I made an animated gif of Tom Araya spitting on himself

Fun with Google autocomplete

90s power violence: A handful of diamonds in a sea of shit

Imagine you are kneeling in front of a bathtub, and it is filled to the brim with human shit. You're elbow-deep, fishing around in it because you heard there were half a dozen diamonds in this giant container of feces. This is what it would be like to sift through the glut of so-called power violence records that came out in the 90s: almost the entire genre is the worst kind of generic garbage, with a handful of releases rising to the top. Sounds like a waste of time, right? Not so fast: The good stuff is so, so good that it is better than almost anything ever recorded in any genre (if you have heard "Downsided" you know what I'm talking about). Fortunately for those of you who aren't as familiar with the genre as I (regrettably) am, we're here to help.

If you've ever felt like digging into power violence but don't know where to start, this is your download/shopping list. This isn't an MP3 blog, but all this stuff is easy to find on Google Blog Search.

Sarge, you fucking asshole/poser/hipster/homo, this isn't metal
First of all, I hate the term "power violence," but I'll use it because I can't think of anything better and it gets the point across.

I know how angry it makes you jerks when I post about anything that isn't fucking Iron Maiden or whatever, so maybe you are getting butthurt about this post. Maybe you are thinking, "We don't want to read about these dumb hardcore bands from 15 years ago, we want to see pictures of Charlie Benante's spoon collection." If that's what you're thinking, I actually agree with you, and I would post them if I had any, but I don't. So you'll have to settle for this.

Excruciating Terror: Punk as fuck, right? You can tell by the Cypress Hill shirt.

Anyway, a lot of people now think of this stuff as "old school hardcore," but it certainly wasn't seen that way at the time and probably shouldn't be now. Most of the people in the bands and running the labels were sleazy dudes with long hair, Slayer shirts, and meth habits- metal as shit! It's probably hard for any youngsters reading this to imagine it, but in 1992, it definitely wasn't cool to wear Slayer or Metallica shirts to hardcore shows. Hardcore kids have only been seriously jocking metal for maybe 5-7 years- Skullkrusher and I went to a Youth of Today reunion show in 1998 or so wearing Anthrax and King Diamond shirts; we got LOTS of funny looks.

Where are they now: Chris from Apartment 213/Ringworm chilling in his backyard, complete with Larm shirt, folding chair, and plastic playground for the rugrats. One of the best dudes ever!

Punk rock ruined power violence
The thing that turned power violence into such a sea of shit was when PC emo/punk kids started flocking to it around 1997 or so. Spazz is probably to blame for this, as well as Charles Bronson. Actually, it's not their fault they wrote really fun, accessible songs that suburban kids liked, but it definitely made the genre less scummy and dark than, say, Excruciating Terror and No Comment did. Also, they weren't completely fucked up scumbags like most of the people in the early bands, so they were much more approachable and kids could relate to them more.

I have no idea why this dude from Plutocracy/No Less is in jail, but it's pretty much par for the course when it comes to the winners who started all the early bands

Within a few short years, though, what was once a wretched hive of scum and villiany had become flooded with copycat bands and what Nate from Creation Is Crucifixion once called "Locust wizards." It was completely ruined for me at that point. Instead of a bunch of fucked up losers who started bands because they hated life and didn't know what else to do with themselves, it became choked with uptight No Fun Club types who wanted to save the world and write songs about being vegan or the plight of native farmers in Antarctica.

Excruciating Terror with porn actor Randy Spears. This is the kind of awesomely scummy shit that got lost once the Locust wizards invaded.

There were way too many rules and it just got too close to the whole Ebullition/MRR scene for me. Too many assholes with spock haircuts and Swing Kids shirts, not enough alcoholics who worked at gas stations and listened to Ozzy. It was getting way too punk, and I mostly hate punk, especially the extremely dogmatic, shrill kind that was predominant in the late 90s. I got into this shit in the first place because the bands didn't give a fuck about the rules or being the next Noam Chomsky, so I was lost.

Where are they now: Dan from Spazz (right) is focusing on the hip-hop stuff he's been doing since forever as DJ Eons when he's not working as a Matisyahu impersonator.

The gems
When it comes to this genre, you really need to know what specific releases are good. Most of the bands were very inconsistent because they blew what little money they had on drugs, so what you often find is a very hit-and-miss catalog- you can't just pick a band and buy all their records, unless you want to end up with a bunch of crap. Here are the handful of records I consider mandatory. If you know the genre, none of them are surprises, but I'm not trying to impress anyone with my knowledge of the obscure.


Apartment 213 "Vacancy" 7"
This was one of the few good power violence records from a non-California band, and really came out of nowhere. Hailing from Cleveland, these guys were fucking pissed in a way that was different than the West Coast but no less brutal. They changed tempos on a dime just like the West Coast bands, but their slow parts had a downtuned, sludgy feel that added something new to the mix- I always thought they sounded like Infest meets Bloodlet, if such a thing is possible.



