StickNick dot Com - Music

While I have a couple of lengthy updates I've been working on for what seems like forever, I'm going to update about our show on the 12th because, shit, it was awesome.

That gig was pretty huge for us to say the least. When we were told that we'd be opening for Exodus we were all pretty much freaked out. This was a band I grew up with. Their first album, Bonded By Blood, was a constant for me alongside Metallica's Master of Puppets and Hell Awaits by Slayer.

Times have changed, as has Exodus, but they are still pretty huge in the world of Thrash Metal and people really respect them for chugging on for all these years.

For nearly four months we fretted, we worried, we rehearsed, we re-tooled a few of the songs, we rehearsed more, we fretted more, and we worried more.

Eventually the day came.

Early afternoon, Sunday April 12, I sent a text to Dan: "I have two king cans of Busch and a pack of Marlboros. I'm ready".

Tara drove me to the jam space where Dan was waiting. Turns out Exodus had arrived super early and were waiting to unload. There was nothing we could do at that point as the club wasn't open. Pete and Christina showed up, we all cracked a beer, shot the shit, and waited for Jay and Mez to show up. Once they did we loaded our gear into Jay's car (The Shaggin' Wagon) and headed off to the bar.

We loaded out shit in, then helped Drillpoint and the Exodus/Warbringer roadies move their shit in. I have to say, next to the mounds of equipment the other three bands were working with, I said a small thank you to the powers that be: "Being small time is pretty nice... we have next to no equipment to fuck around with".

Eventually everything was set up and Exodus started in with their rather lengthy soundcheck. I'm not really griping, I mean they were the headliners, but I know we were all getting pretty antsy because (a) we still had to set up three other bands worth of shit and (b) watching Gary Holt and his crew sleepwalk though a song I have heard countless times before was pretty nerve wracking. Well, to me it was.

Fast forward: Drillpoint set up their drums and amps. Mez added his cymbals and shit. Jay plugged into their bass rig and I plugged my crap into their Mesa cabinet. We did our quick checks and then played a little bit of Crusades and that was that. It was time to let the people in.

I stood at the bar, sipped some water, and watched the people start to trickle in. Ten... fifteen... twenty... thirty... forty or so. I turned to Dan pointed to a random dude and said: "As of that guy there, this is the largest crowd we have ever played to."

And they kept coming.

What was also cool was my son, Kailen, was there. He seemed pretty excited (or as excited as he gets, being the laid back kid he is). He caught the first bit of the soundcheck until he was sooted outside by the douchebag staff who didn't care if he was my son or not (I'm still kinda pissed about that one). Once he was let back in, Kailen parked himself on one of the speakers at the front of the stage and waited for us to go on.

And the people kept coming in.

I went outside for a cigarette and to see what the lineup was like. I nearly shit myself when I looked to my left and saw that the line to get in was down Rideau and extended around the corner onto Cumberland. I cursed myself for not bringing the fucking camera.

Soon enough it was showtime.

I was really, really nervous when we started our first tune. My mouth was dry, my lips were chapped, my hands we shaking, and I knew I was slipping up on a few parts. Instead of letting it get out of control, I soldiered on. There was no getting around it.

In the middle of the song there is a one bar pause. When we reached this part there was no booing. Instead, there was a mass of people screaming. I looked over and there was Dan up at the front of the stage, right in the crowds faces. He was screaming at them to move up towards the stage, and they were. From that point on I was no longer nervous. The crowd didn't hate us! I settled down and stated doing my thing; only a bit more cautious than normal.

Our second tune, Crusades, went off extremely well and the reaction was just as, if not more, favorable. The same could not be said for our third tune, Gunslinger. We have been fucking around with this song since last spring and it never really fit in with the rest of the set. It's just poppy enough to stand out. A few people have liked it here and there so we just stuck with it. In December we played it at a show in Hull and during the middle section (which was long and made the song clock in at nearly six minutes) the crowds faces went long and the reception it got was merely so-so. This caused us to cut out said middle section, bringing the final time down to just over three minutes.

On Sunday, in the midst of Gunslinger we all knew it was going to be the last time we ever played that song again. It just killed the momentum. It was, to me, the longest part of the set. I wanted that tune to end because I could see we were loosing the crowd a little which was something we could not afford to do on this night. I mean there were well over a hundred people in front of us and this was the type of gig that people don't usually show up until the local bands are finished.

Gunslinger eventually came to it's conclusion and we paused for a brief second. The crowd cheered (not as loud as they did for the first two songs though) and I started the opening passage to Prepare For War - a newer song of ours that is steeped in old school Thrash-style, chugga-chugga riffs. The crowd was way more into this one. I forgot about Gunslinger and started having fun and thinking that we would probably make it out of this ok. Then something happened that I don't think any of us expected:

A mosh pit broke out.

I looked up from what I was playing and there was a pretty sizable pit goin' on. There were bodies flying. People falling and being picked up and thrown back in for more. There were kids headbanging. People had moved up to the stage and Dan was running back and forth yelling, screaming, and being a Kick Ass Metal Frontman.

Prepare For War ended to huge cheers and screaming and we busted right into our Hank Williams cover. Not long into the tune another mosh pit broke out. People were still headbanging and there were horns in the air. Dan kept at the crowd, taunting them, challenging them, keeping them pumped.

The scene infront of us. Pic taken by a co-worker.

The Hank cover ended and Dan was right up front. Right in their faces: "This is our last tune - I know you're all sticking around for Drillpoint, Warbringer, and EXOOOODDDDUUUUUUSSSSS!!!"

As he screamed Exodus' name I started into Trial By Fire. There is a bit of a noisy pause just before the verse kicks in and Dan was at it again. I really don't know what he was saying, but he was yelling and the crowd was reacting. We busted into the verse and, motherfucker, another pit broke out.

We blasted through Trial and our set was over before we knew it. The reaction from the crowd was simply awesome; hooting, hollering, screaming, cheering. Thinking back I should have raised a hand in thanks or something. Instead I just took off my guitar and started packing up my shit as we had to get the fuck off the stage.

The rest of the night was a blur of moving equipment, beers, shots or Jager, shots of Jack, more beers, bashing around in the pit while Exodus was on, and a whole pile of people I didn't know coming up to me and saying: "Good set man!" and "You guys were pretty fucking good!". Dan was milling around, still working the people, handing out free stickers and buttons to make sure people didn't forget who we were.

We were all in Rock Star mode. More so that we were a year before in Montreal.

There was also a kid there who was in his early teens. He had long blonde hair and a cast on his right arm. He was in the pit during our set and after asked Dan to sign his cast. I later saw this kid when I was in the mosh pit during the last half of Exodus' set. He was crowd surfing and it was awesome.

I arrived home at around 3am. I was drunk, my legs were sore, and I was more pumped than I ever have been after playing a show. Curling up beside my family was the perfect end to that kick ass day.

When all was said and done, I realized that The Unavowed actually has very little to worry about. We may not be super technical. We may not be super tight. Yet, after two years of working towards "something" we have found that what we have done what we initially set out to do: have fun and write tunes that people can nod their heads to and have fun right along with us. The hundred plus people watching us that night proved that we're on the right track.

Yours truly mid-set. Pic taken by a co-worker of mine.

Rockin' out on stage. Ou Quoi - Hull, Quebec. December 15, 2008.

Doug, as it turns out, ditched metal and became punk. After we moved the music shit out of my folks basement, we saw him a couple of times here and there. He had shaved his long, blond hair into a half assed mohawk and replaced his sneakers for second (third? fourth?) hand combat boots.

He had all these new ideas about what he wanted out of life and none of them had anything to do with the Heavy Metal lifestyle.

Doug had pretty much told us that he had little time for drumming even though Geoff's mom had said we could move the set into her basement if we agreed to only play on Saturdays.

From what I remember, Doug just kind of shook his head at this. "Naw. I seriously don't know if I want to do that right now."

This left Geoff and I pretty much on our own when it came to the band.

I have to say that during this time I was in a zone that brought out some of my best songwriting ever. Geoff and I started by stripping back the songs on the demo; we cut out the crazy middle bits and gave them a touch of punk. Geoff also started coming up with bass riffs influenced by Rush, a band he was unashamedly a fan of. So we'd have a weird ass prog-punk bass line underneath with crunchy, basic, metal power chords on top. And I mean basic; an open E chug for a bar with an F/F# combo thrown in on the second bar. Thinking back on the few songs that I remember, they were pretty kick ass for the time.

Lyrically, I was getting a little better. I wrote about suicide (The Lemming Song) and the fur trade (Trapped For Fashion ... I know, clever eh?) and every other 80's Metal cliche topic you could think about. I even penned words to a song we dubbed "Death". Each verse had only four words. What I would do for this was scream unintelligible nonsense and throw in one of the words. It was our riff on Death Metal - as long as you could understand a word every now and then, people thought you were singing something of importance.

"Blah, scream, mumble, blah DEATH! ... blah, scream, mumble, SOCIETY!"

The only thing missing was drums.

