Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal (66 page)

BURTON C. BELL:
Dino was friends with [producer] Ross Robinson, and Ross wanted to get into producing. He had an investor and he was engineering at Fort Apache, which was [W.A.S.P. front man] Blackie Lawless’s place. Ross heard our demos and said, “Hey, I love your sound. I want to start my own label. I want to produce.” We went, “Okay.” So we went into Ross’s studio and recorded sixteen songs in a week and a half, and it sounded killer. Then he handed us this contract [which would have given him ownership of everything]. We showed it to our lawyer, and he was like, “Don’t sign that!” We didn’t, so basically, Ross owned the masters, but we still owned the songs, we just couldn’t use the versions Ross produced. So we sent the DAT of those recordings to Roadrunner, and that’s what got us signed. Later, Ross played our demo for Korn to show them he knew how to produce bands. He played them “Scapegoat,” and then all of a sudden you hear a song called “Blind” coming from Korn. I think Ross was a real helpful inspiration to them by showing them that sound.

ROSS ROBINSON (producer):
I kind of got jacked and I thought, “Oh gosh, maybe I should have a band sign a piece of paper
before
I record them.” The next band I worked with was Korn. At least [Korn] signed something, and they could’ve jacked me too, but they stuck by me, where the Fear Factory guys just jacked me. I mean, I love those guys now; we were all just kids, doing the best we could.

DINO CAZARES:
On the first album we didn’t have a bass player, but we got [Andrew Shives] after the record was done, so we put him on the album cover and used him for touring. But he and Raymond didn’t get along, so after the record came out we needed to find another bass player. A week or two later, Christian [Olde Wolbers] came in. Our rehearsal room was in South Central LA, a heavy gang area. Sometimes we’d open the door and hear “pop, pop, pop.” And we knew someone was getting shot at. So we’d close the door and wait til it was over. During the Rodney King riots the owner of the place put “black-owned business” on the door so the building wouldn’t be burned down. The day we auditioned Christian, we had a few bass players waiting outside, including him. He was like, “Man, where the fuck am I? I’m gonna get jumped. I’m gonna get killed!” We liked him—not because he could play that well, but because he was different. He wasn’t from the LA scene.

BURTON C. BELL:
The first record,
Soul of a New Machine
, was definitely an introduction to Fear Factory. I have been told a few times that the whole metalcore vocal style [death metal vocals leading into a clean, melodic chorus] is all my fault. When we started out, it definitely took people aback.

DINO CAZARES:
When
Soul of a New Machine
came out, some people were like, “Whoa, this is new.” Other people went, “He’s singing melodically? That shouldn’t be on a fuckin’ death metal record!” I’ve heard a lot of people say Burt ripped off [Killswitch Engage singer] Howard Jones’s style. I’m like, “Uh, well, that was Burt’s thing. He was doing that
before
Howard.”

BURTON C. BELL:
It wasn’t until we did the remix of
Soul of a New Machin
e [called]
Fear is the Mindkiller
[1993] that we met (ex-Front Line Assembly programmer) Rhys Fulber, and we went, “Wow. This is a great sound. We could really move this forward.” We were always fans of Ministry and KMFDM, and we thought we should integrate some of those more industrial elements into our sound. That’s where our second album,
Demanufacture
, came in. We brought Rhys in to co-produce and do the soundscapes for it, and it was that union that really helped create the sound that we’re known for.

Fear Factory’s albums abounded with experimentation, innovation, and mathematical precision that required endless hours of intense studio time. However, perfection came at a price. The members argued frequently and grew further apart with each release. On the road, tempers flared, and the musicians antagonized one another out of boredom.

RAYMOND HERRERA:
Dino would get under Burt’s skin pretty frequently. They would argue about the color of the sky. That created a lot of tension. Then we had some misfortunes that didn’t help. In 1994, we had all our gear stolen in Philadelphia. We show up at the hotel. We had a long night. We wake up. Our truck is gone. All our shit was gone. We had to cancel the tour and go home. Also, the rest of us liked to party and Dino didn’t get high at all. His only real vice was having sex with whoever he could find.