The first song on this record, "Mutilation," is absolutely punishing. I still don't think anybody's exactly duplicated it. They re-recorded it for their split with Agoraphobic Nosebleed, but the version on this 7" is much better if for no other reason than it includes what is one of the best samples of all time. It's been a long time since they told me the story behind the answering machine message they sampled, but as I recall it is something like this: Their original drummer, Ron, was banging some girl who dumped him. Ron was calling up her new boyfriend (who I guess was like 18) and threatening him relentlessly. Eventually the poor kid's dad caught wind of it and called Ron, leaving the message that you hear on the record.

Also, I once went to this crappy chain Mexican restaurant called Chi-Chi's with A213's singer, Steve, and his then-wife. As we were saying goodbye, he turned to his wife and said, "You better hurry home, that chimichanga didn't sit too well with me. The toilet's gonna look like the inside of an empty peanut butter jar when I'm done with it." He's a classy guy like that.

Despise You - Discography
Looking back, Despise You and No Comment are the two bands from this era that I listen to the most, probably because they have similarly bleak takes on life. Despise You also takes the cake as the most consistent band of the genre: all their releases are A+ material, in contrast to a band like Capitalist Casualties who has a LOT of crap in their catalog. Usually it's not so much bad songwriting that ruins their records, but awful production.

That is what Chris Elder's normal handwriting looks like, it's fucking amazing.

The other thing is that I appreciate DY even more as I get older, probably because I also get more bitter, jaded, angry and disappointed in myself. DY's singer, Chris Elder, also ran the label Pessimiser, and put out several 16 records in the 90s (check out our interview with them, I think it is pretty great). I've known Chris since I was about 15, and I think I was 18 or 19 when he sent me "Blaze of Incompetence" to review for my old zine. I certainly liked it, but mostly only because it sounded like Fudge Tunnel. I definitely didn't "get it." A couple years ago, I rediscovered that album. With 10 more years of shattered dreams, disappointments, heartbreak, and living around angry poor people under my belt, I "got it" much more than I wish I did. Instead of just rocking out to the riffs, I alternate between crying and punching the wall, in keeping with the "angry surrender" spirit of their lyrics. I called Chris and told him the above, and he just said, "Heh. Yeah dude... now you get it."

"Puppet" has all the pieces that make DY such a sick band: Blasts on the china, lyrics that makes you want to stick your head in the oven, and a breakdown suitable for moshing holes in the walls.

Along with me, Max from Spazz, and occasional MI contributor Awakening, Chris was one of the handful of people in the mid 90s who were into No Comment, Meat Shits, and Phobia as well as Abnegation, Raid, and Mayday. Crossing genre boundaries like that was definitely NOT common back then, so I was super stoked that they didn't give a fuck and just listened to whatever they liked. That's why I was extra bummed when they No Fun Club started listening to this shit and trying to enforce their rulebook.

Here's a pretty good, new interview with Chris.


Psycho/Agathocles split 7"
J/K LOL! This record is so bad it's like something I would have made up in 1994 as a sarcastic joke.


Crossed Out/MITB split 7"
I like MITB just fine, but I don't worship them like all the proto-beardos did/do. They have their moments, but are pretty inconsistent, especially when they got into the noise shit (a complete waste of vinyl if you ask me). This is their finest release by far in my opinion, with songs like "Snake Apartment" and "Screwdriver In The Urethra Of Tomas Lenz." The people who were way into MITB were/are usually weird, annoying people with poor social skills and bad hygiene... just like the band! I interviewed Eric Wood when I was 15 or 16 for my zine and was very, very confused. He reminded me more of my parents' burned out hippie friends who did too many drugs than someone who would be in a hardcore band. He didn't even like Youth Of Today, WTF! Here's a newer interview with him from Vice of all places; he seems as weird as ever.

"Instantly Bent" is a long, sludgy intro riff followed by what sounds like an out-of-context sample from a jazz song, like if you took 2 seconds from the end of a Jack Dejohnette solo and looped it a few times.

Someone once described this to me as, "It sounds like he's having a tantrum." Pretty accurate!

I like this song because the snare sounds like a sprinkler when he plays the fills.

Crossed Out were legends for good reason, essentially picking up where Infest left off and making it even more pissed off. In the same way as No Comment was the bleakest band, Crossed Out was the most angry. They didn't really last long or hang out much, so I don't have any funny stories about them, sorry. Their 7" is also excellent, but the basement-level "we recorded this in 45 minutes on my sister's old Fischer-Price tape recorder" production on this record makes it a little better for me. This kind of music is almost always better with shitty production.


No Comment "Downsided"
This is the soundtrack to having the fucking gun in your mouth, razor at your wrist, or rope around your neck. It's also arguably the best hardcore record ever made, no joke. Think of it as the desperation and despair of Black Flag "Damaged" with the pacing of early Napalm Death.