To this end, Geoff was jamming with a few guys in his school. They were going to do an air band of Slayer's "Angel of Death" and a non-air band version of an Ozzy tune (without the vocals) for an assembly. I can't remember the drummers name... I think it was Steve so I'll call him that from here on in.

Steve was a pretty kick ass rock drummer. He was all about the 4/4 steady beat with fancy fills and he played this big, shiny silver five piece kit. I jammed briefly with them at the school one afternoon. Geoff and I busted out one of our newer tunes and Steve tried to add some drums, but it wasn't really working.

"Come on Nick, fuck that stuff. Show us what you GOT!"

Now what the fuck did I have exactly? I was proud of the tunes Geoff and I had written. I didn't spend a lot of time learning other peoples music. I looked around the room and the others were staring at me; this scrawny teenager with bad acne, hair that was still growing out properly, and a blue Aria Explorer - sans case. I didn't really know what they wanted so I busted into "For Whom The Bell Tolls".

They approved.

Whatever.

So they seemed to like covers. Geoff was indifferent and I was bored. Steve, on the other hand, freaked out. Based solely on my rendition of "Bells", he asked if he could drum for us. At this point we had nothing to loose and needed a drummer, so we said sure.

Steve moved his kit into Geoff's basement that very weekend.

From the first jam, we kind of knew that Steve was simply not what we were looking for. He didn't like our tunes at all and kept pushing us to write more commercial stuff: "Come on guys! You get into Rock N Roll for the chicks and the money! You need to write stuff that is more like Guns n Roses!"

While I was (and still am) a pretty big fan of "Appetite For Destruction", I did not want to write music like that. I wanted to write precisely what we were already writing: Dirty, filthy, simplistic metal-punk-hardcore.

We decided to let Steve try his hand at a Metallica cover. We played him the actual version "Orion". He nodded his head. We then played our version of "Orion", which was pretty damn close to the original. He could not find that simple, Lars Ulrich off-beat at all.

I will give him this, as much as Steve hated our music, as much as he could not play along with something like Orion, he tried like a motherfucker to bring us over to his side; a world where the rock was packaged blandness and it was all about the chicks and the money. He even went so far as to dub the band (I kid you not) "Sweet Fuck Allll" (yes, with four L's), and asked me to paint a skull and the name "Sweet Fuck Alll" on his bass drum. Never one to stop people from doing what they want, I obliged.

Two weeks later, he picked up his drums and I never saw him again. In the end, this didn't matter because as luck would have it, shortly after Steve left, Doug reappeared.

He came out of nowhere; his long blond hair shaved into a thin, black mohawk. He wore crusty, ripped up, skanky, denim clothes, and his attitude had changed from a mild "I don't care" to a loud and proud "FUCK YOU!"

He told us he wanted to jam again, even though he didn't have a drum set. He also told us that, if we wanted, we could play an actual show ... of sorts. There was a party happening out in the boonies, at an old farmhouse owned by this guy he knew named Jason. There was a drum set there. We could set up and play to a bunch of punks and skins. Would we be interested?

Sure, what the fuck.

So one chilly Saturday morning my Dad drove the four of us and our amps and guitars out to Kemptville, Ontario and dropped us off at a huge ass, old school farm house. The mailbox said "Legacy". Doug informed us that this was Jason's family name.

The house itself was unlocked and a complete mess inside. My dad found it sketchy, but we loved it. Doug quickly located the drums and we set up our crap.

"Alright," Doug said, "Let's go!"

And we did. Geoff and I started running though the songs we had written in Dougs absence. He just sat there for a moment taking it all in, and then he started to play...

We've all read that sometimes bands have those moments where everything just comes together. I'm pretty sure we experienced that out in Kemptville, in a second floor room of a run down farmhouse. The few songs Geoff and I had were now pretty much completed. Doug told us that he hadn't been playing at all, but I wondered. To this day I believe that if he didn't play during his absence, then he was the most talented drummer I have ever worked with. In an hour we had run through our handful of songs a couple of times, and Doug nailed them.

Everyone started showing up around 7pm. There were one dude there I knew from Canterbury - a skinhead (SHARP) named Rob - but I had met no one else up until that point. We chilled, chatted, and I sipped a beer. After a while, the group of them goaded us to plug in and play.

Nervous as fuck, we did just that. There was some good natured joking at my expense due to the fact that I had a couple of effect pedals for my guitar ("Nice green pedal yah got there Eddie Van Halen!"). This did not help my shaking hands.

For the first, and what would be the last, time since we decided to form a band, Die-Oxide busted into our own material in front of a group of people. I was practically shitting my pants through the first tune. By the halfway point of the second tune there were a couple of guys slam dancing; whether it meant that they like the music, or if they were just making fun of us didn't matter. There were people slamming man! Seeing that and then realizing that the music they were slamming to was coming out of your instrument... I don't even know how to describe it other than to say it's like getting laid real good for the first time. By that I mean not the very first time you ever got laid, I'm talking about your first real good fuck; you start off timid, then you realize that you're doing ok and like it. Then you look up and realize that the person you're with likes it, and likes it with you. You then know that all is well in the world, and you loose yourself in the moment.

The slam dancing didn't last long, maybe a verse and a chorus, but it was enough to curb any nervousness I had and add another reason for me to want to continue playing music.

We finished our set to some mild applause and packed it up. The rest of the night was a story in itself that involved trying to sleep in a cold room, and a madman named King running around the house with a pair of salad tongs. He would find someone who was asleep and then pinch their ears with the tongs while yelling "ZIZZY BALOOOOOOBA!!!!" at the top of this lungs. You can't make this shit up people.

The next morning my Dad showed up and drove us all back to the city. This was pretty cool of him - we had planned to find a way to take the bus back, but Dad figured there was no way we'd be able to do this with all our shit with us so he drove out to Kemptville and collected us.

That weekend was pretty damn fun and I look back on it fondly.

Over the next few months Doug drifted off again and I spent less and less time hanging out with Geoff. I found my first, serious girlfriend (strangely enough, the girl from Part Two who told the art teacher I had no talent as a guitarist), and started discovering and playing around with music other than Heavy Metal.

Finally, almost two years after that "show", tensions with my folks mounted and I moved out on my own.

Of course, this brought about the freedom to drink, discover drugs, and write music to my hearts content...

... to be continued.

Dave only played with us a few times after the Metallica concert. Be that as it may, I owe him quite a bit. He managed to get me interested in a new aspect of playing: effect pedals.

Up until that point I got my distortion from a gain switch on my amp. It was constantly set to overdrive. Pretty basic stuff. There was no need for a clean sound as Die-Oxide was anything but.

Besides his guitar and amp, Dave brought an Overdrive, a Flanger, and a Boss Digital Delay (and I still use Boss Digital Delays to this day). He set up, plugged in and wanted to get going. I was a little perplexed at the chain of pedals he had set up but it all made sense after the first few minutes of playing.

Doug, Geoff, and myself busted into "Across The Waters...". Dave sat there for a second or two, taking it in, then started playing. He picked up the rffs pretty quickly and the sound of two guitars blaring the crunch together was amazing. The band whipped through the intro, pre-verse, and verse. We then paused for the beginning of the first bridge, which was a two bar guitar bit that I played. Then, when Doug and Geoff came in, out of nowhere came this swoosh of grating, echo fading in and out of the crunch of the bridge. I looked over and Dave was scraping his pick up and down the strings. His fingers flew in a strange pattern of hammer-ons that were echoing and swooping in and out.

I stopped playing and stared at him. Dave stared right back. It was as if the idea that no one had heard of effect pedals before was crazy. I mean, what guitarist out there has not heard of them.

Needless to say Dave spent about half an hour showing me the effects and how they worked and how the could be applied to riffs and leads.

With that out of the way, we went back to working on "Across The Waters...". By now we pretty much had a finished song that ran about four and a half minutes in length. It bobbed and weaved all over the place; there was a lot of start/stop/new riff/start/stop. Thinking back, this was because a lot of the big Metal bands (as well as the up and comers) were taking this approach to songwriting. You just had to stuff as many riffs into a song as possible. It was the second time in my life I was extremely happy with music I had helped create. The first was Twilight Zone two years prior.

I wasn't the only one who was excited. The rest of the band was pretty stoked as well. We farted around some more and the beginnings of another were born. Shitty though, it was nearing two in the afternoon and we knew that my folks would be back soon so we packed it up for the day.

Dave took his guitar, but left the pedals so I could fuck around with them and for the rest of the week I did just that.

The Flanger was cool but not my cup of tea. I couldn't get much more than feedback out of the Overdrive so I put that aside. The Digital Delay, on the other hand, I fell in love with. It would take me another five or six years to really pump a DD for all it was worth but right then and there, I knew there was cool shit could be done with this small, light grey stomp box...

... especially the next weekend when Dave suggested I plug the DD and Flanger into the mic instead of the guitar.

There was a middle part to "Across The Waters..." where I didn't really scream/sing. Rather I talked it. And when we hit that part and I kicked in the effects it sounded like the voice of Satan was speaking over top of our immature Metal riffs.

