Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal

by Jon Wiederhorn

  DAVE McCLAIN: If Robb didn’t perform, the crowd definitely would have rioted. He really saved the day. So we’re getting ready to go, and I go outside to take a piss. Robb’s lying there looking like he’s half dead. His fucking shirt’s off and the word “METAL” is carved into his chest. There’s a knife out and he’s bleeding. We were like, “Dude, what’s up? We’re here for you. We’re fucking proud of you, you got up there and saved the day.”

  ROBB FLYNN: Here’s what happened. I called my dad, thrilled about this thing I had done. He literally said, “Oh, cool. I gotta go to bed right now.” And he hung up. I was drunk, but I was trying to keep it together, and that was my way of dealing with the lack of support of my father.

  After some bands have a few albums under their belts, they calm down and curtail their self-destructive ways. Not Machine Head. It wasn’t until the members started having families that they cut back on the decadence and debauchery.

  ADAM DUCE: There are giant blocks of time—like years—that I just don’t remember. During our first year and a half of touring for [1994’s] Burn my Eyes, I was so drunk that when we toured the same places for The More Things Change, I didn’t remember any of the venues.

  ROBB FLYNN: Adam and I were drinking too much at that point, but [guitarist] Logan [Mader] had gone into raging drug mode. He was doing booze, weed, Valium, Percocets [a prescription narcotic that combines Tylenol with oxycodone], Ecstasy, and coke. By the end of that tour cycle, we’d go onstage and he’d be playing the wrong riffs and we’d be arguing with him onstage. In our last conversation, he was convinced the government had placed robot cats on the fence outside his window, and they had fiber-optic eyes that broadcast his every move back to the CIA.

  LOGAN MADER (ex–Machine Head, ex-Soulfly; Dirty Icon Productions): Clearly, we were all out of control drinking and taking drugs all the time. I don’t think I was any worse than any of the other guys, but it became clear that I couldn’t keep doing that, so I left the band. And yes, I probably said something about robot cats with camera eyes, but I must have been joking. I wasn’t crazy.

  ADAM DUCE: I did meth for a couple years, but I couldn’t handle the fucking painful comedown. I eventually came to the conclusion that the only way to never come down again is to not go up. So I just quit and went back to mostly drinking.

  ROBB FLYNN: [1999’s] Burning Red was the most drugs I had ever done during a record session or a tour. I was gacked out of my brain on coke, and boozed out every night. The night before I ended all coke use, eight people had an eight ball each, and we went through seven and a half of them in a thirty-six hour period. It was like Boogie Nights.

  DAVE McCLAIN: At two o’clock in the afternoon, they were sitting around the pool buck-ass naked and then Robb’s gacked out of his mind, and he has to get on the phone with our label to ask for tour support.

  ROBB FLYNN: I can’t even focus on the numbers and I was on the phone exploding in a rage to get another $50,000. And I fuckin’ got it.

  Though they shared the same thrash influences, Hatebreed’s music wasn’t as complex as Machine Head’s, which is probably a good thing since, for a number of years, Jasta and his bandmates started drinking 40s at 11 a.m. and kept going until they passed out. Hatebreed wasn’t the tightest band on the planet. But no matter how hammered they were in writing sessions, onstage, or after a gig, the band delivered surging, savage riffs and gut-roaring vocals with the fortitude and ferocity of frontline soldiers storming enemy lines. In many ways, Hatebreed was battling to survive. Even when their albums sold, even when they landed high-profile tours, their demons threatened to outrun them, and poor business decisions kept the group on the verge of collapse. Since they knew they weren’t going to get rich, they settled for getting shit-faced, touring the globe, and coming home with outrageous stories and a few war wounds.

  JAMEY JASTA: Victory Records signed us and put out Satisfaction Is the Death of Desire in 2007. We were on fire. We sold a hundred thousand records and we thought that was insane, but it didn’t stop. We went on to sell two hundred thousand copies—and didn’t see a penny.

  FRANKIE PALMERI (Emmure): Satisfaction Is the Death of Desire is the greatest hardcore album ever. So many bands use that as the blueprint of what they’re going to sound like, even today.