Here are about half the songs on this 7". Have a phone handy with the suicide hotline on speed dial, this shit makes Neglect sound like New Found Glory.

I don't really know what to say about this other than what I did already... I've consistently listened to this record for 15 or so years and it still gives me chills. Nothing else quite captures the feeling of being at the absolute bottom... Nice attention to detail in the packaging, too: the lyric sheet folded out into a 2x3' poster of a slit wrist, and the inscription on the matrix was "Do dilaudid, flip your lid" on one side and "Quitarte sus problemas con Vicodin" on the other (which means "solve your problems with Vicodin" in Spanish). Like I wrote about the other week with regretcore, it's clear that this record was made by people with legit, crushing dysfunction, not angsty teenagers.

Definitely check out this interview with Brent for more background.



Capitalist Casualties "Art of Ballistics"
This was one of the first super DIY records I ever bought, back in 1991 I think? I bought this, MDC "Millions of Dead Cops" LP and No Comment "Common Senseless" 7"- not a bad way to start, right?? Speaking of unpunk shirts, I remember being extremely puzzled by Mike's Slayer shirt in the pictures on the lyric sheet. "WTF," I said to myself, "I thought these guys were punk?! You can't wear a Slayer shirt if you're punk! That's like petting the cat backwards, it's just not done!"

This is actually from the "Raised Ignorant" 7", which I don't really like, but this song is one of CC's best. Really brutal both lyrically and musically.

Unlike most of the other records I've talked about in this post, this is pretty much a straightforward hardcore 7". As many have said before, it's just the next evolution of first DRI LP: no frills hardcore from a bunch of pissed off kids that doesn't claim to be anything other than that. While they've evolved the formula a little, you can see that they're firmly rooted in 80s hardcore when you see song titles like "My Dad Kills For The USA" and "Nuclear National Park." What's next, "Honey, I Moshed The Kids"? "Crass Ventura, Punk Detective"??

Their split with MDC is another one of my favorite releases, as well as the tracks from "Bleearrrrrgggghhhh."


Spazz "Dwarf Jester Rising"
I'm guessing that many of you are already familiar with Spazz, but if you aren't, you definitely want to check them out. They started in 1992 or 93, basically the first of the second wave of power violence bands, and had members from a strange variety of bands: Sheep Squeeze, Plutocracy and Stikky. Chris Dodge was also in a very early incarnation of No Use For A Name and worked at Fat Wreck Chords for years, which I always thought was pretty funny since it was definitely "against the rules" to like both Fat bands and power violence.

Where are they now: The sad tale of Black Army Jacket. Drummer Dave Witte (left) is still keeping it real as fuck and plays in the popular neo-thrash band Municipal Waste. Bassist Carlos Ramirez (far right), on the other hand, has retired from hardcore and spends most of his time chilling on a boat with some AZN bro and his guera wife. List of people who nobody cares where they are now: The original drummer for BAJ.

Many people will disagree, but I think the best Spazz material by far is the early stuff, like pre-"La Revancha." After that they started sounding a lot more, for lack of a better word, "hardcore," like Straight Ahead or something. The earlier material is more pissed and slightly grindy, which is probably why all the suburban emo kids like the later stuff better.

One of their best songs, "Loach." I have no idea what it's about.

"Hairfarmer" is about how Max Ward had a giant, curly mop when he was in Plutocracy. The second part is about this guy Rob Beckstrom's son, also named Max. Rob started going bald early, hence "Max Jr flowing on top, growing more hair than his pop." As an aside, if you know anything about 90s Bay Area graffiti, it's pretty funny that both Rob and Dan from Spazz were early members of US. If you happen to know Rob, I lost touch with him a while ago but it would be cool to hear from him again!

Here are a few funny Spazz memories:

• Max was briefly in the Meat Shits with Kindred from No Less/Plutocracy, and someone asked him to sign the record he played on for a joke. I think he wrote something like, "Fuck you, Robert Deathrage is a nazi."
• Going to Gilman with Max when I was 17 or something in his dad's Acura Legend. I was holding his snare on my lap and he said "Dude be careful, if you scratch the leather my parents will be super pissed.
• Shopping for Mecca and Wu Wear gear at some wigger store in Cleveland with Dan

Cry Now, Cry Later 1 and 2
These two compilations are absolutely mandatory, especially if you want to get the sleazy, scummy Southern California take on things. Maybe I'm imagining things, but I feel like not enough people are into these records. I mean, people definitely still jock MITB, but when was the last time you heard some brainded crust punk say, "Bro, fucking Iabhorher, bro... that song is fuckin hella mass tight bro!!" They definitely aren't checking out Meat Shits, the Fear Factory demo track, Crom, or any of the other great shit on these comps, either. If you haven't given these a listen lately, you probably should. Vols 3 and 4 were OK, but by then it had been diluted by the copycat bands who just ripped off Charles Bronson and didn't listen to Gut or Malicious Hate.