Awesome.

One Saturday afternoon the four of us were bashing through the songs at full fucking volume. We were tearing it up old school style. All of a sudden Doug, Geoff, and Dave stopped dead in their tracks. Me? I kept going for nearly a full verse before I realized I was playing solo.

The three of them had weird looks of dread combined with mild amusement on their faces. I stopped playing and screaming and looked at them: "What the fuck?"

I turned around an my dad was standing at the bottom of the basement stairs glaring at me. After a second, he went off on a full tangent: "What the hell do you think you're doing? I can hear that noise all the way up at the top of the street! This is disgusting!"

And on and on. The three guys sheepishly packed up their stuff and left while I sat there and listened to dad, and then mum, go off on me about the "shit in the basement".

This didn't stop us from playing on Saturdays anymore, but Dave never showed up to play again. Die-Oxide was a three piece band once more. Shitty as that was - the sound of the second guitar was missed - we plugged on and completed the second song (fuck, I wish I could remember the name of it!). So all was ok, I guess, even though I had to listen to mum and dad periodically go off about the "noise in the basement".

Shortly after Dave had left the band, we had decided to record our two songs. Doug (or was it Geoff?) knew this guy who had a mini studio in his basement and had told us that he could record us for next to no money. Knowing what I know now about recording, we should have skipped this offer, but we were still naive teenagers in a band who wanted to record and maybe even play a show sometime.

I can't remember the guys name, nor the actual street he lived on, but he had requested that we all bring headphones - not to wear while recording, but rather to record with - as in use as microphones. He told us that this was pretty standard stuff so we all brought a couple of pairs of our Walkman headphones (and for those of you who remember the low end headphones of the late 90's). packed up our crap (guitars, amps and our one mic - the guy had a drum set there) and bussed it out to this guys place.

It took us a fucking hour and a half to find the house and when we did we were hot, cranky, and thirsty. The guy himself made Geoff look as skinny as Doug and I, and man was he an arrogant prick. He had this nice little rehearsal room set up in the basement of what was, we found out, his parents house. There was a drum set right where you walked in, followed by a table that was set up with a tried and true Fostex four track, and then an empty space where we set up our meager little amps and mic stand...

... side note: The mic stand was one I had made in shop class. It consisted of four, steel feet that I had arc welded together which were attached to a steel tube. I had inserted a steel piece at the top which I had lathed to be the size of my mic clip, and then bent it at the height I wanted it: low ... a la James Hetfield style. The whole thing was painted shiny black and it was my pride and joy.

We set up, the fat guy took all our headphones and plugged them into a mixing board, which was attached to the four track, then told us to start playing.

We busted into "Across The Waters..." and we no more than a minute and a half in when the guy told us to stop.

"What the FUCK was that?" he yelled. "Holy shit, you can't play that loud! The headphones can't handle it!"

We laughed. I mean fuck, we were a Metal band. We told him there was no turning down. He said he could record us, he was going to record us so we busted into the song again. He looked so confused and out of his element. We'd found out later on that he was used to recording people with acoustic guitars and rock and country bands. He had never experienced anything like Die-Oxide (or it's influences).

After about an hour, we gave up. He gave up. Fuck that. We packed up our shit and left. It was no use fighting. We realized that this was not the guy to record our shit. So we settled on the obvious choice:

We'd do it ourselves, in my folks basement, on a ghetto blaster... just like every other new band did in the 80's. There was no GarageBand. There were no inexpensive ways record great sounding music. You went out and spent ten bucks on a high end, Sony chromium dioxide blank tape, plugged it into the 'blaster, hit record, and fucking had at it.

This is what we did. In One afternoon we had recorded our two song demo by playing/recording - stopping/listening - rinse/repeat. In the end we were all rather pleased with ourselves. The recordings were pretty clear and the songs were the best we'd ever played them.

Later that afternoon tried to get mum and dad to listen to it and appreciate it. They listened, but they sure as hell didn't appreciate it. It didn't matter how proud I was of it, to them it was "Noise". Nothing more, nothing less. There was no convincing them otherwise. So I holed myself up in my room, listened to our demo and worked on creating a cover for it.

I no longer have a copy. I know I did hand it out to a large pile of people, all of whom said that they enjoyed it (and I'm sure a few of them meant it). I really wish I still had a copy. As mentioned, I was super proud of what our 16 year old asses had written, performed, and recorded. For three kids who had simply picked up instruments and decided to form a band, it was good. Had we had some sort of backing (by people who had an idea of how the business aspect of music worked) and some more support (I say glaring at my folks) then maybe Die-Oxide could have been something special in the Ottawa scene.

As much as I love the band I am in now, and as much as I still am in awe of our progression over the past couple of years, nothing stands out in my mind like the sheer rawness and innocence that was Die-Oxide in 1989.

Myself, Doug, and Geoff: Die-Oxide 1989.

But no matter. That iteration of Die-Oxide was one of the most important parts of my early musical life and I enjoyed every second of it; right up until Doug decided to become a hardcore, crust punk. Within a month, he had moved his drum set out of my folks basement and vanished again. Geoff and I were back to playing at his place.

This worked out though. In the six or so months that Doug was AWOL, Geoff and I wrote a pile of songs that defied convention. Eventually Doug re-appeared wanting to play drums again...

... and he informed us that he had gotten us a show.

... to be continued.

"Can we use the basement to rehearse?"

I did what most kids do when they really really want something: When parent number one said no, I asked parent number two. In the end, I got negative, yet noncommittal, responses from both my mom and dad so I took matters into my own hands. Hey, I never heard yes or no from either of them. There was a "we'll see" in the conversations somewhere - that I do remember.

Every Saturday they both hopped in the Jeep and fucked off for most of the day. They would gallivant all over the region; driving through the countryside, getting lost on back roads, checking out stores, you name it. My brother and I used to have to go with them but, since we were older we could now stay at home if we wanted. Of course, I chose to do this (as did my brother, although what he did with his time on the weekends I honestly can't remember).

One of these Saturdays, in the early spring of 1989, I was up and at 'em early... and the parents were no sooner out of the house than a phone call was made and Doug's dad showed up in his monster car (old 70's tank style - can't remember the make) with Doug and the drums packed in there. We unloaded the kit and started setting up. Geoff showed up about half an hour after that with his bass and amp in tow.

We didn't do too much jamming that day, we mostly just fucked around, letting Doug get used to playing his kit. Just before we stopped Geoff and I busted out "Across The Waters To Destruction" and Doug played along adding a much needed beat... and it sounded pretty killer in it's infant state.

The three of us stopped around 2pm and my folks walked in the door shortly after that. What happened next was interesting.

Mom and Dad asked what was up and we took them downstairs. They didn't really freak, per say, but they weren't a hundred percent happy either.

They asked how loud it was going to be. We told them pretty loud

They asked when they thought we could "make our noise". We told them when they weren't going to be home. Mainly Saturdays.

They considered for a moment and, with a sigh, grudgingly said "yes". The only thing that sucked was that they were now home and we couldn't play any more. No matter. We headed downtown. The snow was pretty much gone (leaving behind a soupy, stinky mess of mud and garbage), it was warm (we could go out in only our jean jackets; which were adorned in studs and band logos in the form of hand drawn and "official" patches), and we now had a place to play.

And play we did.

The very next Saturday Doug and Geoff were on my front steps at ten in the morning. We went downstairs, plugged in and let 'er rip. Something interesting happened that day. We gave up on the hardcore idea and began piecing together the thirty second tunes Geoff and I had been working on into longer compositions. "Across The Waters..." used to be only an intro, a pre-verse and a quick verse. Now it had an instrumental bit after the verse and some weird ass bridge that segued into a second verse. The rest of the lyrics would come later, I was repeating what I already had, but now we had a three and a half minute song.

After "Waters" was extended we started working on another tune and began having conversations about the name of the band. Doug was of the mind that The Unholy Revelations, even in its acronym form, didn't really fit the new music we were coming up with. Back in grade 8, when we first started, it seemed cool - my lyrics were all supernatural happy crappy and such, but now my lyrics were taking on mild political tones thanks to a steady diet of Metallica, Megadeth, and hardcore.

While being at a complete loss of what we could call ourselves, I kind of figured he was right. I don't think Geoff really cared one way or the other.

We had been tossing around names for a week or so when Doug looked at us one day and said: "Dioxide ... only we spell it Die-Oxide."

It stuck. We were now Die-Oxide. With our new name we continued on tweaking "Waters" and writing the new tune (the name, of which to this day, escapes me).

On April 6 of that year, another important event in my life happened: Metallica came to Ottawa on the "Damaged Justice Tour".

This was HUGE. By this time, I was so into Metallica that I was now known at Caterbury High School as Metallica Nick. I was obsessed with the band (a trait I still have to this days when I find new music that I love) and listened to them non-stop on what was the loudest walkman in the school. One day I was sitting at my locker; "...And Justice For All" blaring out of my headphones full blast - they were hanging up on my coat hook - and I hear this voice coming from around the corner...

