Crazy Drummer Guy And Vegan UnGuitarist

I have to be honest and say that this story is a lot more fun when you hear it in person, as I can do a mean impression of the main character that just makes the whole story sparkle with gay little gems. Sequins, if you will. But since you and I never speak, at least face to face, I'll have to pull out my big box o' colorful adjectives and try to recreate the majesty via the printed word.

This fun little tale harkens back to circa 2002/2003. I had just finished my first album, Sweet Painful Reality, and I was desperately trying to find some musicians to help me perform the material live (spoiler alert: it never happened). Since Tommy [Drinnen of the band Urizen] had moved to Texas, I was now sans guitar player, and VERY sans everything else.

On a random occasion, I happened to bump into a slight acquaintance from high school named, uncommonly, Jon (by the way this is not John Taylor who has been my guitarist for the last several years). This Jon, unlike many Jons, was a rather noticeable fellow, who, if memory serves, (and mine just busses), used to dress in a late 1970s era heroin-esque London punk vibe, complete with ripped clash t-shirts and a multi-colored mohawk. We had exchanged a few words about bands during a shared art class, something about Danzig I think, but beyond that, I hardly knew him.

Fast forward to the present (the past), with Jon and I and our chance meeting at the coffee shop where he worked. We talked a bit about what we've both been up to, as is the case in standard chit chat etiquette. (As a side note, I really despise small talk). He mentioned that he now listened to black metal and also played guitar. I, being selfish by nature and needing a guitarist, perked up and began to ask him about his guitar abilities, basically spouting out a list of techniques and styles I wanted in a player, and asking him if he would be interested in auditioning for me. He then played his over-confidence card, reminding me that "dude, I can play black metal, I know what I'm doing!" This sounded great to me, as someone who could play something like that would, in my mind, have no problem with the guitar parts on my album.

At this stage in my listening adventures, I was just starting to get into some black metal. Mostly Cradle Of Filth, Old Man's Child and Dimmu Borgir. Although these are not flashy bands from a virtuoso point of view, they still had some decent players. If I were more aware then, I would have realized that there are many levels of skill within these sub genres, not all of them requiring amazing dexterity, or basic music knowledge. But oh, I would soon find that out. I left the meeting feeling optimistic, and looked forward to meeting up again.

On a random day (pick one) I arrived at Jon's apartment complex with my then bassist and eventual temporary guitarist Ty. As soon as we pulled up we noticed that Jon was standing with what appeared to be a mass of sweat, hair and alcohol. The mass came toward us, clutching a Milwaukee's Best beer can and introduced itself as Angelo. This gentleman was, by the looks of it, quite a bit older then Ty, Jon or myself, with vacant looking cracked-out eyes, an old stained band t-shirt, not to mention the "stuck in the 80s" acid washed jeans and white sneakers. His long, unkempt dirty-blond hair seemed to signify him as a friend for Ty and I, as we both had longish hair at the time. He was loud, overly talkative, and above all, irritating. All of this and we had not even walked up to Jon's apartment yet.

As we neared where Jon was standing, he gave us a subtle, furrowed glance, which to me gave the impression that he was also not too happy about the presence of this brute. We all walked up the stairs and entered Jon's place. . .including the loud obnoxious lummox. During the short trip, he told me many times how he is a drummer, and he and Jon were going to start some sort of music project and how he wanted to audition for me, once we had met with Jon. Again, yes I did need a drummer, but even if this guy was the next Mike Portnoy, I would have to kill him.

Once inside Jon regaled us with a quick conversation about his veganism, probably brought on by our comments on how he looked like he had the body of a recovering chemo patient. Then we went to his bedroom (sounds like a good set up for something doesn't it?), I popped in the CD of SPR and proceeded to give him a short tour through the songs/moods or the record. TY and I sat on the bed while Jon and the Crazy Drummer Guy (CDG) sat on the floor in front of the speakers.

I was mostly interested in what Jon's impressions would be, as I was going to audition him later, but I kept getting distracted by the actions of CDG. Crazy Drummer Guy sat there on the floor, staring so intently at the stereo as the music played, it seemed as if his laser eyes would burn a hole through the speakers. Between his fingers he held a cigarette, upon which he would take occasional, intense drags from, all the while staring, almost angrily, straight ahead barely flinching. It was only a few moments later that I noticed his cigarette was not lit.

CDG turned his head to me not resetting his drug-induced hate stare. I thought for sure this guy must really not like my music. He took another strong drag from his unlit cigarette, paused dramatically and spoke to me.

"Do you like. . . . . thrive on the blackness?" he said to me with intensity, and apparently complete seriousness.

I stared blankly at him for a moment, then over at Ty, who had heard the whole thing, then over at Jon, who looked confused and shrugged, then back at Crazy Drummer Guy. I feared that the wrong answer would send him into a murderous rage, as I could easily envision him leaping at me if I laughed at him.

". . . not really. . ." I answered hesitantly. "Let's just keep listening to the CD, ok?"

Strangely, he seemed to be easily satisfied with my barely answer, immediately nodded, and went back to staring, seemingly with rage, at the stereo again. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief at not having the shit beat out of me by an aging cracked-out loser. We listened to parts of a few more songs, and Jon expressed his approval of the music so far, and I thanked him. Seeing this an another opportunity to be part of the group, CDG decided to add his two cents to the conversation.

