Towards Disastour Blog Vol. 5: Cape Fear and Loathing

The party in Richmond came to a slow end at around 5:30 in the morning, but once it started dying down strange people began showing up. One gentleman notably came in covered in sweat, visibly annihilated on drugs with a towel around his neck and a ketchup squeeze bottle full of booze. It seemed like just as all of the metal heads we had met during the night made their way home, more and more drug-addled lunatics began showing up to have a late night drug binge party in the attached bedroom that separated the living room with the only bathroom. At one point a girl, belligerent and haggard, emerged into the living room from the drug shack, took off her pants and underwear and pressed her naked ass on a gentleman who was sleeping on the futon in the living room while party goers laughed and took pictures in relative discomfort. We eventually gained control of the living room as though it were a game of RISK and eagerly turned down the deafening record player as I found a hot piece of floor between the TV and the coffee table to rest my troubled head. The users in the next room began getting aggravated and “pill sick”, as the hesitant sun began to rise. We also heard the group aggressivly turn on one of the individuals for doing needle drugs. I closed my eyes, put in my ear plugs and began focusing on sleep in hopes of getting a couple hours of floor rest before we needed to head back to the van we left at a parking lot that was to be ticketed and towed when our parking slip expired at 10am. I heard doors slamming, screaming and relentless conflict in the next room as we listened to the soundtrack of withdrawal, sorrow, and unbridled discomfort as the drugs began to wear off.

At around 6 in the morning I had the unmanageable need to urinate and had the ill-fated realization that the only way to the bathroom was through the gauntlet of savages that had regrettably ran out of drugs hours ago. I tiptoed to the door and overheard their conversation. They had become increasingly sick, angry and paranoid; particularly of the unknown Canadians who were subsided in the living room next to them. “Lets kick them the fuck out of here! Who the hell are they anyways?” I heard one of them say as I began running through my choices for urination. Do I pee in the sink, take my chances on the street and risk getting locked out, or do I brave the drug gauntlet? I put my hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath and opened the door. There were 5 people in there, a few of them curled up and visibly ill. Sweaty-towel-ketchup-man was pacing around the room and a woman was sitting on the end of the bed awkwardly awaiting relief from the after affects of drug use. When they saw me enter the room, I can only describe the look on their collective faces as sheer terror as I whizzed by to take a super loud early morning endurance piss with the door locked. I made my way back to the floor and got an hour of pained half-sleep before the alarm went off and we needed to trek back to the van by foot.

We were all annoyed, overtired and cranky as we made our way through the downtown core clinging to our personal belongings like a walk of shame after one of the most uncomfortable evenings in recent memory. However, our style while traveling is to make the best out of any situation and do our best to become positive and energized. We made our way to the ocean and gleefully splashed around in the waves, then headed to Wilmington, North Carolina, part of a region known as Cape Fear, and arrived nice and early to have a no-holds-barred BBQ in the parking lot and got our energy back up to full and got ready for our gig at Reggies.

It was the promoter’s birthday party and everyone was in good spirits. We played first and spent the rest of the night playing pool, sitting at the bar enjoying dollar beers while watching Happy Gilmore muted with subtitles and checking out the local bands. We stayed with Carlos from Salvacion and his girlfriend Erin and listened to great albums, drank beer and of course slept until 2 in the afternoon. Apparently they had just put up our friends in Cauldron when they played through there a few weeks ago. Carlos and Erin were gracious enough to let us stay the following night as well and we made them a nice healthy vegetarian stir fry and went to a party in town on our day off. So nice to make new friends and have a clean place to rest after such a wild and restless week.

Time for another swim,

Spencer “please don’t stab me, I just need to pee” LeVon

Towards Disastour Blog Vol. 4: Just a peek in Chesapeake

Boy, I sure hate being the designated driver while everyone indulges in booze and gets silly. There is not a more thankless job in this world than to be chauffeur for this wily group of 4 young men with hard-ons. When I am tasked with doing this, I tell the boys right at the beginning of the night: “I will drive us to where we gotta go, but you may as well start calling me Stephanie, I will tell you right now.” Stephanie is the name of my inner fat girl. Everyone has one, that snarky voice in the back of your head when everyone is hammered and having a great time except for you. I always imagine Stephanie looking like Chris Farley from the Gap Girls sketch on SNL.

