A Thursday post about a case of the Mondays

I'm an idiot. I meant to post this on Friday, but mistakenly put it up today. Oh well. It's a holiday weekend here in the US of A...so consider this your weekend fill.


Like most of you, I have my bad days. I know what you're probably thinking, that due to the popularity of this blog, my life is filled with endless parties and prestigious events to which I am driven to in my 62S Maybach. Well, that's all certainly true...but with that in mind, I must also tell you that I sometimes have a case of what overweight American women call "the mondays". Just this past Monday, I actually had a case of "the Mondays", one I simply could not shake. I tried the usual remedies for this condition, anything that would cheer me up. I listened to Obituary, but it didn't work. It merely reminded me of when I was younger, happier and got to hang out with Obituary in order for Donald Tardy to sign a drumstick for me. I tried listening to Dream Theatre, which usually makes me laugh for hours upon hours, especially that one song that has the salloon-music like piano part. But then I remembered that poor Mike Portnoy can only afford to live in a town called Coopersburg Pennsyvlania. Can you imagine playing that awful garbage to dozens of acne-scarred fans every night...and only being able to afford a pseudo-Mc mansion in Coopersburgh PA? Nothing was working, I was still bummed and feeling blue. It was time to take drastic action, so I brought out the big guns...the only thing that will always cheer me up and make me laugh. Am I talking about Megadeth's cover of Anarchy In the UK? No. Am I talking about the Megadeth tribute album entirely made up of French bands that I own. No. Am I talking about the entire Hanger 18 video? Nope. I'm talking about the Manowar commercial for German TV.





Even after watching it, I was still not feeling cheered up. As such, I instructed my driver Helmut to drive me around town in my Maybach so that I could find someone to laugh at. I thought surely there would be a pack of Juggalos somewhere out there, waiting to make my day brighter. Sometimes, god smiles down upon you...and last Monday was such a day. At one random intersection I saw the most amazing metal specimen known to man...a very rare one. Much like seeing the rare Pinta Islan Tortoise in the wild, catching a full blown, early 20s black metal douche bag (complete with full leather pants in a day when it was nearly 90 degrees) is a rare sight. At least around here. I mean, you know they're out there...and you can find them at shows and stuff...but to see one crossing the street is amazing.

I know this photographic evidence is poor at best, but you'll have to forgive my driver Helmut, as this was the best shot he was able to get for me.

The beast was majestic, complete with black plumage, combat boots, oversized backpack, portable CD player (did you just read that? Portable CD player...its 2009!), sunglasses and a Bathory shirt. Was it the mere sight of such a specimen that cheered me up. Not really. You see, in the picture above you can see a middle aged black woman, walking away from the young metal fan. This is where it gets good. Although I found myself a few feet away from the action, I could hear the exchange between these two pretty well. Originally the woman was standing next to Mr Bathory shirt, waiting to cross the street. The whole time they were standing next to each other, Mr Leather Pants was totally hitting on this chubby 40 something lady. He was dead serious, and was definitely using his A game to lure her back into his black metal lair. "Where are you going to now?" He asked her suggestively, as he looked her up and down, almost licking his lips. I felt bad for the guy, I was seeing him at his most vulnerable, and the woman was not even acknowledging his existence. I'm sure it probably reminded him of that other awkward conversation he once had with a woman. His mother. It went a little something like this:







So there he was, trying to hit on a much older woman...and being insanely persistent at it. "Where do you work? Come on, you can tell me." She was having none of it, and wouldn't even look his way. I couldn't hear everything he said to her, but his ongoing questions were met with complete disregard from the lady, a reply that most male metalheads know well. "You don't even want to look at me?" he asked. The woman suddenly turned around, looked at him, pausing on his leather pants. Once she looked at him, she walked away from him, angrily putting her bag over her shoulder and murmuring to herself. It was this moment that I caught, I mean...my driver Helmut, caught on camera. Feeling dissed by the lady, Mr Black Metal kinda' bobbed his head to the rhythm of the grim tunes on his sweet portable CD player, and fixed his hair and headphones as to say "ain't no thang". Upon seeing a black metal fan trying to pick up a middle aged lady on the street, and failing...I found myself suddenly cheered up. Everything was right with the world, I was officially in a good mood once again.

Metal Archeology: Artifacts from a lifetime devoted to metal (Part 3)

Here we see a picture of graduate student Emily Thayer, hard at work uncovering my Gammacide 12".

