of women screaming in pain and BRUTAL tunes. They didn’t look like peace-punks or like hardcore tough-guy retards pretending to look scary. These guys WERE scary. They looked like serial killers or rapists, or plain old farmers from the middle of Illinois…which, I guess, is what they were.

The bands that call themselves grindcore these days are a disgrace to the term.

Man, I wish I still had that ’86 Horizon.