“Can we go now? I’m bored.” “No, you can’t have sex with that girl, we came as a group we leave as a group.” And occasionally, just an incredulous “Really!?” are all things that can be heard by Stephanie as she passive-aggressively ruins everyone’s night like a serial arsonist of mirth. Did I mention that I also stink at driving? I am famous for absentmindedly spending most of the drive with the cruise control set to 10 under the limit, with only the most tenuous grasp of the wheel at 7 o’clock, cyclically drifting on and off the shoulder rumble strips. You know, those little grooves on the side of the road that make your tires rumble to wake you up just incase you decide to take an ill-advised nappy while on the way to your destination. “BUM-BUM-BUM-BUM” goes the rumble strip, followed by countless crass backseat remarks such as “Dude, you spend more time on the shoulder than a goddamned parrot.” I might have been angrier were it not completely accurate.

But it has been a while since we last spoke, so let’s take it back to where we left, shall we? We left NYC in a state of goofy blurry-eyed bliss and made our faithful voyage to Baltimore. We arrived nice and early and decided to go for a stroll through the streets down to the harbor. While nowhere close to the neighborhoods depicted in The Wire, the areas we were in seemed pretty rough around the edges with loudmouthed lunatics and bullet holes in a few of the storefront windows. Our gig was at a venue called the Side Bar. A cozy underground bar that has a capacity of less than 100. Before the gig started I went for a little walk by myself to clear my weary mind. I bought the local paper and chilled out on a stoop reading and relaxing on my lonesome. I read that Baltimore had 32 murders in the first week of the summer. Holy dog shit. They must really love our band in Baltimore because I found the word “Fatality” written about 80 times before I even got to the funnies. Either that or they are all just constantly murdering each other over there. I also passed by the strip club district. I was drawn to it because there was an almost tangible darkness that hung over the street of sadness. The other thing I liked about it was they had old-school strip club barkers standing in front of every club trying to pull in some business. I saw men in cowboy hats outside of each club sayin’ goofy shit to me like “Hey swinger, looking for a good time and cheap thrills? Girls girls girls, nude and nasty.” “No thanks sir, but I might be back.” As we drove past the same strip after the gig the entire street was blocked off with caution tape and 10 cop cars. I reckon there may have been a shooting shortly after I scurried back to the venue.

We were lucky enough to stay with Eytan’s friend DK whom he lived with during his stint in Israel. DK’s place is in the suburbs in a beautiful white house that was built in the 1800’s. The boys and I spent the next 2 nights there sleeping, eating good BBQ and doing the occasional phone interview. He also had a beautiful acoustic piano that I played and played and played.

Our next date was in Chesapeake, Virginia. This proved to be one of my favorite sets of the tour so far. I can always gauge how good a set is by how seamlessly and comfortably we can navigate through the set. The more relaxed we are on stage, the more engaging and adaptable we become and our set becomes more of a resonating meditation of music than anything else; a tantric expression of love and musical enjoyment. When I am at my best, it’s like I am on autopilot, acting completely on instincts and riding the set like a spirited surfer on a tsunami of sound.  This was the first show in a state where you are still allowed to smoke in bars. It was like going back in time to a stinky, slightly yellowed past. The smokers in the band took advantage of this onstage and lived out their Keith Richards fantasies.

Then it was off to Richmond, Virginia: home of many great metal bands such as Municipal Waste, Gwar and Lamb of God. We were scheduled to tape an appearance on a cooking show called Brutally Delicious with Bruce Moore. We called him in the afternoon to confirm, but it seemed he would have to cancel because he couldn’t get a hold of his camera crew to film the episode. We were defeated until Adam chimed in with: “wait a minute, aren’t we traveling with a fuckin’ camera man!?” So we headed down to Bruce’s house and our roadie extraordinaire Sean DeCory saved the day and manned his camera as Eytan gave a great interview while making some picturesque chicken breasts and hot peppers on the grill. Bruce Moore is a great guy, as well as an extremely interesting dude. Apparently he was a mastering engineer in NYC during the 90’s hip-hop boom before moving to a small town with his amazingly welcoming and polite family. He also published a few recipes from Eytan and I in his cookbook “For Those About to Cook” a few years back.

Richmond is a really sweet place. We played on the main nightclub strip and it really came to life after the sun went down; complete with live music spilling out onto the street like sonic contentment from the open doors of the surrounding clubs. We had a great set and hung around playing darts, drinking beer and enjoying the chaotic atmosphere of the crazed party animals slinking in and out of the bars on the strip. After the show we headed to someone’s apartment for some shut eye. When we got there we were surprised to find a rowdy house party in full swing with music uncomfortably loud on a jittery old record player, beer chugging and a whole lot of boisterous and noisy shenanigans. Although we were ready for a good night’s sleep, we submitted to go with the flow and get a little silly with the locals. I was in the party zone and was loud, making jokes and working the room. I remember at one point getting the entire room of partiers singing “I Feel Good” by James Brown as I pounded on a nearby electric guitar. But as the night got later and later, things got weirder and weirder and took a very surreal and dangerous turn.

