Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal (43 page)

BILLY GRAZIADEI:
Once, Evan got in a fight with one of the girls he was dating. He threw a bunch of his Polaroid books out in the garbage and said, “I don’t give a fuck about these girls. They mean nothing to me.” After he sorted out his shit with his old lady he called one of my boys and asked him to go through his garbage and pick up the books because he threw them out just to save face with his girl, but he really wanted to keep them.

EVAN SEINFELD:
We were filming the movie
Load Stories
in our bus, and between takes, two of the girls gave me a blowjob, but it wasn’t on camera. And [porn veteran] Ron Jeremy, who was my idol as a kid, walks in and goes, “Wow!” I’m like, “What do you mean, ‘wow’?” He goes, “Those chicks were totally sucking your dick.” I’m like, “Dude, you fuck a different couple of girls every day. You’re Ron Jeremy!” And he goes, “Yeah, but they fuck me because they
have
to. They fucked you because they
wanted
to. They weren’t getting paid.” It’s definitely the most validating thing—someone wanting to have sex with you, giving themselves to you because they think you’re hot or they admire you.

BILLY GRAZIADEI:
One time we were on tour with Pantera, and they were having a party on the bus. There were two naked blond girls on the couch kissing and licking each other. And there were twelve people cheering them on. It was all of Biohazard, Pantera, and our tour guys. Then this girl takes a banana and starts inserting it in the other girl. I’m thinking, “This is fucking crazy.” There are eighteen dudes here all screaming and yelling, and more people kept piling in the front door. Morally, I thought this was kind of fucked. All of a sudden, Evan stopped and went, “Hold on. Everybody stop. Chill the fuck out,” ’cause guys were reaching over and grabbing the girls’ breasts and it was getting a little out of hand. As soon as he said that, I was like, “Fuck yeah, man. Stand up for these girls. Tell these guys they’re being disrespectful and they should be cool.” Then all of a sudden he reached down, head first, and eats the banana out of the girl’s crotch. And I was like, “Ah, man. All decadence. Rock and roll.”

EVAN SEINFELD:
My signature trademark is something I invented in Biohazard called the “dickfold.” It looks a little humiliating, but it’s done in good sport. And now, every time I shoot a porn scene, after I do my patented facial cum shot, I blindfold the girls with my cock by pulling my dick across their eyes and holding their head tight with it. That’s the “dickfold.”

By 1995, crossover had run its course. Biohazard had transformed the genre from a counterculture vehicle for rage and nonconformity into a mainstream entity that embraced the traditional hedonism and debauchery of rock and roll. Cro-Mags broke up for an extended period after the prophetic 1993 debacle
Near-Death Experience
. Suicidal was on hiatus, and when it returned in 1997 it was without guitarist Rocky George and bassist Robert Trujillo (Metallica). And Corrosion of Conformity slowed down and embraced doom metal. The last gasp came when Bad Brains, the group that had sparked much of the excitement and revolutionary activity that spawned crossover, began to self-destruct. Vocalist H.R. struggled with the decision whether to continue with Bad Brains or pursue a reggae career. Then, in 1990, after the fierce and metallic
Quickness
, H.R. abruptly left the band and was replaced, first by ex–Faith No More vocalist Chuck Mosley and then, in 1991, by Israel Joseph I. The following year, Jenifer convinced H.R. and drummer Earl Hudson to return to the Brains. The band recorded its first album,
God of Love
, for Madonna’s record company, Maverick, with which the band had reportedly signed a lucrative deal. But H.R. was in no mental condition to be back on the road. He was still ambivalent about playing hardcore and metal, and in Lawrence, Kansas, during an opening slot for the Beastie Boys on the
Ill Communication
tour, he self-destructed, clubbing two fans with the mic stand in the middle of the set. Police arrived, closed down the show, and arrested H.R. for battery. One fan required five staples to repair his fractured skull.