If only all Excruciating Terror records were like this: The filthy production of the 7", with the "polished" songwriting of the LPs. Probably their best song.

Featuring Municpal Waste/Discordance Axis/Black Army Jacket drummer Dave Witte, Iabhorher definitely got overlooked. I think this might be the best song on all of the Cry Now comps, and their 7" on Slap A Ham was equally crushing.

Crom is simultaneously the most brilliant and most retarded band of all time. Long before Max from Spazz started the trend of jocking Hirax, Crom's mind-blowing cover of "Hate Fear And Power" appeared on "Cry Now, Cry Later." I can't believe they managed to make a band as fucking awful as Hirax sound this good!

Malicious Hate is a perfect example of an "Honorable Mention" band, especially this song that was on that weird 8" comp that came out on Ax/Ction (I can't remember the name of it).

Honorable Mention & Stuff I Forgot
There are lots of other bands that were interesting and worth digging up if you're really into it: Stapled Shut, Agents of Satan/Radioactive Lunch, Plutocracy/No Less, Benumb, and other random shit like Avulsion, the one and only Bludgeon song ever recorded, or Noothgrush. But then I would have to start mentioning bands like Black Army Jacket and Praparation H, and nobody wants THAT to happen!! I'm sure the comments will have some good suggestions and/or things I should have mentioned but forgot to.

"You guys are like family to me" (a.k.a. Chapter 1 in my verbose memoirs)

This post is the best example I can give our Human Resources department as to why we need a full-time editor. Just look at this damn thing, it's long. Also, if ever there was clear proof that I can suffer from severe verbal diarrhea, you are reading it right now. This whole post came out of me in a single push, simply as a result of having seen one short YouTube video. Please excuse it's length, and (perhaps) lack of quality.



Earlier this year, my wife and I decided to, for the first time in years, go see some bands play live. Back in the day, my calendar was filled with the likes of Deicide, Malevolent Creation, and other groundbreaking bands like Demolition Hammer and Paradise Lost. Not so these days, which probably comes as a huge surprise to our beloved readers. See, I know that all of you think of me, and the entire Metal Inquisition staff, as the guys who are the first to get to a show, and the first ones to take their shirts of in order to "rule the pit". In my case, at least, nothing could be further from the truth these days. Actually, even back in my metal prime, I would have never been spotted sans-shirt at any metal festivity. So if you're trying to figure out who I am by checking out pictures of the Entombed show in Fort Lauderdale from 1991 in someone's Flickr account, I'll give you a hint: I was the guy with a shirt on. There was only like two of us, and the other guy was in a wheelchair. That dude was such a scenester too.

Anyway...that was then, but little has changed. If anything, thing have gotten a bit worse. See, as I've stated before, my metal tank (if you will) is running on fumes. I largely write about metal in the past tense, and I'm largely interested (if at all) in bands that peaked nearly 20 years ago. As such, seeing live music is not a priority in my life these days. Most of the bands I liked as a kid completely suck now, and most new bands merely sound like third-rate versions of bands I liked earlier in my life. I know that this point of view is dead giveaway of someone who is aging, and thus completely out of it....but I'm telling you the truth. This is how I've always been, prematurely old from the time I was a little kid. Just ask my brother. One time, when I was little (he's four years older than me) he started to tickle me, to the point where I could hardly breathe. I told him to stop, that he HAD to stop. Why? I claimed to have a "heart condition", and I was only four years old...but already concerned about my ailing health. With this in mind, I should tell you that if and when I do see live music (this whole post started with me telling you that my wife and I decided to see some live music...remember?), I constantly find myself wishing the shows would go a little something like this:

- Take public transportation, or drive my car to a safe and walkable neighborhood.
- If driving, park car in a well lit, free and safe parking lot
- Before the show, eat at a reasonably priced restaurant (cloth napkins are a plus)
- Without waiting in line, I walk right in at 7:55pm.
- Band I'm there to see, starts playing at 8:00 pm promptly. No opening bands.
- Songs from the latest record are not played. Songs are played just as on the old records.
- In a smoke free, and climate controlled environment, I enjoy the music without being bothered by sweaty people, and without being touched by strangers who are gross and probably have fleas and bad breath.
- At 9:00 pm to 9:30 pm, I leave the venue and head back home.
- Before 10:00 pm, I get back home and call it a night as I read a fine periodical or book.