"Yeah this stuff is pretty cool I guess. . ." he said as he raised the unlit cigarette to his lips and held it there.

I nodded with a subtle condescending sarcasm. "Thanks man."

He then listened intently for a moment (yes, more intently then before), and decided to share yet another observational gem.

"This music makes me think of a demon sitting on a pile of bones." He then turned to me for approval.

My eyes flew wide open at the seemingly ridiculous comment, and I had to use all of my self control to not start laughing out loud, possibly ending my life.

All I could do was look away and nod. "Cool man. I'm not really sure it's that type of music though. . . ." I braced myself for an attack.

Again, he nodded quickly and turned back to the music. (Now this comment is even more hilarious if you are familiar with the style of music on my first album, which could, in no way, be represented by demons sitting on bones.)

Soon CDG began plugging himself as an awesome drummer again, and forcefully asking me if I wanted to do an audition with him. . . right now! I skirted around the issue for a bit, using lines like "we're just here to work with Jon today", or "we have to go after this", but he only became more and more combative about this supposed audition.

"C'mon man, I just live around the corner, I could play for you right now. I can totally play this stuff man! Are we going to do this or not?!"

He then added, "Let me just call my mom and see if I can play drums for a few minutes". He picked up the phone and began dialing.

We all looked at each other again in complete disbelief about what was happening. Wasn't this guy in his late 30s or early 40s? He has his drums at his mom's house? Does he live there too? This guy was getting better and better by the second.

"C'mon mom! I just need to play for like 15 minutes! . . . . It's for an audition for a band mom! . . . C'mon! Just a few minutes!" he said into the phone.

With that, he hung up the receiver and forced his wants on me again. "So are we going to do this?!" I could sense genuine frustration this time. Not wanting to be confrontational, all I could think of was a weak, untruthful way of pussyfooting around it. "Not today man. We have to audition some more people after this and we still need to hear Jon."

With that, he huffed and puffed for a minute, and finally walked out the door.

After some recapping, and laughing at CDG's expense, we regrouped and focused on the real task at hand: Jon's audition. He plugged in his guitar and amp, and I got out the tablature for all of the songs. I pop down a TAB for the song In The Twilight, since it is an easy place to start. I explain the song a bit and then have him basically "go at it".

What I notice right off the bat, is that he seems to be having a lot of trouble with understanding, reading, and then properly playing any of it, even a simple palm muted 5th chord. Of course, this raises an eyebrow right away, as any young guitarist raised on the typical fare of Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and Pantera would play this whether or not I had it written in the TABs, it's just that natural and instinctive for them. So as I tried to let him correct himself over time, I realized that my hopes were in vain as things got progressively worse and worse. Not only was he barely playing - at best slopping through - what is supposed to be a really tightly played staccato rhythm as lagato diarrhea , but here I was, I piano/keyboard player telling him how to do it. He's the fucking guitarist. Not me.

Eventually, when it started to become a bit too pathetic, Ty grabbed the guitar and showed him what it was supposed to sound like. This must have been pretty humiliating for Jon, and I could sense the feeling from him. He then asked Ty to show him how to do a palm mute, as if he had never done one in his life. This from the guy who claimed to play a lot of black metal. Isn't this one of the first things any "rock" guitarist learns how to do?

For those of you who know the music and guitar parts from Sweet Painful Reality, you'll know that it's not very technically demanding. A lot of palm muted chugging parts mixed with some fingered riffs, and the odd lead. It's not baby guitar 101, but it's also something you would have figured most guitarists would not have that much trouble with.

Trying to give him another chance, I put down another, even simpler song, but quickly gave up given this pathetic display of guitar farting which was even less then amateur. Absolutely depressing and embarrassing for both of us. I could tell that he felt increasingly more insecure about his playing with each new note, constantly apologizing for every mistake, as he could sense my obviously disappointment. I do feel sorry for him, even though he was the one who bragged to me about his skills. This might be a good time to check out my essay on Self Perception.

At last I stopped him and shook my head with disapproval. "I thought you said you could play a bunch of black metal stuff?" I asked him, through an odd combination of accusation and sensitivity. Jon looked sheepish and defensive not really knowing what to say about his performance.

"I do," He started. "I just never played this kind of stuff much. I don't know man. Sorry."

I stared quietly at him for a moment and then asked him to play me some of the "black metal stuff" he had just days ago claimed such confidence in.

What followed put everything into perspective for me. Jon began playing open power chords with a hap hazard, sloppy "anything goes" strumming style borrowed directly from typical unpolished punk music. I guess this was what he called "black metal". It all connected then and there. His "transition" from punk to metal was obviously an easy one, as it required not much learning of new techniques. Even punk has the occasional palm muted riff, doesn't it?

We left the audition with a modicum of disappointment, but weeks worth of stories and quotes. I decided after that to make Ty my guitarist, since he could actually play the material.

As a short, and semi-funny addendum to this story, I actually ended up auditioning CDG a year later, when he contacted me via email. As soon as I met up with him, he looked familiar, but I could not place him for a while. He was sober this time, and he indeed played over at his mom's house. What still strikes me is that he seemed to have no recollection of me, nor the music the second time, not that I tried to remind him. Weird fucking guy, but damn memorable.


If you enjoyed this story, check out the Ty-penned tale entitled, "The Adventures Of Crack Guy And Neanderthal".