Metal Archeology. When I first coined the term, I was merely joking around. Today, at least four prominent colleges in the United States offer Masters programs in this very important field of study. As I've mentioned in past posts about this subject Metal Archeology can be explained in this manner:

Just as archeologists carefully dig through piles of rubble in search of artifacts that can give us further information about previous societies, I too have chosen to dig through my own personal rubble in search of answers and artifacts. After what has been nearly a lifelong commitment to metal (in one way or another), I have accumulated assorted artifacts which bring back memories of the past. I aim to dig deep into my past (a sometimes embarrassing past) in order to make sense of just who I was at the time. Part archeology dig, part psychotherapy session, I hope this series of ongoing posts will prove to be both insightful and therapeutic to our devoted readers. I shall call this new science: Metal Archeology.

Now that we're all on the same page, we can get started.

The item I will share wit you today is a bit unusual, but speaks volumes about a semi-legendary time in metal history. I hereby present to you, the autographed promotional picture of Chicago's not-so-legendary band Stygian. Not to be confused with the current band by the same name, who use an amazingly similar logo, this Stygian was a band who were signed to David T Chastain's label. Don't know who David Chastain is? Don't worry, you're not alone. Let me put it this way...do you know what's sadder than a pathetic riff-orama obsessed guitar-hero douche like Steve Vai or Yngwie Malmsteen? Well...how about a third rate guitar demi-god from Cincinnati Ohio who never really hit it big. That, my friends, is David T Chastain. If you want to see and hear him jam out, watch this. But more importantly, here's the picture that this whole post is devoted to:

The coveted, signed Stygian promo picture.

Do these youngsters have no shame? Not only did they steal the band's name...but the logo is also very similar. I'm sure the guys in the Stygian will be glad to hear that they had some influence on someone. It will probably cheer them up, as they continue to mop toilets in an office building during third-shift.

Like other objects from my metal collection which I have shared with you in the past, this one was also found in a box of crap that my mom finally begged me to move out of her house. Why on earth she wouldn't want to hang on to my signed Obituary drumsticks, signed Stygian promo pictures or home made Morbid Angel shirt for decades is beyond me. Her loss, your gain.

About the picture
After I found this magnificent specimen mixed in with other metal debris, I had to think for a second in order to remember where it came from. Then it all came rushing back. It came from the Milwaukee Metal Fest, which my brother and I went to in both 1992 and 1993. I'm not sure which one this picture from...but it really doesn't matter. What matters is that the fucking thing is autographed bitches! Hell yes!

Milwaukee Metal Fest
I feel like this fest should one day get its own post, since my brother and I certainly have enough memories to write a whole lot about it. For now, I'll try to tell you a few things quickly. I remember driving for hours to get to the two day fest. The venue had two stages, each starting as early as like 10am, and going until like 2am. I remember my brother and I standing there looking at a schedule to see what bands would play each stage and when. Deciding which band to see was a tough decision. The conversations between the two of us probably went something like this: "Well, Macabre will be playing upstairs, but Intenal Bleeding will be downstairs, and that will overlap with Broken Hope...oh no! What do we do?"

Held at the Eagles Ballroom, the fest was a godamned zoo, insanely disorganized but well worth it back then. To see that many metal fans, and that many bands was amazingly rewarding to a youngster like me. Throw in the ability to check out merch from the biggest names in metal...labels like Wild Rags, Grindcore Records and the like...and I was a happy camper. On the other hand, the super long drive sucked, we were broke as hell...and I certainly remember reaching a point of overload. Some of the bands that played there (aside from the ones I just mentioned) were: Brutal Truth, DRI, Morbid Angel, Biohazard, AC, Downset, Slayer, Overkill, Testament, Cannibal Corpse, Dogstarr (yes, the Keaneu Reeves band), Anacrusis, Suffocation, Exhorder, Cancer and so many more that I could go on and on for days. If you were there and remember some of the smaller bands, please feel free to remind me. I know there were tons of Wild Rags bands that I'm forgetting.

Outside the venue. It was in this parking lot that my brother bought a sweet Impetigo shirt from Richard C of Wild Rags Records. Richard was lying and saying he wasn't Richard C, in fear or being jumped by the many people in attendance who he owed money to. Like most attendees, we parked around the back during the fest.

This is where the larger bands played, which was upstairs. It was here that Slayer put on a "meh" inducing performance. I can just imagine the architect who designed the beautiful classical details in this ballroom thinking to himself "ah yes, one day Brutal Truth will play in this fanstastic space...I shall make this the grandest of all grand ballrooms"

Memories
I remember Tom, the guy who we went to the Fest with, smoking pot as he drove his old, beat up BMW 3 Series through Illinois. As Tom drove, and smoked joints that he kept in his fanny pack, he would hold his right hand out mid-air, and quickly motion as though he was signing a check, quickly flicking his wrist to and fro. We later found out that this was his version of air-drumming at high speeds. It took about six hours of driving through Illinois for us to figure this out.