THE END


Now that I've told you all this, you probably get a sense for how un-fun of a human being I am, and how rare indeed it would be for me to go see a bunch of bands play in what the youngsters call a "fest", which is exactly what I did. The particular event that my wife and I chose to go to was more of "hardcore fest" variety, where bands that barely anyone cared about back then, got back together to play for a small-ish number of people, who still somehow manage to remember their badly-produced musical output. Was it a horrible idea for us to go? Perhaps, but see...we took it as a chance to travel for a weekend, and see friends in a different city for a couple of days. I wont go into details about the bands or this particular show in general, as it was (at best) a shrug-inducing affair. All of it, that is, except for one detail. This one detail I'm referring to is something I noticed that night, and something I also remember having seen within the world of metal and other horrible subcultures I have been affiliated with. From the stage, aging band members who were once as thin as the mic stands they used as stage props (but now were...well, more like the size of the drum risers), proclaimed that "Everyone in this room is like family to me. All of you. I never had anyone or anything." Over and over again, we heard this general sentiment throughout the night, each band's singer saying it in a more profound manner than the last. Often citing a lack of stability or family life at home, a musical scene had become a family environment for all these angry tattooed fellows on stage. Though metal bands had never actually voiced this feeling in such a straightforward manner, choosing instead to talk about weed, evil, evil weed, or skulls that were evil and smoking weed. Nevertheless, I had heard this from friends many times. Metal was their life, and held a deeper and higher meaning than anything. In absence of religion, many had taken up metal...or punk, or hardcore, or whatever.


As my wife and I left the venue, we both realized that we had enjoyed ourselves, but that we were also greatly at odds (even this many years later) with the people who surrounded us in that venue. I suddenly understood why. Never in my life, had I ever considered members of a certain musical scene or subculture my family. Not once in my life, had I ever thought of everyone who was simply aware of a certain kind of music as my best friend...only because they happened to own the same records as me. Metal, as much as it was a part of my life, and as much as I was involved in it, had never encompassed my entire life. Look, I still have a stack of letters from Richard C of Wild Rags to prove it....I was down. How else would I have yet another stack of letters to me from video trader-extraordinaire Pat (from Hellwitch) dating back to 1990? Wait, are these things I'm telling you to prove I was cool? Hmm, perhaps it will get the reverse effect, so...never mind that. Anyay, I as down...but somehow managed to keep things in check. I don't say this to show I'm somehow superior (if you saw the child-like torso that god granted me, I think you'd quickly see how inferior I am)..I merely bring this up because it strikes me as odd. Why didn't I think of metal as my life, my family, my everything?




The broken homes and awful family circumstances that were talked about endlessly on stage by these performers were foreign to me. Yes, like so many others, during my teenage years I dressed and acted in a manner that made me feel at odds with my parents' views of my future. I unknowingly relished being different, whether that meant wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt at 11 years old, or going to see Deicide at 14 years old while dressing like an extra in a Cypress Hill video. For whatever reason, we all enjoyed this sort of thing (perhaps the friction it created within our tiny universes was satisfying)...but what I never felt was the kind of bond that others speak about when referencing their allegiance to any kind of subculture. I was not above that sort of thing, I just never knew how to make it happen. I loved metal, but somehow the passion others had was always kept at arm's length. Some of those passionate feelings were usually expressed in foolish ways by those around me. One kid in my school took a small eraser and rubbed the Slayer pentagram on his forearm until it was raw. He did this for months, until heavy shoestring-like scar tissue built up around it. He had branded himself for life, and he was merely 15 years old. Another kid around me, after having heard a rumor that Phil Anselmo had died (circa 1991), wore a black armband to school for a solid week. At the time, I'm almost ashamed to admit, I rather liked Pantera. I was even one of those kids that thought Phil Anselmo looked buff and cool in his shirtless pictures (homoerotic, I know..and to top it off, Phil had the muscle definition of a melted bag of marshmellows.) Still, I couldn't bring myself to care all THAT much about the guy having supposedly died. Similarly, many years later I met a woman who told me she had cried uncontrollably for hours upon finding out that the singer Elliot Smith had died. I was amazed. While I completely understand someone's music, or creative output of any kind touching in a profound manner, I can't think of a single person who I don't know personally whose death would make me "cry uncontrolably for hours." These, I thought, were the wackos who cry outside Neverland ranch, the ones who sat outside Kurt Cobain's house after he killed himself. Wacky, half-undone people who are okay to be around for short periods of time...but the type that you would never, ever want to be close to. Why? If that's the reaction they have to someone like Cliff Burton dying, can you imagine what will happen with their uncle or their goldfish die? These are the people who will set themselves on fire (Buddhist monk style) over their second cousin in Iowa getting a cold. Okay, I mean..I get it. They only do it for people who touched them deeply...so they'll only do it for their uncle Earl who touched them in a funny place as kids. I kid, I kid. But seriously folks, what drives people to feel so insanely connected to music? Am I not in touch with my feelings? I don't think I am, not that I'd be a good judge. I've been moved by music and art, architecture and many other stupid things that human beings have created. Music in particular has the ability to change my mood, just like anyone else. To this day, listening to Bloodlet makes me want to physically harm others...just like Agnostic Front used to make me want to lift weights when I was 14. Silly, yes...but this is the human mind we're talking about. Still, I guess I never felt the type of elation that others have experienced. Am I missing out?