  JAMEY JASTA: There’s a reason we toured that album for four years. We were broke. We were worse than broke. I was young when I signed both a bad record deal and a terrible publishing deal. There was a point where we had a merch bill that was over $30,000. We had so many vehicles breaking down and practice rooms we didn’t pay, and we used merch money for gas. There was a lot of borrowing from one empty pot to fill another. I used to start drinking at noon, then go to the club and sell dime bags of weed out front before the show. Then at the wrong times, I’d fight someone and we’d get banned from a club. We got a reputation for being this out-of-control band. When we did Warped Tour ’98 we were thrown off multiple times. I have memories of [ex-guitarist] Lou “Boulder” Richards riding around naked on a bike. We were sharing a bus with Carey Hart and these [other] big-time motocross riders, and those guys were big drinkers, too. [Warped Tour founder] Kevin Lyman wound up kicking us off the bus with the motocross guys. But he said, “Look, get to Jacksonville, Florida, and you can stay on the tour.” He never expected us to make it there. So we took Greyhound, split the gear up in other people’s vans, and when we showed up he was like, “How the hell did you get here?”

  LOU “BOULDER” RICHARDS (1970–2006) (ex-Hatebreed): People assume we are tough guys or something. Put it this way: we are only tough when we absolutely have to be, and you don’t want to see that side of us. Musically we bury any band out there. There isn’t any band as heavy as us, not to dis any other bands. I think we are definitely the heaviest and most brutal.

  JAMEY JASTA: We had some great times with Lou. But he was battling depression and drugs. It just got to the point where there was always some new major issue with him. He was just one of those guys who always had—not bad luck—but if it wasn’t one thing it was another. He had a very hard upbringing; we all did. We just chose to do different things about it. . . . We were ready to shoot the “I Will Be Heard” video [for 2002’s Perseverance]. This was the biggest moment in the band’s career, and Lou told us, “I can’t do this. I’m quitting the band.” We were like, “Dude, you’ve gotta be in the video.” But Lou said, “No, this is my last show and I’m quitting.” Then he started telling people that we kicked him out. We have him on film telling people it’s his last show. So when we had Frank [Novinec] join the band, we don’t know what Lou was thinking. We knew that he had a drug problem. But the guy’s dead. He can’t speak for himself. With him, I just try to remember the fun times. Because there were so many good times, and before the drugs and depression got really bad there was a great guy there.

  Sully Erna didn’t look like a biker or a badass when he was sporting long, curly hair and drumming for Boston alt-metal band Strip Mind and old-school thrash band Meliah Rage. Like others before him, including his heroes in Alice in Chains and Pantera, he was paying his dues, scrambling from band to band in order to inch his way up in the heavy metal hierarchy and escape a life of street brawling and a landscape of urban decay. He never expected that his calling wasn’t as a drummer but as the front man of what would become one of the best-selling metal groups of the aughts.

  SULLY ERNA: I grew up in a very violent neighborhood in Lawrence, Massachusetts. There were cop chases, drugs, and gang fights. You could hear gunshots at night, and I got in my fair share of trouble. I was arrested a couple times for fighting or being drunk in public. I never went to prison, but I was going nowhere, so I moved away from that lifestyle and focused on Godsmack.

  TONY ROMBOLA (Godsmack): It started out small. We’d play Boston and the surrounding towns, but nothing more. Then, bang, we got lucky. [Radio station] WAAF started playing our song “Keep Away.” Over the next six months it got to where our gigs were sold out a
nd we were selling a ton of CDs completely on our own. Newbury Comics [record store chain] picked it up and they were selling, like, a thousand a week. That’s when the labels started calling us.

  By the time Tool started working on their second full album, Ænima, which came out in 1996, the members could barely stand each other. Too many days touring together without a significant break had exacerbated their differences. They fought constantly in the studio, and despite their efforts to keep the band together, they seemed to constantly be at an impasse. The creative tension of the period helped the band sound tightly wound and claustrophobic even when playing meandering rhythms, but it took its toll on the members’ psyches. Before the album was completed, original bassist Paul D’Amour was out of the band.

