First, some ancient history. I moved to Orange County at the end of summer 2008, picked up the first seasonal job I could get that didn't require a haircut and started feeding my addiction to live music...And in that capacity, southern California is the promised land. If you have the cash to burn there are shows every night, a big change from most of the places in Washington I'd been living. Most nights I had several shows to choose from, and I would just pick the one that had a name or two that jumped out at me having no idea what the bands actually sounded like. And if they suck, then hey, just drink til they sound better. One particular night a friend and I went to a place called The Blue Cafe for a lineup of 5 or 6 random metal bands, and I had actually stopped paying attention to the procession of uninspired and out of practice bands making the rounds on stage. One band's guitar player snapped two strings and had no replacements, another thought that their singer screaming "OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER" was somehow a good idea for one of their songs. So by the time Nephilim took the stage without fanfare or telling us about their Myspace page before they had even started, my mind was on other things. In fact the only thing the singer said was the name of the song - All Your Metal Are Belong 2 Us - which had me chuckling. But when they started playing, my head snapped up to the stage and my surroundings disappeared from conscious thought - they were GOOD. Like, WAY too good for these dumpy bar shows I'd been going to. There was a cerebral, intelligent approach to their musical craftsmanship but with the thrashy knife-edge chops that were prevalent in music when I was a kid...In short I was instantly a fan, although what really cemented them in place in my mind was when, between songs, the singer asked the guitar player, "Hey Andy, what's this next song about?" To which he replied, "Fuckin' vikings." I saw them every chance I got after that and one night offered to help haul their gear offstage, and met the band members that night: Andy on lead guitar, Max on drums, James on bass guitar and Mike, the voice of Nephilim. We wound up drinking together til like 4am and after that I became something of a mascot I think...I came out to every show and thrashed my 2-foot locks around uncaring if I was the only one on the floor, and shortly after people lurking around the fringes of the venue would come up and join me, and Nephilim would have a crowd. But I wasn't plugging the band or just coming out because I knew the guys; they moved me, I loved their music. Especially Jotunheim, holy shit that song is awesome.
Fast forward like 8 months, give or take. Nephilim hadn't really done anything over the summer and neither had I...I had a disappointing and difficult break-up with a girl and was too broke to go see any of the killer shows going through SoCal, so my summer was an epic failure. Andy got married to his lovely lady friend Chandra, and the rest of the band was basically just doin their thing. When Andy wanted to start booking gigs again, the drama llama followed him home one night, harsh words were spoken and Nephilim found itself short two band members: Mike and Max had sailed in search of other lands to conquer. His fire for making music undiminished, Andy started putting out feelers to get a good lineup going again. James moved to lead guitar and brought his friend Samson in on bass, and the boys uncovered an unexpected gem in Rich, a talented and intuitive drummer that responded to a Craigslist ad. They were still short a vocalist though...
Fast forward a liiiiittle bit more...New Year's Eve, Andy is filling me in on the details of the new band lineup he's cooking up and makes an offhand comment about me auditioning for vocals. I blow it off at the time but later when I get home I put some serious thought into it. Now, my brother actually roars for a Seattle band called Sanctum that hit it strong and fast while they lasted, and we of course have very similar, masculine voices(although his has a lot more gravel to it, he's a smoker which might explain it). I never even considered myself doing vocals of any kind, I am normally very soft-spoken and sometimes people have to ask me to speak up. Plus, while the growly, screamy stuff can be fun(Mastodon IS my favorite band...), the kind of vocals I like are generally from people that can actually sing, like Danzig, Maynard James Keenan, Phil Anselmo, Jerry Cantrell, Henry Rollins, Neil Fallon, etc...People with distinctive voices. I don't really feel that I have that. What I do have though is a thunderous, overpowering tower of wrath and righteous anger. I thought back to the times I got in altercations or tense situations, when I was raising my voice and the kind of power it had with that buildup of raw emotion behind it, and I figured if I can harness that and project it from behind a mic I might be on to something. Of course if I was going to actually be a part of a musical process I figured there'd be more to it than that and I would need some conditioning, so I started practicing, figuring out a roaring, hate-driven vocal groove and driving my neighbors insane. I wouldn't really say I'm happy with it but given the right music behind it, it could work. I tell Andy I want to formally audition.
Fast forward to...Yesterday. I meet up with Andy and we drive to our first destination, Hollywood, where his guitar craft class is at. I kill time by wandering around, and it's Hollyweird so of course I meet some interesting characters. I help an older woman with less-than-perfect vision cross Sunset, guide a pair of out-of-towners to a theater using my phone's GPS navigation program, power open a rusted gate for some guy, then blow an hour or two drooling over Amoeba's music selection. Andy's class concludes and we begin our trek to the inland empire, and the demesne of James, which will serve as our practice space.
We arrive bearing Heineken, holiest of Slayer brews. Several genuinely talented vocalists have warned me to stay hydrated and keep away from coffee and alcohol when exercising my voice. I put away six beers. The boys tune up and the moment of truth arrives. Andy decides to work on Raven Song and All Your Metal today...I feel a little rocky at first, and I still don't have a lot of this stuff memorized but I get behind the mic and a monster is awakened...I picture the force of my roar starting at my feet and working up through me until it explodes from my throat, and the blood vessels around the sides of my skull feel like they're about to split. I want to fucking yell so hard James' windows blow out in a rush of flame and fury. The PA isn't up very loud so I think the only person that can really hear me over the din is James though, since he's next to the speaker, but he likes it. The real gem of the night comes when Andy and James break off from Raven song and just start jamming on whatever shared wavelength they have, and Samson and Rich tune right in and I'm reminded of watching a really good bartender in Seattle pouring four bottles together at once, giving it a little shake and sliding his masterpiece down the bar to a satisfied customer.
The potential in the room is thicker and heavier than a tar pit full of dead tyrannosaurs. I have some big black motherfucking boots to fill.
No comments:
Post a Comment