I remember taking a large cooler in the trunk, filling it with ice, and storing our newly purchased records inside the cooler (protecting them with zip lock bags) while we watched even more bands play.

When A.C. played, Seth insisted that the whole audience be quiet...if not, they would not play another song. Everyone got quiet, but a kid towards the front kept talking, not having heard Seth's instructions. Suddenly, and with perfect aim, Seth threw his mike with amazing speed and precission, like a godamned harpoon. It hit the kid square in the face and almost knocked him out. It was pretty funny. Many years later, I began to tell this very story to the members of a band that we were touring with in the late 90's. The drummer, began to look bummed as I told the story. He suddenly blurted out "It was me, okay okay, it was me. Jesus, please don't tell the whole story." He was 14 when it had happened, and he was there with his dad. He was talking to him as Seth went on and on about everyone being quiet. His dad had not wanted him to go to the fest, since it was far away and potentially dangerous. Eventually he agreed to go with him, to help keep him safe. They arrived as AC was playing, walked in as they were talking and within seconds got nailed in the face with a mic. It hit him so hard that he almost passed out.

I remember my brother yelling at a drunken DD Verni, telling him "your band blows!". DD looked like bummed upon hearing the news.

You're probably thinking that his jacket says "bass", because he plays the bass guitar. Not so. He enjoy bass fishing. If you're going to ask me why his bass guitar says "I need lunch", I can't help you...aside from guessing that playing in Overkill never really paid the bills, even if that bill was a $2 happy meal from Mc Donalds.

I remember Body Count playing, and the entire lighting rig starting to fall onto the audience. I'm talking about a huge truss system with lights, wires, sandbags, huge PA system...the whole thing. Mooseman and Ice T held the whole thing up so it wouldn't fall on the audeince. Nutty.

I remember Biohazard going on and on during their entire set about how Morbid Angel was a racist band. I remember Evan saying "Biohazard ain't goin' out like that" over and over again about the subject between songs. I was never really sure what he meant, since they used Morbid Angel's amps, left the stage and Morbid Agnel came on right after. Perhaps "aint goin out like that" is pseudo Brooklyn slang for "we will agree to play with them, use their amps, and hand them the guitar cables politely on our way off stage so they can plug in." That night, David Vincent played while wearing a black button-up shirt from the SS uniform. How very tasteful.



I remember Tom Araya thinking I was going to ask for an autograph as I ran into him in long hallway by the upstairs bathrooms. The hallway was desolate, and we were walking in oppostie directions. I had a Sharpie in my hand, which I was twirling around as he walked towards me. When he came closer to me, he nodded and held his out his hand as though to sign something with my Sharpie. I just kept walking, and thus created one of my favorite awkward moments ever. Tom stood there for a second as I walked on.


I remember really liking both Suffocation and Broken Hope live. While Suffocation was playing, a long-haired metal dude who was super skinny (metal dudes come in two sizes, rail thin and morbidly obese I think) was walking down the long set of steps on the side of the stage. As he was walking, he casually turned his head to the side as though to clear his throat. Instead he began to puke, and puke he did. The guy probably barfed about five bucket-fulls of thick goo, and he did so very, very quickly as he kept walking down the steps. He kept walking as he puked, as though nothing was happening. When he was done, he simply turned his head forward as though he hadn't just barfed out the entire contents of a small reservoir. To this day, when I'm sick and find myself almost in tears as a result of having to barf, I think about that guy. To pull off throwing up with such class is a really amazing skill. It was as though he was throwing up while wearing a top hat and a tuxedo. Talk about classy.


Back to the picture
Now that I think about it, there's not much to say about the picture. Stygian were one of the many local-ish bands that played early on in the day at those fests. While large bands had autograph sessions set up (like Slayer for example) in proper booth areas, smaller bands made up their own times, and stood around in a corner somewhere trying to do the same thing. While the times during which Slayer would do signings were advertised everywhere with banners, bands like Stygian would make 8.5 x 11 photocopies that would say:

Stygian meet and greet. We will be selling autographed cd's by the phone booth to the right of the bathrooms on the first floor at 6pm tonight.

It was extremely sad. Sure enough, at the scheduled time, you'd see the small local band standing there with their backpack full of tapes, with absolutely no one buying anything from them.