... this was one of my buddies, Francois, showing a new student around. Before I could even see them Francois said: "You head that music over there? Yeah? That, my friend, is the sound of Metallica Nick's walkman."

At first I was worried I wasn't going to be able to go; my folks were still all over me about the heavy music, the noise in their basement, the fact that I was now growing my hair out, and the cost of the tickets. As luck would have it, Geoffs mom was dating a guy who worked for Bass Clef Promotions (remember them Ottawa peeps?) and she managed to grab two, second row tickets to the concert. April 6 couldn't arrive soon enough.

The day of the concert I skipped school and bussed around with Geoff trying to see if we could find out what hotel the band was staying at. We failed miserably and ended up at the Ottawa Civic Center hanging out in line with all the people who had general admission tix; chanting "Me-tal-lica! Me-tal-lica! Me-tal-lica!" and acting like all 'round hooligans.

The doors finally opened and we headed in - straight to the merch table. T-shirt bought we took our seats. Geoff looked around and spotted Doug sitting way up near the top. I bounced up the stairs to to shout a loud "FUCK YEAH!" at Doug and noticed he was sitting with Dave, the original drummer of The Unholy Revelations.

"NICK?!?!" Dave shouted. "Nick?!? With HAIR! MOTHERFUCKER!"

Doug asked where we were sitting and I pointed down the stairs at Geoff who was beginning the climb up to say "hey".

"Oh, you fucking assholes," Doug groaned.

We shot the shit for a few minutes when Doug mentioned to Dave that the band was now Die-Oxide and that he was playing drums. Dave jumped all over that: "Fuck man, I want IN. Where and when! I'll bring my guitar and shit and we'll get it ON!"

We gave Dave the info and told him we'd hook up the next weekend and see what happened.

Showtime.

I won't go on in great detail about the concert except to say that Metallica blew me the fuck away. Because of that one night I now have a habit of watching live (and behind the scenes) videos every time I'm about to play live. It gives me something to reach for. By that I mean I really have no solid expectations of becoming a professional musician but watching my favorite bands rock the fuck out in front of tens of thousands of crazy ass fans gives me something to reach for playing wise. I want to be that good on stage, no matter how many people show up. If there are only three people there, I'd like at least one of them to walk away knowing I had given them my all.

I also remember that seeing Metallica on top of their game gave Doug, Geoff, myself, and now Dave the drive to dig into getting Die-Oxide up and fucking running.

Back then I did have expectations of becoming a professional musician. It was what I wanted to do. From the moment the house lights came up playing guitar in a Metal band meant more to me than anything else in the world.

Soon, however, there would be too much tension at home to make this an easy task.

... to be continued.

That title was found in a thread on a Metal forum. Funny stuff.

While I'm still chugging away an part four of the musical past thingy I'm writing, I thought I'd take a bit of a break and go over the state of music present.

ESP - I should have known

Last Saturday I picked up Mez and we drove on down to Steve's Music. Thanks to my birthday, I had a pocket full of cash and gift certificates and was looking to buy a new, mid-range guitar. My then current instruments, while serving me well, were starting to show signs of what they are: low-end models.

The Jackson JS30DKT Dinky Hardtail, which was my main guitar until Saturday, has a light weight, a smooth, fast neck, stays in tune (for the most part - it still has to go in every now and again to have the intonation tweaked) but is pretty weak in the pickup department. It has bite, sure, but now that I'm close to finding "my sound" I find that the bite of the pickups lacks real balls. It's hard to dial in a nice, bottom end crunch on the stock CVR2s.

Next up is what I now refer to as my "backup's backup": the Epiphone Special II (in gloss black, thank fuck. That wood sunburst is fugly). This guitar has the balls the Jackson lacks. The neck pickup (which I usually always play on) has that nice, low end crunch I love. I'm also a big fan of the Les Paul shape and the Special II comes with a mahogany neck which adds a little to the overall sound. Past that, it has the flaws that comes along with a low end, sub $200 guitar: it's heavy, the neck is fatter than what I like (and am used to thanks to the Jackson), and it goes out of tune all the time.

I did think about upgrading the Special II with new pickups and some locking tuners, but figured that a new, mid-range guitar may be in order instead. Y'know, the whole silk suit on a pig thing.

At Steve's I tried out a few guitars. The one I had been drooling over online for about three months was the Epiphone Les Paul Gothic Studio. The online reviews I had been reading said this thing sounded just as good as the Gibson version, was solid, and looked fantastic. Steve's had one so I took it off the rack for a look-see and a tryout.

Turns out the flat black looked grey in real life. As well, it looked to be a greasy fingerprint magnet. Lacquered bodies can be wiped down pretty easily - the Epiphone looked like, once dirty, it would never be clean.

Trying it out pretty much told me that I would not be leaving the store with this guitar. I plugged it in to a Marshall MG100DFX (the amp I own and love), turned it on and was bombarded with a nasty hum. I swear, that shitty old Sears guitar I talked about in my Musical Past posts was quieter than the Gothic.

Playing it was a chore as well. It was very tinny on both pickups. No matter what settings I dialed into the amp, this guitar yielded little crunch and no balls. Finally, the neck was rather fat and didn't play as fast as the reviews had led me to believe. Maybe this was the first guitar for all the reviewers... either that or they were all upgrading from budget knock off brands like Jay Turser.

For the price that was being asked, there was no way I was getting the Epiphone Gothic.

Net up I tried out an Ibanez ART300 (in Black Cayman). While this thing was sexy as a motherfucker and came with active pickups there were two things that made me put this one aside: the sound and the neck. While the sound of the ART 300 was bassy (thanks to the liberal use of mahogany), I found the pickups lacked true crunch. The neck, well, it was a little better than the Epiphone, but still played pretty slowly.

As an aside, my true test of playability is to run though the solo of the unavowed's Crusades. The solo I wrote is simple at first glance; it's played all on the D string and walks back and forth between a handful of notes. That being said, it's hard to play at speed because the run covers pretty much the neck from the third to twelfth fret and it involves hammer-ons and pull offs on each fret played. So one swipe of the pick equals three notes. If I can blaze through the Crusades solo, faster than it should be played, without fucking it up, then the guitar I'm trying plays good. If I fuck it up because I can't move my hand fast enough up and down the neck, then I want nothing to do with it.

Both the Epiphone and the Ibanez failed this; it was easier on the Ibanez but still played slow enough that I had to watch the neck to make sure I was hitting the right notes.

The third guitar I tried was the ESP LTD EC 200QM (you'll have to scroll down on that page, it's the third from the bottom). Steve's didn't have the satin black shown on the ESP site, they had the red. And man, was it sexy.

From the moment I plugged in this guitar I had a feeling this was the one I was leaving the store with. It had a minor hum, but it was acceptable; nothing a Noise Suppressor can't take care of. I managed to dial in a nice, ballsy crunch without effort, and holy sweet fuck, it played FASSST.

The EC 200QM passed my Crusades test without effort. Fuck, I don't think the guitar (or it's player) even broke a sweat. I can honestly say I've never played that solo that fast and with so little effort.

Another selling point was that the tone knob has a Push-Pull Coil Tap - this separates the pickups themselves: keep the knob pushed in and it plays both coils in the humbuckers. Pull it up and it splits them so you're essentially playing a single coil. Nice.

I put the ESP to the side and tried out one more: An ESP EX-260 (second on the page). I still have a soft spot for the Explorer shape so I figured I'd give the EX a go to see if it fit.

It sure sounded fine (same body material and pickups as the EC) and played ok (I couldn't nail the Crusades solo quite as well as on the EC, but it was passable) yet I just couldn't get used to the shape. Maybe it's because ESP had to modify their Explorer shape thanks to a lawsuit from Gibson and it just doesn't feel very Explorer like. Maybe I'm just getting old. Whatever it is, I simply wasn't digging the feel of the EX.

An hour and a half later I walked up to the dude who was helping me out with the ESP in my hand. I told him I was buying this guitar and he said: "I thought that'd be the one you decided on."

Oh, really?

"Yeah, dropped D power chords? ESP man. ESP."

So now my Jackson has been demoted to "The Backup" and gets the good gig bag. The Epiphone Special II has been demoted to "The Backups Backup" and gets the shitty gig bag. The ESP LTD has earned the title of "The Main Axe" and gets the hardshell case.

I've played through two jams with the ESP LTD and let me tell you that it's awesome. It may not be top of the line, but it's close enough to put a boost in my playing. I'm still farting around with my sound but so far so good. I have a feeling that it'll serve me well for years to come.

So here it is:

I tried out a few before settling on this. Gotta say, I'm pretty stoked. It sounds killer, plays killer and looks killer.

I'll update more on why I ended up with this as opposed to the Epiphone I had my eye on later

Here is some video of The Unavowed (featuring yours truly on guitar) live at Club Saphir in Montreal on May 31, 2008.

It's the first two songs from our set: The Perfect Score and Crusades.

