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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...