How did I get this picture?
I remember it very well. Shortly after the scheduled time when Stygian were supposed to be signing stuff, I walked by and saw them completely alone staring at the wall as people walked by them. I went by again only minutes after, and a bunch of these pictures were strewn all over the floor. The band members were gone. All the pictures were already autographed by the entire band, and had perhaps been thrown out in anger. I'm not sure why I picked one of them up, but I'm sure glad I did. Without it, perhaps I wouldn't have all these memories to share with you. My favorite thing about the picture is on the back. Scribbled on the back of the picture is the following:



Crucifier, was an American band from back then (who played the fest), and not he Brazilian thrash band which is around today, and has the same name. I don't know why, but apparently the members of Stygian were trying to remember how the band's name was spelled, or perhaps they were trying to point out to one another how the band's name could be spelled in order to be really close to "Lucifer". Maybe they were also thinking of the band Crucifer, who may have played also. Maybe it's kinda' like how in the sixth grade you figured out that "satan" and "santa" are really similar words...but have very different meanings. I picture the guys from Stygian sitting there getting all freaked out by the similarities. Much like a cat can be entertained by a ball of twine for hours, metal dudes can easily spend four days on two words like crucifier and crucifer.


Aftermath
Soon after those fests happened, I remember bringing them up all the time in conversations to people...even to people who knew little about metal. At the time, they seemed like the greatest godamned thing on earth. Today, after 17 years have passed since I first went to such a monstrosity, the memories are getting a bit hazy. I no longer talk about the bands I saw back then, much less care about them. Was anyone at those early Milwaukee Metal Fests? Tell us about it.

Today, I couldn't imagine driving even five minutes to see a band play. If a band wants to play for me, they'll have to play in my living room...and this would have to be a band I love. They would have to start at roughly 9pm, and be done by 10. If any band out there takes me up on it...here are some groundrules. Be nice to my dog, play at a very, very low volume. Don't mess with my furniture, only play songs I know (none from a new album) and be open to the fact that I may change my mind about seeing you play before you hit a single note. Also, be careful not to bump into my TV or my new chair. That thing was expensive. Having said that, I'll be more than happy to have you host a meet and greet at my house. Just leave me an autographed picture, so I can add it to my collection.

Heavy Metal in the Economic Downturn

We at Metal Inquisition have made a startling discovery - an unprecedented display of economic foresight from The Netherlands in 1981. It's difficult to even fathom, but over 25 years ago, a group of Dutch musicians and intellectuals - Renaissance men in the classical mold - predicted the economic downturn of 2009. Their treatise on the subject has long been in the public domain, but only now has the true meaning of this work revealed itself.

What's even more impressive is that this prognostication came not from the halls of academia or the journalistic press, but from the nascent Heavy Metal scene. I speak of the heavy metal band PICTURE, and you can view the video for their song "Unemployed" right here.



The modern-day relevance of "Unemployed" is astonishing. The lyrics anticipate a time when we've all lost our jobs, and have nothing to do but drink beer and listen to classic metal rocka rolla. Dominant forms of cultural activity appear to be setting off fire crackers, wearing sweat bands, and tearing through lengthy guitar solos. Is this not a brilliantly accurate description of all our current lives?

In this music video, we garner a glimpse of our future in the troubled economic climate through its deft symbolism. The "production values" of our "music videos" will be dreadful. The "leap from atop the kick drum" will be hampered by restrictive "spandex." This was the vision so artistically conveyed by PICTURE.

Through the boom of the late 80's and the Clinton years, unemployed mustached heavy metal idiocy would have seemed an inconceivable regression of the cultural norm. However, my informal polls indicate that 84% of Americans now "strongly agreed" with the description of themselves as "an unemployed, mustachioed heavy metal idiot." For PICTURE, this was all in the tea leaves.



The future is secure only for those few companies who anticipated the post-2009 shift to a pared down, riff-based economy. Marshall Amplification and Zildjian Cymbals come to mind. Shares of Ibanez stock are a "buy." I advise you to diversity your portfolio to include preferred stocks and killer gear.

Consider this music video PICTURE's dissertation on the subject. Look for the band members of PICTURE to receive the Nobel Prize in economics in the coming years, as their vision of an "Unemployed" world comes to pass. Until then, I recommend you drop out of your (now obsolete) college classes, and buy some records by RAVEN, DIAMOND HEAD, TANK, and others, to educate yourself in the skills of the new, heavy metal-trained, "Black Collar" workforce.

The cultural shift predicted by PICTURE is no more evident than on this blog. Few readers will remember that during the late 80's through the early 90's, the METAL INQUISITION blog covered primarily cold war relations and then the emerging Eastern European economies. During the mid 90's, METAL INQUISITION brought you the latest on the Balkan wars, Silicon Valley acquisitions, and the biotech research pipeline. METAL INQUISITION seeks the issues that matter, hence our recent coverage of Tom Warrior's leather jacket and Glen Benton's life at age 42. Keep reading in the upcoming months to stay informed on the issues defining our time.