Is it just me, or is the mom phoning in her "holding an evil grapefruit" pose?

We were all teenagers once

Did I perhaps have those strong feelings when I was younger? Why didn't I hate my family, and think of the audience at a Malevolent Creation show as my family? This is where the blog turns into a self-help book, so hold on to your balls and your vajay-jays.

Allow me to reminisce (insert harp sounds here). Like any other idiotic teenager, I had mood swings, and subsequently became a complete pain in the ass to be around for some time. I deeply regret my actions during that time, but have slowly come to terms with the fact that I was too stupid to know what I was really doing. Maybe that's just a coping mechanism, something to make me feel better about having hurt those around me...but so be it. Sure, things were tense at home from time to time, and like other families, there was stress for all kinds of reasons at home. I wanted to dress a certain way, for the last few years of the 80s, my wanting to have a mullet alone created huge friction between my mom and me. I mention this to let you know that my family life was perhaps not totally perfect, but how could a teenager (involved in metal or not) be completely at ease with everything in his/her life? As a teenager, you're not supposed to. Like all comming-of-age stories (the real ones, not like the first two seasons of Dawson's Creek or Felicity), that time is supposed to be filled with small bits of conflict, horrible fashion choices and bumps on the road. Being involved in a subculture like metal, however, complicates things a bit since you are expected to completely uphold every decision you made as a young child. People "sell out", "drop out of the scene" or magically become something else. Remember the metal kid who got into hip-hop? The goth kid who suddenly discovered the Grateful Dead? These things happen in life, but are greatly penalized among such subcultures.




So where was I? Oh yes...family stuff. (cue slow, pensive piano music)

So aside from the usual minor bits of conflict...I think I come from a generally stable and sane family. At least for a South American one. In retrospect, I now see that youth is defined by conflict, and in becoming involved within subcultures (musical or not) we were actually able to shape what those conflicts were. We were, in a sense, picking our own poison. What a rare treat, odd as it may sound, to get to partially control one big aspect of your life. Like babies, crying for attention, we all begged for conflict by wearing a certain shirt from a certain band home...or whatever it was that drove our parents crazy. It's for this reason that I feel a bit sad when I still see men in the late thirties or even forties, wearing those horrible bondage pants and Craddle Of Filth shirts. I see them standing there, grown toddlers asking the world to look their way. Sorry if that sounds extremely judgmental on my part, but that's what I see.




But back to make-shift teenage rebellion. In controlling the points where we would encounter friction, we had control over at least one thing, at a time when it felt like we controlled nothing (wah, wah, wah.) Perhaps as a result, some start to feel even more attachment to a certain type of music or artist. The world is against them, no one understands, so on and so forth. This is how it starts, and next thing you know, you're crying because Vinny Daze from Demolition Hammer died.



As kids, we often found ourselves testing new ground, and largely sniffing around trying to find our way through life. Such an adventure, at such a young age, is bound to have conflict and some light turmoil. In retrospect, most of that conflict and turmoil seems silly now...but at that age, they were some of the biggest issues we had dealt with in life. Still, although life wasn't perfect, I never hated my family...and I never felt such allegiance to a group (one largely made up of strangers) as a result. From a young age, I loved metal and went on to love and devote most of my life and energy into other musical "scenes" (typing that makes me dry-heave, as I'm still weary of "scenes" and "cultures"). Yes, I played in bands, booked shows, I put out horrible zines, did awful one-man side projects. Through all of that, however, I still knew that this was just something that I loved doing, but it was never my whole life. Music was never my family, nor was it my entire existence. Somehow, things were always in focus for me, a substantial accomplishment when you consider that so few things were ever in focus for me through those years. In a way, these groups of people became huge influences in my life, largely for the better. Through music, I began to shape my political views...hell, it even helped me shape ideas regarding what I eat and don't eat (which is downright insane). But through all this, somehow, in the back of my mind things were kept in check. My family and my close friends were just that...and those involved with music who I was not close to, were just people who were also into the same music I was into. No more, no less.