Enjoy!

I'm going to stop talking about the Unholy Revelations for a second. Sure, we're at the part where we moved the band into my folks basement. Yes this did induce their wrath. But there is another moment just prior to that which is more important than anything we would write and record in my parents basement.

The irony is that my dad was directly responsible: For my sixteenth birthday he took me to Songbird Music, a local second hand music shop, and let me pick out a guitar.

This was HUGE. I honestly never thought the day would come where my old man would fork over some of his hard earned cash to get me an electric guitar. I guess in the end he saw that nearly a year had passed since Doug gave me the shitty Sears guitar and I was still at it. He probably figured that I'd be at it for a while to come and decided to up the bucks to help me move along with my new passion.

After a couple of hours of trying out guitars, I settled on an Aria Pro II ZZ Delux. Besides the fact it sounded killer, the biggest reason was that it also looked killer: Explorer shape, black to dark blue "sunburst" (edges were black which faded into a dark blue center), 2 stock Aria humbucker pickup, and gold hardware.

It was this minus the weird paint job:

That guitar stayed with me for at least five or six years. It made it though my first ever live performance and hundreds of jams. I never had a case for it. I'd just sling it over my shoulder and head to wherever it was I was heading; rain, sleet, or snow. It even helped me pick up my second, serious girlfriend. The Aria was such a beast that it continued working even after I had a mild, drug induced freak out while playing, threw it on the ground and stomped the poor motherfucker hard enough that it split in three. Half a role of book tape later, it was still singing - and continued to do so for another full year.

Out of all the instruments I've owned, the Aria was, by far, my favorite. I can't really tell you what happened to in the end. All I remember was that it was put aside after I'd bought a Yamaha electric with a tax return... I think I may have stripped it for parts that never got used.

Whatever happened to it, I gotta say it was awesome. Simply awesome.

I can't remember who it was that lent me the "Master Of Puppets" tablature book but I owe that person a beer and a huge heap of gratitude. Once I had it in my hands, I sat in my bedroom one sweltering summer day and clumsily picked away at a few tunes. I could hear bits of the songs coming through, but not enough to get me excited.

I gave up for an hour (and after trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with the main riff from the title track) and went off to do ... I don't know, something other than frustrate myself. Eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I went back at it.

This time I flipped the pages to "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" and gave that song a try.

This time it worked.

All of a sudden I was playing a Metallica song. Sure, it was rough and strained but it was working. I picked my way through the intro and verse with a huge grin on my face. I can honestly say that this was the true beginning. Up until that moment, I was only dreaming that I could play. When that girl in my art class said I wasn't talented, at the exact moment she said that, it was true. I couldn't play anything on the guitar to save my life.

Now here I was stringing together a pattern and it sounded like the song I knew and loved. The hunger intensified yet again.

Around this time Geoff started hanging out more and more with Doug and I. As my playing improved, he began to take interest in the idea of getting a band together. The three of us discussed the idea that maybe we'd use Unholy Revelations as the name even if the members were not the same as they were. The only thing that was holding us back was Dave. He had pretty much dropped off the radar and drummers are hard to come by when you're fifteen.

We talked a lot but nothing came to fruition. I spent my evenings and weekends either hatching plans with them or practicing my playing. I was starting to pick up some of the more complicated riffs in the book and played until I had blisters.

One weekend Geoff and I tore apart my cheap ass, Sears guitar and spray painted the motherfucker black. When it was back together it looked like a cheap ass, Sears guitar that someone had spray painted black.

Awesome.

Besides the custom body job, we also started farting around with song writing. This went nowhere fast. Geoff was a good bass player and I was still struggling with most of the basics. Still, we were making noise and having fun so we really didn't care all that much. What was strange about the whole thing was that Doug had now disappeared. It had been weeks since he'd called or shown up so we plodded on without him.

One day Geoff and I were jamming out some ramshackle piece of crap when Doug called out of nowhere. He wanted us to head over to his place. This in itself was a rarety; Doug's folks were a little "off" and he usually didn't invite us over. This day, however, he was adamant about us coming over.

We soon found out why.

"I gave up guitar and want to play drums," he told us as we were standing in his basement staring at a five piece kit. It was red and had seen better days. Most of all it was small; not kid sized but not a full sized drum set either. Geoff and I looked at Doug; was he joking?

It was no joke.

What was a joke however was how we started practicing with the new lineup. You see, Doug's folks didn't actually allow him to play the set at his place. I wasn't allowed to play loud at my place. We could play loud at Geoff's place, but his mother, who wasn't overly bothered by the noise we made with our guitars was unsure about the idea of having a drum kit in her house. So we ended up improvising.

Geoff played bass through his amp. I played guitar through mine. Both were turned down so I could "sing" over top and Doug set up a "kit" that consisted of:

- a hard cover book on his lap (snare)
- an over sized pair of shoes (bass drum)
- a metal bed frame we found in the corner of Geoffs basement (ride and, depending on when he hit it, high-hat and crash)

You have no idea how fucking silly this seems now. Back then we were deadly serious... well, maybe not deadly. We did poke fun at each other over this setup. Constantly. But, in the end, we realized that it was a start.

As it turns out, Doug was actually pretty good at keeping a beat and adding in simple fills without derailing the whole fucking train. We began trying to write our own stuff but, for some reason, we were failing miserably. So we decided to try a cover of "For Whom The Bell Tolls"... minus all the fancy bass lines and guitar leads.

Somewhere, out there, probably in a cardboard box in a basement, or at the bottom of a landfill is a cassette with our mangey Metallica cover on it. It was horrible - the bed frame cymbals were a loud "ting ting ting" that buried everything else in the background. My guitar was shaky, my singing even worse. You could hardly hear Geoff's bass and the book Doug was using for a snare was a dull "whap whap".

Shitty as it was, we all agreed it was a start.

After a few days of this, Doug started complaining that his fake setup was just that: fake. He had a drum set for fuck sakes! What the hell was he doing banging away on a book and a bed frame? We had to find a place to practice with all of our instruments. We were at a loss having nowhere to do this... so Doug disappeared again for awhile.

This didn't get Geoff and I down though. Quite the opposite in fact. We had recently discovered punk and hardcore: D.R.I. and the like. Thirty second, noisy songs. As basic as you could get. This music actually gave us hope. Sure as shit we could write this stuff too!

And write we did. For the couple of months Doug went off to to whatever it was he did, Geoff and I slapped together a handful of hardcore metal songs and re-christened The Unholy Revelations as U.H.R. I honestly don't remember all of the tunes we wrote, but one has stuck with me through the years.

I titled it "Across The Waters To Destruction" and I remember it because it just came to me. I was standing in Geoff's basement strumming this and that and a whole lot of nothing. Geoff was sitting back in his chair talking about something and all of a sudden I stopped farting around and started playing a real simple, real heavy riff. This was repeated a few times, then I paused; holding the last chord for a few beats... and then I proceeded to blast into a two chord, hardcore riff and the lyrics poured out of me:

Why must we help fight their wars
Don't even know what they're fighting for
Chemical plants and nuclear waste
Death and destruction is all I can taste
All that they think of is weapons production
Then send us across the waters to destruction *

End song.

Geoff had stopped talking and was staring at me. I think his response was "Holy fuck!". He scrambled out of his chair, grabbed his bass while I wrote down the lyrics, and  I quickly showed him the riffs. The song was done in under ten minutes.

Past that, our time was spent on two things: working on my playing and anticipating the release of Metallica's new album "... And Justice For All".

For the first, Geoff had picked up the bass tab book for Master Of Puppets and we began learning bits and pieces of the songs. In the not too distant future one of our favorite past times would be to go into a music store, pick and instrument each and start playing "Orion". This was interesting because music stores at this time displayed signs like "Anyone caught playing Stairway To Heaven or Smoke On The Water will be dealt with severely!". Two teenage dudes busting out an eight minute instrumental usually turned some heads.

The new Metallica album was, of course, on everyone's must buy list; it was to be the first, full studio album with Jason Newstead (who had replaced the late, great Cliff Burton). Needless to say when it finally came out in the fall of '88 Geoff and I ran out and grabbed it.

"... And Justice For All" surpassed everything we thought it would be. Personally, it is now my least favorite Metallica album, but back then, it was the shit. It gave us new tunes from our favorite band. It gave us the prospect of a tour. It gave us new ideas on how to write songs (even though we were still churning out one minute hardcore tunes). Most of all, it brought Doug out of hiding.

Then the shit really hit the fan: Doug was loving the fact Geoff and I had a pile of tunes to work with but he wanted to up the ante and write longer tunes. This was difficult, however, as we still needed a place to jam.

No problem. Doug talked me into sneaking all our band shit into my parents basement...

... which we did. As you can imagine, this is when the shit really hit the fan.

... to be continued.

* I don't know why those lyrics have stuck with me to this day. I'm thinking it due to the fact that it was the first verse of words that didn't sound like it had been written by a five year old. Hell it was (and still is) better than a good percentage of Metal lyrics out there (Manowar anyone? Although, those guys did manage to rhyme asunder with thunder).