DINO CAZARES:
I didn’t do drugs and I hardly drank. I was definitely a sex addict. I never had a girlfriend for that reason. I was into full-on orgies. Once, I had four chicks at one time. I was picking girls from the audience and pointing them out to my personal assistant, who had a red bandana. He’d go through the crowd and when he found her he’d wave the bandana. I’d give him the thumbs up, and he would talk to her. Nine times out of ten, the girl I wanted would come back. I had some girls waiting on one side of the stage and other girls on the other. During the five-minute wait before the encore, I’d go backstage and get a quick blowjob and then come back on and start the next song. On average, I’d have sex with two girls a night.

RAYMOND HERRERA:
The rest of us had girlfriends or were married, so we didn’t get into that. But there was plenty of it around. Seeing the same girl with three different guys from three different bands in one night just comes with the territory.

DINO CAZARES:
In 1994 we were out with Sepultura and we had this tour manager whose communication skills were horrible. He talked to everyone like they were pieces of shit. I knew I had to get him back some time and I knew he was a really big stoner. One day this kid came to the show and said, “Hey Dino, can you let me in? I got some weed for you.” I walked him in the back door and took the weed. All of a sudden I had an idea. I picked up a girl and took her to the bathroom. She gave me a blowjob and right when I came, I pulled out of her mouth and shot my load on this weed. The girl thought I was fuckin’ weird. She bolted, but I didn’t care. I put the weed back in the foil, let it sit for a few days and ferment. I told everybody on the whole tour, “Look, I’m gonna give this nugget that I shot a load on to our tour manager when he’s behind the soundboard.” That’s exactly what I did. Everybody was watching. He opened it up and put it in his pipe and took a hit, and everybody’s like, “Oh, my fucking god!” He blew it out and went, “That’s some really good weed.” Everybody just blew up laughing.

Fear Factory’s commercial peak came with 1998’s
Obsolete
, a bruising, well-crafted industrial metal album laced with enticing melodies. Ironically, the springboard that launched them into mainstream success was a collaboration with Gary Numan on a cover of his 1979 hit single, “Cars,” which was left off the first pressing of the album. The record went gold. Fear Factory’s management and label, hoping history would repeat itself, encouraged the band to work with nu-metal producers and add hip-hop elements to their sound for their 2001 album,
Digimortal
, which featured a collaboration with Cypress Hill’s B-Real on the song “Linchpin.” For Bell and Cazares, it was the beginning of the end. During the tour, a rift developed between them, and the band broke up. They later regrouped without Cazares, while the guitarist played with underground death metal groups Brujeria, Asesino, and Divine Heresy. But without Cazares’s catchy, ripping guitar riffs, the band fizzled. In 2009, Cazares and Bell mended fences and re-formed without Herrera and Olde Wolbers, and Fear Factory returned heavier than ever.

RAYMOND HERRERA:
[Before the first breakup] I was in the back of the bus playing video games. We were getting ready to leave to the next city. Our tour manager had to delay our departure. Dino crawled up his ass. Burt went to defend him. All of a sudden it went from Dino arguing with the tour manager to Burt arguing with Dino. Then some personal stuff came up and before you know it, they’re throwing punches. Burt’s really reserved and quiet and private; he’s just not the kind of guy who gets into fights. So when Burt went to punch Dino, I knew this was a different situation than we had ever experienced. We had another four months to tour. And man, it was uncomfortable. These guys wouldn’t eat at the same table, sit in the same room, or look at each other. Then in Tokyo Burt said to me he would finish Japan and Australia, but after that he was out.

DINO CAZARES:
After Burt quit the band, we all broke up. Then a little while later, Raymond said, “Hey, I have a plan. Let’s put the band back together.” At first, Burton went, “I don’t want nothing to do with it.” But then he finally agreed. But the plan from Raymond was Burton could come back and they’d get rid of me and put Christian on guitar.

