Ministry

by Jourgensen, Al

  Everyone left El Paso on December 19 because they all wanted to be back home in case the Mayans were right and the world was about to come to an end. December 21, 2012 was the day the Mayan calendar ended, and a lot of conspiracy crazies thought that was a sign of the apocalypse. Of course, the fucking Mayans turned out to be posers. But all the guys were really positive when they left. That said, Mikey wasn’t too psyched to be leaving. We had been having a great time, but that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to leave. He had agreed to play a show on December 22 at the Rail Club in Dallas with Rigor Mortis to celebrate the fiftieth birthday of their singer, Bruce Corbitt, but Mikey didn’t want to do it. Christmas was coming, and he wanted to be home with his wife, Jenny, and two kids, Gianna and Ryder. He told me he didn’t want to play the show, but Bruce was turning his life around and making music again. His band Warbeast was happening, and he had just gotten married. Mikey wanted to be there for him. That’s just the way Mikey was—faithful to the end. Right before he left my house he said, “I dunno, Al. I have a bad feeling about this show.” And then he left for Dallas.

  I have to admit I breathed a little sigh of relief when I woke up the morning of Doomsday and everything was still intact. I spent the day sitting on the couch and lamented the continued delay of the 2013 hockey season. I watched Current TV, drank beer, and listened on headphones to what we had recorded with Ministry. I blasted it so loud that Angie could hear it from down the hall. As the saying goes, if it’s too loud, you’re too old. I stayed up late like I usually do and then passed out.

  On the night of December 22 I was asleep in my living room, which I call my man cave. Angie once put a sign on the door that she bought that listed “man cave rules.” They included shit like, “beer available here,” “no chick flicks,” “belching encouraged,” and “sports allowed at all times.” Angie got furious at me one night when I was drunk and took the “silverware eating optional” rule too literally. I chewed off and swallowed two prongs of a plastic fork right in front of her to show her I had mastered the final man cave mandate. Not a smart thing to do for a guy with ulcers, but what the fuck? Sometimes at night or when I want to be left alone I lock the sliding door of the man cave, turn off my cell phone, and crash on the couch. That’s where I was when I awoke to a steady banging on the door.

  It was shortly after midnight on December 23. My first reaction was that the compound was being raided again, like it had been in Austin. I got up and unlocked the door, and my engineer, Sammy, was standing there with this pale, ashen look on his face. He said, “Dude, you better sit down, man.” I figured something had happened in the studio. Maybe we had blown out a power amp or had some kind of power surge and our mixing desk was on the fritz and the studio would be down for a week. That was, like, the worst thing I could think of. I said, “No, I don’t want to sit down. I don’t need to sit down. Just tell me what happened!” And he said, “No, no, no. Dude, you need to sit down.” I said, “Shut the fuck up, Sammy. Just tell me what’s wrong.” And he said, “Mikey’s dead.”

  I crumpled to the floor. He was right. I should have sat down. I felt like someone had just punched me as hard as they could in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t process it. When I got my breath back I was in complete denial. I said, “This is bullshit. Someone’s gotta be playing a joke on us.” He was just with us three days ago, and he seemed fine. Not only was he healthy, he was as happy as I’d ever seen him. He was so proud of what we had done, and he was looking forward to doing more Buck Satan. We were going to do a blues album and who knows what else. He told me that he and his wife felt blessed. He had a job giving clinics for Gibson, and they gave him health insurance and time off to do Ministry. His wife was in real estate, and she had just sold a couple properties. He was enjoying his kids. How could he be dead? It was absolutely surreal because it didn’t make any sense. I’ve never seen that guy so positive as when he left here. He was positive about everything.