I have been wanting an Epiphone Goth Les Paul Studio for a while now.

This Saturday, I may actually get my hands on one. Fingers are crossed.

As you well know, The Unavowed went on the first leg of a mini tour at the end of May with Kintra from Montreal and Breadfan from Toronto. The three bands hit up Cafe DeKcuf in Ottawa on Friday, May 30 and Club Saphir in Montreal on Satruday, May 31.

Needless to say, it was a blast.

Friday May 30, 2008.

Everything got started a little later than planned; traffic was insane downtown so the bar owner wasn't there until nearly 6:30 to let us and Kintra in. As well, Breadfan was a tad late getting to DeKcuf. This all worked out in the end though. Soundcheck was smooth (the sound guy for Maverick's/DeKcuf is fucking amazing) and Breadfan was looking to go on at about 10 anyway.

The sets were tight and to the point: Heavy music here!

Breadfan have crafted their own mix of metal and radio friendly rock that's heavy on the delay and backed by super tight drumming. These guys are definitely a live band through and through. While I enjoy their recorded music, it says nothing about these guys on stage. They were a hard act to follow...

... but follow we did and we were totally pumped up for our set. I'm not going to go on too much about us playing in Ottawa other than we busted out Gunslinger, a new tune, and the reception was pretty decent. We played our set - it was a little rough around the edges but fun as hell and made us super excited for the next night.

Kintra then took the stage... and promptly blew The Unavowed and Breadfan off said stage. What can I say about Kintra? Besides being some of the coolest, most laid back guys I have met, they are excellent at what they do. And what they do is bombard you with skull crushing, semi-technical, super infectious metal. The fact that their lyrics are all in French made no difference at all. Kintra are heavies.

Show over, it was time to pack up the gear and lug it over to the jam space. It was late at this point so we didn't really get a chance to sit down with the other two bands (DeKcuf was closing down as well), but we chatted for a little and the decision was made for us all to meet at Fouf's after the show in Montreal. Hell both The Unavowed and Breadfan were going there anyway, why not meet there for drinks and mayhem?

We said our adieus, then headed off to our respective dwellings/hotels/etc. Saturday was going to be the big day...

Saturday May 31, 2008.

We met at the jam space - Jay had rented us a swanky minivan - and were packed up and ready to head by noon or so. Jay's friend D'Arcy was making the trip with us. We branded him The First, Official Unavowed Roadie and he complained a little as he was "expecting to be the First, Official, Unavowed Groupie". Jay and I sat in with D'Arcy in his car for the first bit of the trip (we could smoke in his car) and Dan and Mez took control of the minivan.

The drive was somewhat uneventful although D'Arcy's stories were killer funny ("I swear, I'm gonna save me the hassle, buy myself a pumpkin, carve it and skull fuck it!"). The three of us in the car stopped at the predetermined rest point for coffee and food only to find out that Dan had blown the exit and he and Mez were going to stop at Herbs for food. Jay, D'Arcy and I piled into the car and headed there to meet them.

At Herbs we filled ourselves up with breakfast while Dan napped in the van. Food finished and more rock star shenanigans out of the way, Dan headed out with D'Arcy and Jay took the wheel of the mini-van; I sat up front and Mez passed out in the back (snoring like a motherfucker most of the way to Montreal).

We hit up Montreal about two-ish (I think), found the hotel and checked in. D'Arcy was heading to his buddies place on the other side of town to drop off his car so Jay followed him in the van in order to bring him back for the show.

This left Dan, Mez, and myself to our own devices. What to do? Why, hit up a dep and buy some beer, of course!

Dan and Mez armed themselves with large cans of Blue (or "Bleue" rather. we were in Montreal after all) and I grabbed myself a 1.2 liter bottle of 50.

Back at the hotel we started in on the beer and I walked around throwing towels, plastic cups, and pillows on the floor... I figured it was the cheapest way to trash the hotel room. Juvenile? You bet it was.

Jay and D'Arcy showed up and we drank some more (minus Jay who was driving) and started getting ready for the show. For Mez, Jay, and myself this included finishing our beers. For Dan this included a shower, choosing pants, picking between one of three t-shirts, and then choosing headgear (toque or cap). What can I say? He's the singer, the frontman. He doesn't have to concern himself with making sure his guitar is in tune or of his drums are set up right. No matter. We teased the fuck out of him anyway.

We drove up to Club Saphir (right up the street from the hotel) and met Nick and the other guys from Kintra. What proceeded was a test of will and strength. The back stairs we had to lug our shit up were treacherous to say the least; two and a half flights of narrow, winding, metal steps. I will never complain about the stairs at Cafe DeKcuf again. Ever.

Soundcheck was soundcheck - we played a half hearted version of The Perfect Score - and the only real fun at that point was that Saphir has these chairs shaped like human hands. We watched in amusement as D'Arcy tried to get one of the chairs to fist him.

The Unavowed hit the stage at 8:30 or so and we blasted into our set. Our crowd at the beginning consisted of Mez's friend Steph, the ever wonderful Jes, and the lovely Phreeduh. I was happy to see Phreeduh there dancing away to our brand of heavy music. It's a shame that, due to the time restraints on the bands, I didn't get to talk to her but it was nice to see her face in the crowd.

Our set was supercharged. We were in a different city and because of the setup Jay and I were forced to play on opposite sides of the stage than we are used to. All this didn't matter. We played our best set ever. If there were fuck ups, we either didn't notice or didn't care.

One thing we did notice was that around three quarters of the way through our set most of the people who were sitting on the chairs to the side had moved to the front of the stage. This just pumped us even more and was probably my favorite memory from the weekend.

Forty, sweaty minutes later we were done (sweaty for me at least. It was hella HOT on that stage; there were droplets of sweat on the stage floor around me. Dan said at one point, he looked over while I was doing a solo and there was a waterfall of sweat pouring off my nose and forehead). It seemed that the show was over before we knew it. No matter. We received a great reception at Club Saphir.

(One bitch about Saphir: the motherfuckers were charging the bands for water at three bucks per bottle. Assholes.)

We had always wondered if we could play two nights in a row, outside of jam, and that night we proved we could. The next day Mez asked if we thought we could play a third and the general consensus was a resounding "yes".

Breadfan and Kintra played their respective, kick ass shows and then it was time to load out our shit, head it back to the hotel, stash our shit in the room and head to Fouf's to continue the night.

Fouf's was Fouf's. Eight bucks to get in and then a buck seventy five for beer. The Breadfan guys were there, at the main bar already well sloshed. We chatted for a bit (The Unavowed showed up separately), drank some beer together, then I headed off to find Mez who was already there with Steph and Jes ... and he was motherfucking dancing. I'm telling ya, if I hadn't seen it I would have never believed it.

Shortly after Dan and Jay appeared after having driven around in circles looking for parking. Nelson from Breadfan also showed up as did Nick from Kintra. The night started getting interesting. Nick was buying us beer and we were having a great time playing Rock Stars. I told Mez later on: "I walked around all night with my head up and shoulders back simply because I was jazzed to the hilt from the shows."

At one point I was heading out to have a cigarette when my second favorite memory from that weekend happened.

Paul, the lead singer/guitarist for Breadfan was still hanging out at near the main bar with these two unbelievably hot women. He saw me and waved me over.

"I want to introduce you to someone," he slurred, beyond drunk. Turning to the woman at his direct right he informed me that this was his sister. She shook my hand and nodded. Then he turned to the second woman and started yelling her name as her attention was focused elsewhere.

She turned around and looked at him and he told her that he wanted to introduce her to me... Paul informed me that this was his girlfriend. She turned to face me and her face changed from indifference to complete and utter amazement. Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened and she walked over to me:

"OH! OH! OH MY GOD!! YOU'RE THE GUITARIST FROM THE FIRST BAND THAT WENT ON!! ON MY GOD!! YOU WERE AMAZING!! YOUR WHOLE BAND IS AMAZING!! YOUR MUSIC IS SO FORCEFUL!! IT'S AWESOME!! OH MY GOD!!"

All this time she didn't stop shaking my hand. I didn't know what to say or do. I just let her gush, nodded my head here and there and said "Thanks".

I chatted with Paul for a few more minutes and then found a break in the conversation to mention that I'd be back in a bit and wandered outside to have a smoke. My head was fuzzy. Even having played in bands before, I have never been on the receiving end of such unabashed accolades. I really didn't know what to think of it other than this:

From a personal level, it's nice to get compliments, but such in your face compliments are rather, oh what's the word I'm looking for? Creepy? I don't know. It's amazing that famous people have to live with that every single day of their lives. Kudos to them. You just get used to it I guess.

From a band level, it's awesome to get even the slightest of compliments. It makes you feel that what you are doing is right and that others out there are enjoying your work. A compliment like the one I had received went past that point. It made me want to push The Unavowed even further.

I headed back in and by this time, Nick was buying us all shots. This is where the real fun started.