RAYMOND HERRERA:
We still had a contract with Roadrunner as a band and individuals for three albums, and if we didn’t write any music for them then we were in limbo [as musicians] for who knows how many years. Me and Christian were already doing another project, and we couldn’t do anything until the Roadrunner issue was resolved. Our lawyer told me to go back to Burt and say, “Look, dude, can we write two or three songs?” Because if we did that and got Roadrunner a demo, the ball would be in their court and we could say, “Okay, do you want the next record? Give us our advance.” So Burt said, “Okay, if you get rid of Dino I’ll think about it.” I sat down with Dino and told him what happened. Dino never quit. We got rid of him. Then we did the songs and got them to Roadrunner, but it still took us eleven months to get off the label. Most people think Roadrunner dropped us, [but] we were trying to get off the label, and it took a long time and cost us a lot of money.

DINO CAZARES:
Burt agreed to go back to the band for a little while until he realized Raymond was taking control and was having an affair with Christian’s wife Christy [Prisque], who was also managing the band. That’s when things started to go sour. Burt said, “Look, we need to get a real manager, not some woman both of you guys are banging.” I can understand why Burt had a problem with that, but they didn’t want to change things. Also, they didn’t want me back in the band. They made that clear.

RAYMOND HERRERA:
I told Burt many times, “Why do you want to fire her? I don’t fire people for no reason. We’ve gotten sued for firing people for no reason.” As far as me going out with Christy, yeah, I went out with Christy after Christian had already found another girlfriend. I was spending a lot of time with Christy because we do a lot of business together, and we became intimate. Now the funny thing about that is Burt had no problem with it after Christian knew and everything was cool. Everything’s been cool. If there was really an issue, don’t you think me and Christian would be the ones not talking? Me and Christian are the best of friends. What does that have to do with Burt? Furthermore, Burt has gone out with every female manager that we’ve ever had and I never said anything about it. I never cared.

BURTON C. BELL:
In October of 2008, I extended an olive branch to Raymond, stating that I would like to bring Dino back into the band. Raymond said he would never work with Dino or me ever again.

RAYMOND HERRERA:
I didn’t want to work with Dino because I know how Dino and Burt are. Burt coming back and saying, “I want to work again with the guy I hated most out of everybody in the world and even quit over” was just ridiculous. If Dino’s bummed out or hurt because I said I don’t want to work with him, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that I’ve been there when they fight about the stupidest shit. I don’t have time for that anymore.

BURTON C. BELL:
Dino and I were good friends for a long time. [And when we weren’t] I was talking to mutual friends and asking about him, hoping he was well and relaying messages. Then, at a Ministry show in LA, there he was. I just said, “Hey, how you doing?” It felt really good. We started keeping in touch over the phone and through e-mails. I felt comfortable with the idea of, “Hey, how’d you like to do this again?” Of course he was down. And since then, we’ve done two albums together that sound the way Fear Factory is supposed to sound without all the bullshit.

During Fear Factory’s absence, an East German band swept across the scene like a brush fire, adding a new level of theatrics to industrial metal. Rammstein’s six albums are packed with militaristic guitar riffs, operatic vocals, melodic keyboards, and lyrics about control, submission, and sex—both heterosexual and homosexual. But the totality of their vision can only be experienced in a live setting. Their shows are rife with pyrotechnics that make KISS concerts look like candlelight vigils. Effects include towers of fire, flame-throwing muzzles, exploding babies, and a giant mechanical penis vehicle that launches foam twenty rows into the crowd. In part, the band’s hunger for thrills stems from an upbringing starved of pop culture.

RICHARD KRUSPE (Rammstein):
When we formed in 1993, the music scene in East Germany was divided. One part was the professional, educated type of musician, and the other was the so-called amateur, and the amateur was not allowed to play onstage without having another job to get money from. We had to play in front of a jury to get a document that allowed us to have concerts for a certain amount of money. Even then, no one wanted to let us play. So we just played wherever we could.