  The first details came from Casey Orr, who was an original member of Rigor Mortis and was on stage with Mikey when he died. Rigor Mortis were tearing it up. The band formed in their teens and had recently reunited, so their childhood friends were there, their families were there, and the show was rocking. There were strobe lights, stage smoke, and they had the crowd in the palm of their hands. The band was playing songs from their 1988 self-titled album and their 1991 disc Rigor Mortis Vs. the Earth as well as their new album, Slave to the Grave, which they had just finished recording here at 13th Planet just before the Ministry tour rehearsals. Mikey was rocking out on stage, Bruce was singing his heart out, and Casey was rallying the crowd. Then they bust into their seventh song of the night, “Bloodbath,” which is from their new album, and without warning, Mikey collapsed from a massive heart attack. He was rushed to Harris Methodist Hospital, but Casey said he was probably gone before he got there. The coroner’s report said he died of hardened arteries and hypertension; they declared it a “natural death.” That’s really weird to me: What’s natural about a forty-seven-year-old guy dying on stage?

  When I realized Mikey was really gone, I went to pieces. I started drinking vodka, whisky, and wine. I was freaked out and couldn’t deal. Angie, Sammy, and I flew to Dallas for the funeral. My daughter, Adrienne, flew in from Austin to meet us there, and she and I got to spend some quality time together, which was good. But in order to prepare myself for the whole funeral process I had to get completely shitfaced the entire week before we headed out. As a result I started shitting blood again, which wasn’t so good. Angie put me back on a strict health regimen. She has my red wine locked in a cabinet, and I’m only allowed two glasses a day, plus all the light beer I can drink. She convinced me to start eating healthier, which my stomach thanked her for. For at least a month after Mikey died my stomach felt okay. It was my heart that felt like someone took a giant bite out of it.

  After my grandmother died I swore I would never attend another funeral, which is why I waited in the car during Jeff Ward’s viewing. But I had to go to Mikey’s private service; there was just no way around it. So off we went to Dallas to attend the private funeral service the day before the public memorial. There was a day of viewing before they cremated him. When we got to the funeral home I refused to go to that room with the casket. I just couldn’t do it. I said some consoling words, talking to Mikey’s friends and family, especially his dad, Ralph. The poor man lost his wife the year before he lost his son. I wanted him to know how happy Mikey was and that he died in a really good space. I purposely stayed in the first couple rooms because I didn’t know where Mikey’s body was and I couldn’t bear to see him.

  I made it through by the skin of my screwed-in teeth, and at the end of the day we had to catch a plane back to El Paso. I wanted to say goodbye to Ralph and Jenny, but I couldn’t find them. Someone said, “Oh, they’re in that room” and pointed to a part of the building I hadn’t been in. I went in, and there was the casket. I got a quick glimpse of Mikey in a coffin wearing a suit. I felt dizzy and completely weirded out. I didn’t say goodbye to his wife or his dad because I had to scramble out of there as fast as I could. I just couldn’t deal. I’m gonna make sure that when I die there will not be an open casket. I want my funeral to be a huge party where people tell stories about me and talk about what a lunatic I was. I want it to be a joyous occasion as opposed to this somber, ghoulish representation. I don’t even understand why anyone would want an open casket. It doesn’t put closure on anything. It just displays a formaldehyded, made-up carcass—a slab of preserved meat wrapped in church clothes. It has nothing to do with the life this guy just led. And Mikey had an extraordinary life. I want to make sure he’s not forgotten and that his legacy is preserved with honor and integrity.

  When I think about it now, it’s kind of weird. Mikey finished up all this stuff at the last minute as if he knew something was going to happen. He made the final tweaks to the last Rigor Mortis album and even tracked
a record at his home studio of instrumental blues, jazz, and rock songs, one of which was called “Afterlife.”

  Mikey and I had been really close for twenty-eight years, so after I got back to El Paso his death really hit me. It was harder to take than anything I experienced since my grandma died. And Mikey left way too early. If the things he finished before he died were any indication, he had so much more stuff left in him…but maybe he didn’t; he just went out on a high note. As they say, ours is not to judge. And really, that’s how he wanted to die. Mikey lived to play onstage. He loved rocking out on guitar in front of a crowd, and that’s exactly how he went out. To be in such a great place in your life and then die like that—in a way, that’s awesome.