The music changed from rock n' roll dance type stuff to "War Ensemble" by Slayer. A pit formed; all these kids moshing and thrashing around. Without even thinking about it, Mez and I put our arms around each others shoulders and the proceeded to motherfucking steamroll the pit. We literally cleared it out. By the time "War Ensemble" ended and Metallica's "Fight Fire With Fire" started it was Mez and myself running around the edge of the circle that had formed. We did this for about a verse and a half. I remember skimming the edge looking at people as I ran past screaming "COME ON!!!! OH, COME THE FUCK ON!!!!". Finally this little dude jumped in and that's all it took. The pit started up again.

I left the dance floor when the tune ended. Nick came up to me with a huge grin on his face. "Man, that was awesome!"

Not really. Being 35 and spending nearly ten minutes in a mosh pit meant that it took me another ten minutes to get my breath back. Nick helped out by offering me another shot of ... whatever it was. Jack and something sweet. I did the shot and then staggered out to have another smoke.

Upon opening the door to the smoking balcony, I got hit in the face with a huge cloud of smoke and I puked in my mouth. Being a gentleman, I held it there, and sauntered over to the balcony like nothing was wrong. I then spent a few minutes spitting up my vomit over the edge of the balcony like I was hawking loogies instead of throwing up (don't worry, I made sure that (a) there was no one under me and (b) the bouncers at the front gate had their backs turned).

Vomit out I smoked my cigarette and went back inside to drink more.

Rock n' Roll all night baby. Rock n' Roll all night.

Turns out Mez had done the same. He took a shot. It was warm. He puked in his mouth. Held it there while he walked upstairs to the washroom and let 'er rip. He then joined us back downstairs for more beer.

The rest of Fouf's was a blur: Talking with Nick about the shows we had just played and the show coming up in September... Dan talking with these guys from New Jersey who were in a band or something or other (I think they said that they knew the guys in Gwar or whatever.)... some drunk chick making a drunk attempt to pick me up until her not so drunk friends found her and led her away...finishing as much beer as we could when before the lights came on and the bar staff kicked everyone out...

Outside the club, we said our goodbye's to the dudes from Breadfan and Dan, Mez, Jay, Jes and myself then walked up to La Belle Province (HOT DOG!! POUTINE!!) for some spew food. Everything gets real blurry past that. Something about street pylons... some TV show about digging something out of a beach... I don't know.

The next thing I knew it was morning.

We packed up (after I had proceeded to stink the guys out of the room. Ah, La Belle Province; it hurts more coming out than it does going in.), checked out then headed for breakfast. Only breakfast was no longer being served at Mars/Venus. Shitty. They used to serve an *awesome* breakfast but no longer. So the morning meal for me consisted of coffee (LOTS of coffee. At one point the waitress asked if she should just leave the pot for me. I said "yeah" and she laughed. She actually thought I was joking), a bowl of french onion soup, and a plate of fries. The rest of the guys chowed down on sandwiches of various types.

We then hit up a couple of army surplus stores as Jay was looking for shorts. Then is was back to the van. I hopped in with D'Arcy and we headed out.

Nothing too much to report about the drive back... well, other than D'Arcy ripping appallingly, repugnant farts. He's just randomly roll down the window like he was going to have a smoke... a few seconds later my eyes would start to water. I'd look over at his and his face was adorned with a huge, shit eating grin.

We all met up in Hudson for coffee then Jay went with D'Arcy and I hopped in the van for the ride back to Ottawa. Again, uneventful other than Mez snoring. We made a small detour to drop off something for my boy, then it was back to the jam space.

We unloaded our shit, locked up the room, and Jay dropped off Dan, Mez, and myself before he took off to take the van back to the rental place.

I was home with my family; tired, sore, a little deaf and overly happy. What a weekend. Sitting with Tara and Lily that night I realized how great things turn out when you put your mind to it and your heart into it. I simply could not ask for anything better.

By the time Grade 8 was over, things changed a little. We kind of lost touch with Dave; Doug and I were hanging out with this other guy, Geoff.

Geoff was this huge kid with long, greasy hair. By huge I mean he was a little taller than us and he outweighed us by at least a hundred pounds. He was one of the kids that liked the Metallica air band we had done and we welcomed him into our little circle. Geoff shared our love of Heavy Metal and was more of an outcast that us, mostly due to his weight, so he fit right in.

Summer came and went and I didn't see to much of my friends because my summers were spent up at the lake with my folks. This was a time of swimming, biking, pouring huge amounts of quarters into arcade games, and making out with girls. I also spent days upon days listening to Metallica, Slayer and other new bands I had discovered (thanks, again, to Rob who made me a few tapes before I left for the lake) such as Celtic Frost and Venom.

I was pretty excited to get the summer over with as I was starting high school in the fall and had been accepted into Canterbury's visual arts program. This, of course, turned out to be a little daunting as I tried to adopt, at the behest of my parents, a "clean" image for school; jeans without tears, dress shirts, Reebok running shoes ... I felt so wrong as this wasn't really me. Don't get me wrong, I was enjoying my art classes, but I felt I was wearing someone else's skin for the day.

I'd come home, shed my school clothes and put on my regular garments (jeans with rips in the knees and ass, metal t-shirts, ratty basketball shoes,) hole myself up in my bedroom and dream up album covers, lyrics, and possible stage shows. This was my sanctuary; my one place of relative peace where I could be me.

At this time my parents were happy I had made it into Canterbury, and were very happy that I was trying to "look like a normal person" but they were confused as to why I would change when I got home. I spent a lot of time arguing with them about my clothes, my music, my art - which had changed from being Robert Bateman-esque wildlife scenes to dark images of death and gore. They wanted to know, constantly, why I would rather spend my time by myself in my room than hang out with them.

I tried to explain to them that sitting in front of the TV watching syndicated reruns was not what I considered fun or a productive use of my time. I'd rather be listening to music, painting, drawing, and writing song lyrics for the band; even though at this point there was not much more to the band other than the name. They just didn't seem to get it and we all were at our wits end trying to make each other see the opposite point of view.

During this time, I started looking for other things to do with my time. Something that was new, that would really take me away from the world my parents were trying to get me to live in...

... when Doug's parents bought him a new guitar.

Doug called me over to his place in the late fall to show me his new possession: a white Strat copy. To our fourteen year old eyes, it was the coolest fucking instrument on the planet; shiny, nary a scratch or ding, and it had a motherfucking whammy bar! Doug noodled around on it for a bit showing me some stuff he'd been practicing, then he asked if I wanted a go.

I said sure, and took the guitar from him. Holding it with kid gloves, I attempted to reproduce one of the tunes Doug had been farting around with - a simple, three chord ditty titled "Scream Until You Like it" by W.A.S.P. I hammered away, uncoordinated as hell but, damn it, I tried. I'm sure it sounded like shit, but Doug didn't make fun of my failed attempt at playing. Instead he made a comment about how practice makes perfect and then dropped a bomb on me.

"You want that shitty old guitar I have? I mean, I'll never use it again."

I was floored. Once I saw that he was serious, I accepted. Sure, the guitar was crap (and missing strings which I thought, at that time, was the end of the world and would probably cost more than I could ever glean from my folks to replace) but I happily took it - even, at one point, offering money for it. Doug laughed and said no. It wasn't worth anything to him anymore. It was now mine.

From that point on, I had that "something new" I was looking for. I sat in my bedroom for hours at a time banging away at the three remaining strings trying to perfect "Scream Until You Like It" and "Smoke On The Water". I didn't even know how to tune the fucking thing but I didn't care.

Once Geoff had informed me that strings cost practically nothing I bummed ten bucks off my Dad and Geoff took me downtown to Steve's Music. There I purchased a set of plain 'ol Dean Markley electrics and a handful of Steve's brand picks (which I still love and use to this day). Geoff even took a guitar off the wall and showed me how to tune. I spent the better part of the night at home, at my drafting table in the basement replacing and tuning the strings. It was a frustrating experience (I still hate changing strings) but eventually I had a fully strung, and somewhat tuned, guitar.

I played whenever I could and played whatever I could. I was pretty horrible. I could tell by the looks on peoples faces at Canterbury whenever I'd haul that piece of crap to school. I'd sit in front of my locker, put my Walkman headphones on and attempt to play along with "Master Of Puppets" or "Hell Awaits" or ... anything.

No lessons.

No "real" practicing.

No idea what I was doing...

... other than having fun.

One time in shop class I made a guitar case. The finished product looked like a door with a handle on the side, but my guitar fit and it made me happy so fuck it. I brought the finished case up to art class with me the next day to show it off to my art teacher. He was impressed and said: "I didn't know you were talented at music!"

A girl in the class piped up and said: "He's not." (Strangely enough, I ended up marrying that same girl - oh how her thoughts on my musical talent changed over the years.)

I kept at it; working on power chords and other little things Doug and Geoff showed me. The old guitar cliche was true with me; I played until my blisters broke and the calluses formed.