DARRYL JENIFER:
There were skinheads at that show with suspenders, boots, sideburns. He thought those skinheads were out to get us. Basically, a kid spit on him in the spirit of punk, and H.R. smacked the kid with the mic stand and told us, “Get ’em, soldiers.” He thought we had to battle the skinheads that night. Turns out the skinheads were our biggest fans. They weren’t Nazi skinheads. It was a big confusion and what went down was horrible. I don’t even think the people who got hit with the mic were the people that were spitting. When I saw that shit, I just put my bass down and left. I went out the back door of the club and walked down the alley like I was a bystander. The police came and it was a mess.

H.R.:
It wasn’t really catastrophic, but a momentary absence of the objectives and the reward that one receives once they are able to tune in with what is happening in the matter of expansion of the soul, rebuilding the nation, and learning to love I and I. It was a temporary expression of communication in the nation [that] had been withheld for natural purposes, being that some of our artists visiting were still learning how to walk at that time. They’re a lot more mature now, a lot more responsible, and can receive the information not from secondhand individuals or a subculture, but from someone who knows what’s going on and has proven time and time again that we can survive.

DARRYL JENIFER:
Whenever we got to that point when it looked like we were gonna get big, something would occur that would seemingly look like H.R. was behind it. He would walk out or do something crazy. People wanna say, “H.R. fucked you all up.” But when you look at the Bad Brains as a cosmic musical force, it’s the great spirit’s work. That’s why Living Colour can’t do what we’re doing right now. The mild attention that we’re getting for being who we are, the respect that we get, the respect our records get, a lot of bands don’t have that. Maybe they have platinum plaques, but do they have lasting significance?

7

FAR BEYOND DRIVEN: THRASH REVISITED AND REVISED, 1987–2004

A
rlington, Texas, doesn’t seem a likely spawning ground for one of the most important bands in the history of metal. And in the mid-eighties, when Pantera were teasing their hair, wearing spandex, and putting out LPs that sounded like a hybrid of Van Halen and Mötley Crüe, the band was barely on the radar outside of Dallas. Then they discovered thrash metal, hooked up with a new young singer from New Orleans named Philip Anselmo, and transformed into the heroes of the second generation of thrash. While other thrashers in the nineties (with the exception of Slayer) were either breaking up or becoming slower, grungier, and more alternative, the Cowboys from Hell stuck to their guns, holding the metal torch aloft and inspiring a new generation of underground bands that would later dominate the metalcore scene. Even traditional metal heroes like Rob Halford and art-metal pioneers such as Rob Zombie were moved by Pantera’s energy.

ROB HALFORD:
Pantera changed the playing field for a lot of people. They were so heavy and aggressive, and their songs had amazing melodies. And there was this unbelievable guitarist who was in your face and played with incredible skill.

JAMEY JASTA (Hatebreed, Kingdom of Sorrow, Jasta 14, ex–MTV’s
Headbangers Ball
host):
They were
so
heavy, and they still got so big. You could always hear Pantera on mainstream radio. They’d play “This Love” and “Cemetery Gates” on big rock stations, and I remember thinking, “Damn, that’s
huge
for metal.”

SCOTT IAN:
At the top of their game, no one could touch Pantera. Dime was the sickest guitar player and Vinnie and Rex lay down these grooves that were unreal. With Phil screaming overtop and really venting all his poisons, they were, like, the greatest band ever.

Vinnie Paul Abbott and his brother Darrell had music in their blood. Their father, Jerry, was an established country and blues producer who owned his own studio, Pantego. Every step of the way, he was instrumental in teaching his sons the ropes and encouraging them to pursue a career in music.

DIMEBAG DARRELL:
My brother Vinnie came home from school one day carrying a tuba, and my dad said, “Son, take that thing back. Play the drums or do something that’s gonna make you some cash.” When I was about ten years old, I used to go down to my dad’s studio as much as I could. I was lucky enough to see guys like Bugs Henderson, Jimmy Wallace—all these great Texas blues players.