  It was really hard to be back in El Paso after Mikey died. I had good days and bad days. I’d remember experiences we shared, and I would laugh. I’d look at pictures of us hanging out and would smile. Then I’d remember when he wasn’t there, and I’d either get sad to the point of crying or so angry that I wanted to put my fist through a door. I kept expecting the phone to ring and he would be on the other end, telling me how he wanted to change a solo or rerecord a rhythm or just tell a funny story about something one of his kids had done.

  Maybe it was just too easy to write the songs for the album and God had to balance shit out by making the end so difficult and painful—to hear Mikey play every single day for the next three months I spent in the studio finishing the record was heartbreaking. At the same time it was kind of fulfilling because it was his last ever recording, and Sammy and I wanted to do him justice. I just wanted so badly for him to be a part of the process. I’d put the vocals on a track and want to play it for him every day, but I know he was up there listening and banging his head.

  I’m really proud of the record. It’s a fitting end to Ministry—the barbed-wire bow wrapped around this package full of thirty years of material.

  Afterword: The Last Gospel

  So what comes next? Who the fuck knows? My crystal ball seems to be broken. I do know this: Like I said in the beginning of the book, if you remember much about the nineties (or even the eighties, for that matter), you probably weren’t there. I know I sure wasn’t there for a lot of it. Some things I remember in absolute detail; others are a bit more vague. So I thank Jon Wiederhorn for his due diligence in piecing together eyewitness accounts that corroborate my drug-fueled recollections.

  I also thank all the interventionists for their insights, stories, and anecdotes! Most of all I thank my wife, Angie, who made me do this book. I guess she was sick of my drunken storytelling and forced me to write them down in hopes that (a) I’d stop repeating them and/or (b) I’d stop drinking. So far, that hasn’t worked, at least not the second part. Now I just get drunk and hand out the book—it’s actually easier that way.

  As far as my opinions in this book, I’ll gladly own them. If people don’t like them or disagree, I truly couldn’t care fucking less—go buy some other wanker’s book, then. Just keep buying my merch (it covers my bar tab).

  Well, that’s it, kiddies. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Sleep tight and don’t let the spiders bite. Enjoy the quiet. Now.

  – F I N I –

  Acknowledgments

  Al would like to thank the following:

  Angelina Jourgensen

  The Jourgensen family

  The Lukacin family

  Dr. Timothy Leary

  William Burroughs

  Samuel D’Ambruoso

  Mike and Jenny Scaccia

  Sin Quirin

  John Bechdel

  Paul Raven

  Tony Campos

  Tommy Victor

  Aaron Rossi

  Dave Donnelly

  Aaron Havill

  Jesse Sanchez

  The Escalente family

  Danny Wirtz

  The Chicago Blackhawks

  Michael Morris, esq.

  Stephen Moeller, esq.

  Michael Ciravolo

  and Schecter Guitar Research

  Kade Burt

  Betsy Dees

  Zach Passero

  Allan Amato

  Omar Mena

  Steffan Chirazzi

  Lemmy and Ozzy

  (Labradorables)

  Joey Jordison

  Tony Rancich

  Justin Leeah

  Billy Gibbons

  Rick Nielsen

  Gord Spencer

  Jochen Richert

  Gerald Wilkes

  Joerg Michal

  Holger Brandes

  Hector Saenz

  Michihiro Tanikawa

  Rick Delphi

  Konstanze Louden

  Dave Barnett

  The Sunset Marquis Hotel

  Tracie Parry

  Stan Vincent

  Eddy Garcia

  Hector Munoz

  Russ Fisch

  Marty Lopez

  Luc Van Acker

  Gibson Haynes

  Sasha Konietzko

  Phildo Owen

  Jello Biafra

  Heidi Ellen Robinson

  Fitzgerald

  Jon Finberg

  Jon Wiederhorn

  Jon Wiederhorn would like to thank the following:

  My parents, Sheldon and Nancy Wiederhorn, who have always been there for me and supported my quest to write about rock stars since, oh, the late 1800s; my wife, Elizabeth, for her endless love and patience; my son, Joshua, who hasn’t quite grasped this Ministry thing but continues to try; my daughter, Chloe, who asked me if I would write my next book about teddy bears; my sister and brother-in-law, Miriam and Hap Rust, who make family get-togethers intellectually rewarding; Al Jourgensen for changing his mind about hating me and giving me the chance to tell his fascinating story, and Angie Jourgensen for making sure the process was smoother and more enjoyable than I could have imagined.