That Christmas, I got a 20 watt amp from my folks. Now I had volume and distortion (as long as I played using headphones when the P and M were home). Now I had more drive to learn and form a band. I wanted to get The Unholy Revelations going again. Geoff said he played bass and Doug was still showing a interest in playing music... all we were lacking was a drummer as Dave had pretty much dropped off the radar. Band or no band, I kept trying to learn how to play with the hope of getting something going, someday.

Yet again, all of a sudden two things happened that changed everything:

I got a copy of the Master Of Puppets tablature book.

Doug informed us that he had given up guitar and was taking up the drums.

To be continued...

Between my wife, two members of The Unavowed (my band), and myself charging through a few rock autobiographies and the recent fun the band has been having getting ready for the two big shows at the end of May, I recently started thinking about my musical past.

Since there are no sordid stories of hardcore drug abuse or womanizing in the bands I've been in, I thought I'd write down a few entries about my first, nervous steps into making music.

Iron Maiden was not only my first foray into a world of music not dictated my my parents, they were also the primary reason I wanted to pick up an instrument and be in some kind of band. I have memories of being eleven or twelve years old and setting up garbage cans and pots in the basement. This was my drum set. I'd sit down there and pound the fuck out of that "kit" howling along; singing guitar parts and screaming lyrics I had written down on scraps of paper. My brother would sit there and say shit like "You didn't write that!" and my folks responded with a near hatred of the noise I was making.

Whatever. Fuck it. It was fun.

A little bit later I constructed a guitar out of scraps of wood, nails and strings and would spend time jumping around to Maiden's Killers or Piece Of Mind pretending I was on a stage somewhere, out there.

There was no way I would ask my parents for an actual instrument. At this point it was all I could do to summon the courage to ask them for another Iron Maiden tape. All this would change in my final year of middle school.

By this time I had found a few other bands I was into and I was hanging around a bunch of guys who shared the same appreciation for heavy music as I did. Sure, they lived in the projects, but I didn't give a fuck. We'd all hang around blasting Maiden and Ozzy and generally being ignored by the rest of the kids which was fine by us. I also happened to live across the street from a guy named Rob who was the quintessential Metal Head. Rob was a few years older than me and there was a constant stream of cool ass music blaring from his bedroom window. When he left the house he was decked out from head to toe in denim, leather, and spikes; his big mop of curly, brown hair blowing in the breeze. Rob had also dubbed me a few tapes of bands he thought I may like: Omen, Onslaught, a slew of Iron Maiden B side imports, Ozzy, and Mercyful Fate. To top it off he hung around with the guys from a local band called Annihilator, and had given me a copy of their "Welcome To Your Death" demo.

Near the end of the school year, grade 8, the teachers announced that there would be a talent show. Three of us decided that we would form a band and write a Metal tune to play. It started with me bugging my buddy Dave to play guitar while I played his drum set. Then we realized that I couldn't play drums for shit so Dave gave me use of his guitar while he played drums. Turns out I couldn't play guitar for shit either. So we brought in my best friend, Doug, to play guitar and I would "sing".

Doug had this shitty, Sears guitar and he could play a few basic things. Dave took one look at the guitar and told Doug to use his, a kick ass, black Washburn. We took a few days and wrote a song called "Twilight Zone" mostly because one of the things Doug could play was the Twilight Zone theme (the only other things he could play was "Smoke On The Water" on one string and some weird finger picked thing that ended up being the middle of "Twilight Zone"). Dave showed him how to play power chords, Doug came up with a simple riff, I scribbled some lyrics, and the song was born. By this time another buddy, Eric, was hanging out with us during these rehearsals and we recorded "Twilight Zone" on a ghetto blaster with Eric adding a bass line played on a keyboard.

I no longer have a copy and wish I still did.

We were pretty happy with what we had so Doug christened us The Unholy Revelations and we signed up for the talent show.

Of course, we had no way to actually play. Our only amp was this mini, 10 watt thing Doug had. It's brand name was "The Gas Can" because it was in the shape of a plastic gas can, so we decided to to an air band just for the audition. Eric chose a tune by a band I had yet to hear of: Metallica.

I hadn't even heard of the band, let alone the song, and there I was; up in front of five teachers trying to fake playing guitar while Eric ran around like a madman lip syncing to this loud, noisy mess called "Seek and Destroy".

(Side note: Eric took up vocals for the air band because he knew the song. I used Doug's piece of crap guitar, which, as it turns out, would be my shitty guitar in a couple of years. Doug used Dave's guitar and Dave used the school drum kit.)

I'm pretty sure the teachers HATED the music, but they let us in anyway... as long as we chose a song that was under five minutes in length.

By now I was all over this new band. I got Dave to make me a tape of Master Of Puppets (newly released) and I went home, holed myself up in my bedroom and introduced myself to Metallica. They blew me away to say the least.

When I got home from school one afternoon, I went across the street and saw Rob. He asked what was new and I told him I was in this band with my friends and asked if he would listen to our song. He took my tape, put it on, and blasted it. When the tune ended he said that it was pretty basic stuff, but considering that we were all twelve/thirteen or so, it wasn't too fucking bad. When I informed him that we were maybe going to play the song for a the school talent show he told me to go for it and "scare the shit out of the other kids!" I mentioned that the guys in the band had introduced me to Metallica. Rob smiled and said: "Heh, I was wondering when you'd find out about them." He sent me on my way with a new tape ("Hell Awaits" by another band I had never heard of called Slayer) and had also given me loan of a huge studded wristband and a bullet belt specifically for the talent show.

Between the makeshift band I was in, these new bands blaring in my ears, and the bullet belt wrapped around my waist, I decided that I wanted to play music. Loud, obnoxious music. At that point I *did not* want to do an air band for the talent show. I wanted to do the song we had all written and I bugged the piss out of the rest of the guys to make sure this happened.

We did try to do this but a couple of things happened. First off, in the school music room Doug was using the stereo as a guitar amp and Dave was using the drum kit. We did manage to get through "Twilight Zone" once simply because a few girls were there and were badgering us to play this tune we had written (I don't think they really believed we had written anything). We got through almost the entire song when the music teacher walked in and freaked on us for using the school stereo as a guitar amp. That was the end of that.

The other thing that stopped us was the fact that Doug had even more stage fright than I had at that time. I was nervous as fuck; stumbling through my immature lyrics hardly making eye contact with anyone, but Doug played his guitar almost trying to find a way to back into one of the isolation rooms. He looked visibly relieved when the teachers informed us that there was no way amp the guitar.

We had to do the air band after all. Whatever.

Eric, Dave, and Doug chose Metallica's "Whiplash" - partly because it was under the five minute mark that we were given and partly because the word fuck is used twice, but sung so fast that the teachers would, most likely, not pick up on it.

We were third up following a girl playing piano, and another bunch of girls doing a Beatles air band (which was actually pretty good). After the female Beatles left the stage and the curtain closed we sauntered on stage decked out in studs and spikes and tight denim. I was wearing a shirt I had made especially for the occasion: I had painted the entire front with a scene of Hell with Death holding court on a fiery mountain (shut up, I was 12 or 13 at the time and it was fucking cool!). The student MC, who's name eludes me at the moment, came out and announced that next up was "The Unholy Revelations!!!!!". The curtain opened. Mr. Tracy, the shop teacher, hit play and the shit hit the fan.

We went fucking apeshit. I was new to this type of Heavy Metal so I just ran around and jumped in the air like an idiot. Doug and Dave were in full headbanging mode, causing a good portion of the student body to laugh their asses off. Eric was a madman; holding the fake mic in one hand and punching the air with the other. At one point, when the end of the first chorus hit, he screamed "WHIPLASH!!!" and jumped off the stage and nearly steamrolled the first couple of rows of kids.

It was awesome.

The song is only about four minutes long, but it went by in what seemed like only a few seconds. I was having the time of my life. We may not have been able to play the actual song we had written but that didn't matter. I was hooked.

After the talent show we got swarmed by a few kids who thought we were kick ass. A couple wanted a tape of our actual song (I don't remember if we ever gave it to them). There were others who made fun of us. We didn't give two shits. We were all standing around the tree we always hung out by, each one of us wired to the gills with excitement. We also caught crap from one teacher who was a super-duper, God fearing weirdo because we had performed "evil, noisy music". (Turns out she had also given crap to the girls who did the Beatles air band for the exact same reason. A friend of mine was sitting next to her and told me that she had her fingers in her ears for both performances).

What a day it was. We ended up going back to Dave's place for a bit and farting around on the instruments. I was one hundred percent positive at that point that I would play in a band and make awesome music.

This ended up happening, even though things changed a little over the next couple of years. By the time Metallica hit up the Ottawa Civic Center in 1989 on the ... And Justice For All tour, I was in grade 10, and our band consisted of Doug (who had switched from guitar to drums - I got my first guitar from him) and Geoff (a huge kid who played bass), I was playing guitar and singing, and we had changed our name from The Unholy Revelations to Die-Oxide.

The only thing that sucked was that we were jamming in my parents basement...

To be continued...