  DANNY CAREY: When we were writing for Ænima, Paul was frustrated about not playing enough guitar. He really wanted to be a guitar player and get another bass player in the band. We said, “We have a guitarist and there’s no way we’re getting another asshole in this band to have to deal with.”

  MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN: We spent a lot of time chasing our tails, and things weren’t happening with Paul. Outside of that space, it was great: we’re friends, we talk. But in there it wasn’t working and we had to part ways and let him do his own thing. I think he was caught up in that indie guilt thing. The band was getting bigger than he was comfortable with and he was so much the “anti” guy that he wasn’t allowing himself to enjoy the success. To save face we told everybody that he quit, but he didn’t. He was let go.

  PAUL D’AMOUR (Tool): It was a bad marriage. Any three of us would be talking shit about the one that wasn’t there. It went all around. Maynard and I used to be roommates. We were like two peas in a pod for a while, but the demise came from that last year of writing from Ænima. It took us a year to put together three songs. There was zero communication. Everybody blamed everybody else for why it was dysfunctional. We had typical sophomore album jitters, and I just couldn’t do it.

  ADAM JONES: [Bassist] Justin Chancellor [ex-Peach] was the missing link for Tool, completely. We tried out other guys that were really great and maybe even technically better, but Justin had the writing, he had the ideas, he was really artistic, he was great to get along with. So it was kind of like the new, improved Tool, and the other records were like Coke Classic.

  JUSTIN CHANCELLOR (ex-Peach, Tool): When they put out Opiate, my brother and I took a trip to New York to see them play at CBGBs because we liked it so much. And because we knew Matt Marshall, who signed them, we were introduced to the band and became friends. In 1995 I did a gig in London with my old band Peach, and we were loading our amps out of the van back into the singer’s flat, and my flatmate called me at the house and said I had to call Adam in America. I did, and he said Paul left the band and they wanted me to try out. They sent me a demo of “Pushit,” “Ænima,” and “Eulogy,” which were all in their infant stages, and had me learn them for the audition. Those were the first things we finished up after I joined and from then on it was on to new material, which was incredibly challenging and intimidating.

  DANNY CAREY: Working Justin into the band made a huge difference. Once we had a different personality, everything completely changed. The whole dynamic, the chemistry that goes down in the room when we write—everything. There were even more possibilities because Justin’s such a great musician and has so many vibrant ideas coming out of his space. It pushed us in a whole new way.

  MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN: The first couple of records for me were the primal scream. As a lyricist and performer, the idea was to work out some issues and then move the fuck on. So here you are in your third year of telling the same story over and over again, which was a negative story to begin with, and impacted your life in a negative way. And having to retell it every night is not so healthy. So right around the time of Ænima I was trying to figure out a way to transmute that stuff and let it go—finding different paths to disperse that negativity. I did a lot of esoteric, spiritual, and religious research. I read a lot of mathematical and psychological books and did a lot of introspection. That stuff helped take the record in a more esoteric, spiritual direction.

  DANNY CAREY: We all were doing psychedelics during that era—not that we hadn’t for our whole lives. We were able to dig a little deeper and expose those parts of our personalities and psyches and be a little bit more bold about it and more revealing. That’s where the music automatically went.

  JUSTIN CHANCELLOR: I remember lots of makeup. I think Maynard was getting into cross-dressing at the time. It was pretty crazy for me because all of that was a brand new thing. I’d never been in a big band or played these giant venues. I’d just played in the toilets in England.

  MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN: I painted myself blue for about three years. It was a lot of work, but it was something to take you outside of yourself. That’s part of what Ænima was to me—just to put on some of the craziest, eyesore costumes I’ve ever worn in my life, and it kind of frees you up. I’m a bit of a reserved, quiet person and it’s very difficult for me to open up, and to open up onstage in front of that many people, you kind of need a costume. Being painted up like that helped, but eventually you’re onstage trying to do your thing and your pores are clogged with paint. Your skin can’t breathe, and after a while it takes its toll. I’ll still go through my closet and find pieces of clothes or shoes covered in blue paint. We toured too much and I started to realize that I’ve got this responsibility the other guys don’t have. You’ve got these two little flaps of skin in your throat that are very volatile and you have to take care of them. As time goes on this creates a weird kind of tension that starts to slip out. You’re like the pregnant girl who can’t go into the smoky pub. Everyone else wants to go in, and you’re like, “No, I really can’t,” and they go, “Oh, right, you can’t go in there. Okay, well we’ll find someplace that’s not as fun so the pregnant woman can hang out with us.”