VINNIE PAUL ABBOTT:
We have the same story as the Van Halen brothers. I started on drums and Dime started on drums a couple weeks afterwards. I got better than him, so he asked my dad to give him a guitar. I used to walk by his room and see him with his Ace Frehley makeup on standing in front of the mirror holding the guitar. I said, “Are you ever gonna learn to play that thing?” I never thought he would. One day he comes into my room and says, “Are you ready to jam?” He plugs in and starts playing “Smoke on the Water.” We played it for five or six hours, and we were hooked forever.

TERRY GLAZE (Lord Tracy, ex-Pantera):
We all went to Bowie High School in Arlington, Texas. In eleventh grade my best friend [bassist] Tommy Bradford and I had a band. We wanted Vince to join because he played in the high school band and was awesome. Vince was like, “Me and my brother are a package deal.” Darrell was in middle school, and we said, “We’ll take your little brother, who’s
not
that good a guitar player, but you have to take our singer [Donnie Hart], who owns a PA.” So the five of us started a band.

REX BROWN (Pantera):
When I first met Darrell he must have been fourteen. Me and Vinnie were in high school and Darrell could barely hit a bar chord [
laughs
]. But he learned fast. He was a natural.

DIMEBAG DARRELL:
When I was thirteen that’s all I gave a fuck about. I skipped school and sat in my room and worked my fuckin’ ass off. That’s all I did for five years. My dad showed me some scales. Musicians in his studio would show me the hot lick of the day, then I’d go home and turn it into my own thing. I’d try to play something, and make a mistake, and hear some other note come into play. Then I’d start moving it around and find the beauty of it.

VINNIE PAUL:
Once he learned a little, his desire never stopped. A lot of people start playing to chase chicks or do dope. For us it was always about the music and the musicianship. Before long, here he is fifteen years old, and instead of
imagining
he could play “Eruption” by Eddie Van Halen, he’s playing it, and playing it good.

DIMEBAG DARRELL:
I didn’t get no pussy. I didn’t drink no booze. I didn’t do
nothin’
until I was seventeen. I tried a guitar lesson one time and never went back for the second. I figured out I was on my own road.

TERRY GLAZE:
Darrell went in his room and woodshedded when he was sixteen, and about six months later, he came out fully evolved. He started doing [guitar store] guitar contests and won the first two. It wasn’t even close. After the second one, he wasn’t allowed to enter anymore. He became a judge as a teenager.

REX BROWN:
Vince calls me and goes, “Dude, you gotta come over and check out my brother.” So I go and suddenly, there’s this total virtuoso. He knew all of Randy Rhoads’s licks. He won so many guitars and Marshall stacks in these contests—hands down.

DIMEBAG DARRELL:
It would sound egotistical to say I’m a natural guitarist, but I’m gonna have to say it [
laughs
]. I know for a damn fact, dude. It just came too quick. Three months and it was there. I knew that was my calling.

TERRY GLAZE:
Pretty early on, we were called Pantera, and we had a picture of a cat and there was a race car [in the logo]. [The Abbotts’] dad [Jerry] was our manager, and we’d drive out to Abilene and play behind chicken screens like in
The Blues Brothers
. Their dad got us a Suburban, and we each made $150 a week. We all lived at home and put the money back into gear.

JERRY ABBOTT (Dime’s and Vinnie’s father, manager, producer):
I was
always
a Pantera fan. I would look anybody dead in the eye and say for the first five years of that band I was the fifth member. When they were kids, I helped them restructure their songs: first verse, chorus, instrumental bridge, chorus. They did some things that were off the wall and needed to be honed.

DIMEBAG DARRELL:
We started getting tired of doing covers, so we began writing more originals. We did our first record, [
Metal Magic
], in 1983, and it didn’t sound anything like we ended up being, but we were just kids.

TERRY GLAZE:
I played guitar on
Metal Magic
, but after that, Darrell was getting better at a crazy rate. From then on, he played all the guitars. Going into our senior year, Tommy decided he wanted to be the drum major for the high school band, so he bowed out of Pantera and we got Rex Brown. He went to the high school closest to us. He was a bad boy and he partied. By that time, we’d pushed out Donnie Hart because I wanted to sing my own songs. We were playing skating rinks and parties, and sold our first album off the bandstand.