  Also, thanks to my editor, Ben Schafer, for his unyielding belief in the subject and author; my agent, Jim Fitzgerald, for his dedication and salesmanship, my old friend and attorney, Matthew Oppenheim, for always having my back; my “Louder Than Hell” book editor, Denise Oswald, and cowriter, Katherine Turman, with whom I first navigated the magical world of book publishing; my magazine and web editors, Brandon Geist, Jeff Kitts, Brad Tolinski, Ben Shapiro, J. Edward Keyes, Jayson Greene, and Christopher Weingarten, for their continued belief in my writing; my college buddy Devin Gladstone, who first walked the Ministry path with me, and my dear friends: PF Dumanis for showing me the ways of pure industrial, Erin Amar for continuing to support the rock and helping me retain my quasi-sanity, Phil Raskin for heading up my Singapore fan club, Ken Micallef for hearing and sharing decades of gripes, and Jeff Perlah for attending countless shows with me that no one else wanted to see. If I have forgotten anyone maybe you weren’t important enough to mention.

  Discography

  Ministry

  1981“Cold Life” 12" (Wax Trax!)

  1983With Sympathy (Arista)

  1984“All Day” 12" (Wax Trax!)

  1984“Nature of Love” 12" (Wax Trax!)

  1985“(Every Day Is) Halloween” 12" (Wax Trax!)

  1986Twitch (Sire, Warner Bros.)

  1987Twelve Inch Singles (1981–1984) (Wax Trax!)

  1988The Land of Rape and Honey (Sire, Warner Bros.), Certified Gold by RIAA

  1989The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste (Sire, Warner Bros.), Certified Gold by RIAA

  1990In Case You Didn’t Feel Like Showing up (Live CD and VHS Video) (Sire, Warner Bros.)

  1992Psalm 69: The Way to Succeed and the Way to Suck Eggs (Warner Bros.), Certified Platinum by RIAA

  1993Box (compilation) Warner Bros.

  1996Filth Pig (Sire, Warner Bros.)

&
nbsp; 1999Dark Side of the Spoon (Sire, Warner Bros.)

  2000Tapes of Wrath (Home Video and DVD)

  2001Greatest Fits (Warner Bros)

  2002Spinctour (Live, Home Video and DVD) (Sanctuary/BMG)

  2003Animositisomina (Sanctuary/ BMG)

  2004Houses of the Molé (Sanctuary/BMG)

  2004Early Trax (compilation) (Rykodisc)

  2004Side Trax (compilation) (Rykodisc)

  2005Rantology (compilation) (Sanctuary/BMG)

  2006Rio Grande Blood (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2007Rio Grand Dub (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2007The Last Sucker (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2008Cover Up (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2009The Last Dubber (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2009Ados . . . Puta Madres (Live CD and DVD) (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2010Undercover (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2010MiXXXes of the Molé (13th Planet/Megaforce)

  2010Every Day Is Halloween: The Anthology (Cleopatra)

  2011The Very Best of Fixes and Remixes (Cleopatra)

  2012Relapse (13th Planet/AFM Soulfood)

  2013From Beer to Eternity (13th Planet/AFM Soulfood)

  Grammy Nominations

  1993Best Metal Performance “N.W.O.”

  2000Best Metal Performance “Bad Blood”

  2006Best Metal Performance “The Great Satan”

  2007Best Metal Performance “LiesLiesLies”