When I think about this general subject, a certain person from my past comes to mind, his name was Bob. Bob was an elderly and very kind man. Bob, although clearly not well-off monetarily, dressed in an impeccable manner for someone his age. His dark pants were always perfectly pressed, as were his white dress shirts, which he always covered partially with similarly well cared-for cardigan sweaters. Bob's hair was perfectly white, as were his large and orderly fake teeth. We both worked at a suburban telemarketing company in the mid 90s, and often spent our breaks talking in order to pass the time. Bob had never fully retired, and continued to work in order to help his pregnant grandaughter who was now living with him and wife. Everyday after work, a beat-up Impala would pull up while creating a large cloud of smoke. Behind the wheel was a tiny young girl, the grandaughter, who looked to be thirteen at most. The girl sported oversized doorknocker earrings, and constantly kept her lips puckered as a clear sign of anger. While tugging at the drawstrings of her San Jose Sharks jacket, the young girl would bark out, "Well, get in already!" Tough words for an elderly grandfather, who had just finished another seven hour shift for her benefit. Bob would kindly shrug as he looked at us, as to say "Kids these days... you know how they are". He would then head into the car, and the Impala would drive off in another cloud of smoke. It made me sad to see how a man his age, who was working to help this girl, was being treated. Bob wanted to retire, he often told me so. He didn't want to keep making calls to strangers, none of us did, but he had to. He would keep working in this nondescript suburban office park until the end of his days, and that made me sad to no end. During one of our break-room conversations, Bob once asked me if I had thought about getting my own headset for work. The headset being perhaps the most crucial and necessary accoutrement in a telemarketer's arsenal. Bob had noticed how fastidiously I cleaned the headset I was given by our shift manager each day, using any and all anti-bacterial substances I could get my hands on. "You should think about it" Bob said, "I got mine thirteen years ago, and I'm always happy I have it with me". Something suddenly occurred to me...I hadn't bought myself my very own Plantronics headset, as others had, simply because I was broke at the time, which I certainly was. There was another reason. I had not bought my own, because I knew that once I bought one, I would be there, doing that job for thirteen years...just as Bob had. This, I told myself, was a job...not a career. If you'll excuse the vapid and cheesy wording...the thin wire on that headset would surely serve as a noose, and would keep me tethered to that damn building for life. Soon, an angry teenager would be picking me up, as my fake teeth rattled in anger. So I realized, we were different, Bob and I, and not just because of our age. Whereas Bob bought small gifts for our shift managers around Christmas, and aimed to make his workstation feel a bit more like home, I tried as hard as possible to do the opposite. I needed that job, I needed the money...but I was not there for life. My relationship with musical scenes was a bit similar. I was getting my share of entertainment, friendships and fun out of it ...but at the same time, seeing old timers who would often crow about having seen Metallica "back in 83", and had no other accomplishments in their life since, scared me. I didn't want to be that guy, in the same way that I really didn't want to buy the headset. I didn't want the Slayer pentagram in my arm, I never wanted to invest too heavily...all in fear of that Impala and the angry teenage bitch behind the wheel.





As the years go by, and I no longer earn a living as a telemarketer, but I have come to realize that many of my close friends today are people I met (in one way or another) through music. So, there is no doubt that music, and the culture around it, has played a large role in my life. A huge one, actually. And yet, to look out at an audience of one or ten thousand people (as so many have) and proudly say "you are all my family", sounds like one of the most whacked out, unstable things anyone can say out loud to me. What I hear in those words are the feelings of unstable adults, adults with sizable issues that will probably make them a real chore to be around. I hear the words of an adult tantruming, unable to see which way is up. I say this, knowing that all of us have difficulties in life, from time to time. But voicing it in such a way, is simply astounding due to it's revelatory nature.

Remember in Decade Of Aggression, when Tom Araya says "if you see someone go down, help them back up. That's what we're here to do...help each other out...okay?" When I heard that, I just want to turn to the speaker and say, "Tom, you stupid idiot...have you met your fans? Do you really think the toothless meth head is helping anyone? It's a nice sentiment and all...but the only thing that unites us all is listening to Slayer...which is a pretty thin and pathetic unifying bond when you get down to it." Even as a young teenager, I had this mindset. Honestly. Look, I was not then, nor am I now, the most self-aware human being...and yet, I could smell that pile of nasty doo-doo from miles away. Metal, Slayer, Pantera, Kiss, Flotsam and Jetsam, Prong, Nocturnus....none of these things were ever and will never by "my whole life dude." My life, is my life...one that I try to live as happily as I can, devoid of "metal running through my veins."

So don't feel offended when I tell you that all of you are not my family (I'm sure you're all in tears as a result of that statement, since you're ALL such huge fans)...as a matter of fact I know I would dislike most of you in person...much like you'd dislike me as well. And that's cool. Perhaps we share some points of view, we both know about Forbidden's live EP and how stupid that Judas Priest cover was...these are very general commonalities. So, regardless of what Madball songs may say about how we're all "brothers." We're not. Sorry Roger Miret, but how can we be not only "united" but also "strong", when I can't stand 90% of the people who share my musical taste?

So why on earth did I write this long (unfunny) post about this subject? Why did I suddenly turn this blog into a self-help forum? Why am I willingly setting myself up to get made fun of and/or ridiculed by our readers? Really, it's all because of the video below...which I found to be pretty funny. I know that the "Heavy Metal Parking Lot" angle has now been done to death...but there are some funny gems within this one. The part that got my attention the most, is the first interview, which features two shirtless drunks. Aside from sounding a bit like wanna-be wrestlers, they begin to express the "this is my family", and "metal runs in my blood" sentiment I'm referring to. I know this is merely the mumblings of two drunks, but its the thing that got me thinking about all this. Oh, and note the bearded guy with the Morbid Angel shirt who may or may not be dead during the taping of this video. After having seen Weekend At Bernies, you can never be too sure. Is this video Exhibit C in the trial against white America? Perhaps. Enjoy.