  During the years Tool spent touring for Ænima, Keenan had just a small taste of what all nine guys in Slipknot experienced on a nightly basis—masks, coveralls, paint, sweating to death in sweltering clubs and at radio station summer festivals. Like Tool, Slipknot was on a never-ending quest to find new ways to present their art. But while Tool was dark and cryptic but ultimately life-affirming, Slipknot thrived on filth and degradation, and excelled in a landscape of chaos, pain, and destruction. To some, it was a sign of how debased mainstream entertainment could be and how low the public was willing to stoop. For others, the music was a reflection of how ugly the world itself was and a reaction against those who seek to censor artistic expression. Regardless, Slipknot was real, frightening—and almost immediately popular.

  PAUL GRAY: We had talked to Roadrunner Records in the past and sent them all kinds of demos with Andy [Colsefni] singing. They really liked the music, but they were hesitant. Then we did “Spit It Out” with Corey [Taylor] singing and it started getting spins in Des Moines and record people started noticing. We were working with Sophia John at the time, who worked at a radio station, and one day she asked us, “If you could have anybody hear you, who would it be?” We said, “Ross Robinson.” It just so happened that she was on the phone one day talking to John Reese, [who birthed the Warped Tour and Rockstar Energy Mayhem], and, at the time, John managed Ross. So Ross heard the demo and flew out to see us. He said he would produce the album without a record label. But by that time, we had an offer on the table from Sony. They came out to Vegas to see us do a show at the Eden Festival, but when we got home the fucking deal was null and void. One of the [artist development] guys from the label named Vince Bannon had seen us and he said, “If this is the future of fucking music, I don’t want no part of it.” So that was it. We went with Ross and he signed a deal with Roadrunner for the record. I think Vince Bannon missed out on that one.

  CHRIS FEHN (Slipknot): I knew Slipknot from when I played in the band Shed, and I had heard they had just signed a record deal and I thought, “Here’s my chance to get
the fuck out of Iowa.” So I went up to Shawn [Crahan] at a show and said, “Hey man, if you need a roadie or a drum tech I’m ready to go.” The next week he called and said, “Do you still want to be a drum tech?” I said, “Hell yeah.” He went, “Well, how about trying out for the band instead?” I started rehearsals with them the next day. My first show with the band, I shoved everything off the bar, kicked everyone’s drinks over, and knocked a huge espresso machine off the counter and it exploded like a bomb. The cops were trying to arrest me afterwards. I was trying so hard to show the band I was worthy.

  JOEY JORDISON: We worked on the first album with Ross Robinson and he’s the most intense person I’ve ever met in my life besides the nine of us. We completely gelled. We were out for blood and Ross saw that in us. I would track my drums and we would all be headbanging, throwing our headphones off, punching the fucking walls. He would take plants and throw them at me while I was playing and I’d have to duck them, then they’d smash against the wall. He knocked the guitars out of people’s hands and he made Chris Fehn drink two gallons of water to where he was totally bloated and on the verge of throwing up just to get a miked mallet sound out of his stomach.

  ROSS ROBINSON: The most hungry record [was that] first Slipknot record: pure hunger. Clown had kids already, he’s just barely surviving, these other dudes had no money, they came out here before the record deal was even done. We started rehearsing, they were sleeping on the floor in my house. Nothing got in the way. If anybody drank or did any kind of drug, they were kicked out of the band. They were absolutely militant and full on. It was heaven on earth for me. Joey would play and his hands were completely blistered and bleeding and shaking. They deserve everything they have; I don’t care what anybody says.