Could this be the post that made the blog jump the shark? Hope not. But like one BSNYC wisely says "that shark is not going to jump itself".

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.

Tom Araya and Amy Winehouse: Separated at birth??

From the short-but-sweet department...

Thanks to reader Luis Fernando Pizano Escalante (wtf is up with Latinos and their 900 names?)- I think this one speaks for itself!

Random Images

From time to time, our beloved Metal Inquisition intern will find images that he thinks would be funny to post on the blog. Though he's often wrong (like that one of Scott Ian using a Dyson vacuum cleaner), he will sometimes find near-gems that are certainly worth sharing. Here are some of his latest finds.

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Perhaps the ultimate sign of my advancing age: I can no longer tell what gender people are.

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The last time I decided to venture out and see live music for the first time in like a decade, a tub of goo who looked just like this ran up to my car in the parking lot and yelled out "Woooooooooh!" I just turned right back around, went home, and watched HGTV.



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Imagine what it must feel like to be this guy. You think you're badass because you're selling merch for your friend's band. At a show, you meet a girl and she says: "You know who you look like?" in anticipation, you begin to think to yourself: Tom Selleck? Perhaps a young Rock Hudson? But then she says, "You look just like Tom G. Warrior". What a heart-crushing blow that would be, to be compared to a corpse from Switzerland.

At the risk of sounding like a bad Seinfeld impression, did you ever notice how metal fans tend to come in two sizes only? Dino Cazares fat, and concentration camp skinny. No in between. Lastly, do you think he got that NASA shirt because he's an actual astronaut? I guess we'll never know.


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I have often made fun of juggalos for being the lowest form of human life, as well as for their aesthetic similarities to black metal fans (make-up, devastating good looks etc.) When you see this picture, however, you have to put all that aside and give this guy props. He's like a new breed of juggalo, a super-juggalo, juggalo 2.0 if you will. Looking an awful lot like a new character that Sacha Baron Cohen is working on, this dude is all "What bitch? Bring that shit on! I'll throw down right now! I don't care if I was going into the supermarket to get cream cheese, we can do this now!"

Based on his mustache and basketball shorts, you know he's not kidding. He will, in fact, fight you right then and there. Fans of the Howard Stern show may recognize the guy with facial hair in the background as Ronnie The Limo Driver.


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Yet another sign of my advancing age: Wanting to punch this douchebag in the face so hard that his piercings will fall off. To think that all the work we put into the metal scene back in 1992 went to waste on this kid. Man, we fought so hard back then...and for what? So he can bleach his eyebrows while listening to Methods Of Mayhem.


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At first I wanted to make fun of this awful record cover, but then I thought it about it more honestly, and I had to admit that this girl was my dream-lady back in 1988. Her outfit, that hair....godamn! She even has a dual-deck tape player/guitar! While you're making out with her, you could totally be dubbing your friend's Destruction tape! Could it get any better? One artistic/anatomic note however: how come where the two legs meet, all that happens is more leg?



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For all you young kids, this is what the average female metal fan looked like in 1988. You youngsters are so spoiled these days. As gnarly as this female looks, dudes were lining up to talk to her about the new Testament album back in the day, hoping to take her back home.


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Oofah! Talk about taking Robb Flynn's disease to a new all-time high. Your move Flynn.




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Man, this picture is seriously unexpected. Billy Milano has finally let himself go. I knew it was only a matter of time. In case you're wondering, yes this is an actual picture of Billy Milano, not just a random picture of a gross fat dude.


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Man, things sure have changed. Back in my day, no self-respecting metal fan was into sports. Today, Cincinnati Bengals fans are mixing their past times in ways that were previously unheard of. Why is she making that face you ask? She just had a bean burrito from the stand behind her, and its going through her faster than a speeding cheetah.




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Have you ever seen that famous picture of the one time that Malcolm X and Martin Luther King met? It's often labeled "a meeting of the minds." This image is kinda' like that, but features two victims of advanced syphilitic brain infections. What do you think they discussed during this meeting? How to not let your bass be heard? Prostate advice? Catholic theology? We'll never know. I'm sure whatever they talked about, it was both idiotic AND annoying. These guys are real multi-taskers. (Update: As pointed out by a reader, Tom is starting to look more and more like Sitting Bull.)

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Don't worry chubs, I totally get your anger. I'd be mad as hell if my mom switched out my evil candles for vanilla-scented ones.


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Here we see Chris Barnes going for a stroll on a day off from touring.