To be continued…

Spencer “Call Me Stephanie” LeVon

As always please stay updated with our tour photos on our new Flickr page here

And check out the Fatality Backseat LevonCast (podcast) for hilarious stories from the road! Hosted by my brother Mason and I.

Towards Disastour Blog Vol. 3: Cheesesteak Chumps

Well Hi!

What’s goin’ on? How are ya? The boys and me are just headed back on that bumpy road after what proved to be a most rowdy, exciting and unforgettable few days in New York after a fun gig in Philly.

Philly is a really cool spot. We played at a bar called the Kung Fu Necktie with our buddies in a killer band called RumpelstiltskinGrinder. Last time we played Philly we were extremely late because our GPS took us on a hellish route through midtown Manhattan rush hour traffic while we were stagnant and pulling our hair out with stress. So this time we made a point of showing up in good time. RsG were really tight as always. The whole band really meshes great, and their solos were clean as a whistle. Their singer Sean Riley is a superb frontman. Plus you can tell that he is naturally a very funny guy and an excellent performer, as his banter is effortless and comfortable.

We were met by 3 of the 4 members of space-thrash geniuses Vektor. I am so glad to have them as friends because before we met I was a huge fan of their music - we all were. I find them very inspiring because they have a sound that is completely their own, which is a difficult feat in the world of heavy metal. Their arrangements are extraordinary, and every member is an absolute savage on their instrument. They moved to Philadelphia from Arizona last year, so they came and met us at the venue while we were in town. The show went great and afterwards we went to the bass player and drummer’s apartment in West Philadelphia for some sleep. Trying to find a place to park, we saw a space down one block but were instructed not to go down that way “unless you want to be shot.”  Needless to say this made our suburban white arseholes pucker with fear.  Once we got to their place we had a few drinks and listened to Blake the drummer play us some unbelievable classical piano. I also bugged him to play me some Billy Joel and Elton John songs while I incoherently belted out the vocals from the other end of the room.

The following day a few of the Vektor bros took us downtown to get some cheese steaks and we laughed away the afternoon in anticipation of our very first day off in New York. 

Last time we were in NYC we had a full afternoon there, but I knew that New York is a city that comes alive when the sun goes down, and boy was I right. This time around we had a night off, so we decided to head to Manhattan to see a comedy show at the Comedy Cellar which is like Mecca for comedy nerds like me and my brother. This is the place that is famous for having huge stars come in to do sets regularly like Louis CK, Jim Norton, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle and many other comedy greats. It isn’t uncommon at the cellar to get to see huge touring acts working out new material. When we got to the front of the line, the bouncer almost didn’t let us in because he said I looked too drunk. He wasn’t far off. I reasoned with the blurry gentleman of color with a walkie-talkie by saying, “Listen man, I’m here to laugh not to cause problems.” Unfortunately, as I reached into my pocket to show him my ID I accidentally dropped my keys all over the goddamn sidewalk like a mongoloid buffoon. I really have the class and social sophistication of a public masturbator. Pardon my French, but I was nothing short of a good-for-nothing scallywag on this particular evening. The show was tremendous and the comedians had us all laughing our asses off the entire time. Us 5 dirt bags going to a comedy club, we may as well have had a bull’s-eye on us. The host Ardie Fuqua saw us and knew we were in a band just by our appearance. He asked us from the stage, “What’s your band called?” we reply “Fatality.” Then he goes “Well you know what else is dead? Your careers.”

We were seated right next to Cuba Gooding Jr. As he got up to leave the comedian told a joke about anal sex. As Cuba was passing us he put his hands on Eytan and Sean's sun burnt shoulders and yelled “ANAL!!!!” and left the club. Luckily, this wasn’t the first time Eytan and Sean had a man holding their shoulders while a man stood behind them screaming “ANAL!”

New York is a magical place. You don’t ever need to look for a wild time; it just finds you as long as you go with the flow. When the show finished and we were standing on the corner preparing to head back to Brooklyn, where we were staying, a woman named Tracy from the comedy show approached us and invited us to the bar next door to play beer pong. When we got to the door of the next bar guess what happened? The bouncer didn’t want to let us in. This time it wasn’t my obvious and palpable one-eye-open intoxication, but rather mine and Eytan's slovenly tour attire of cutoff sleeveless shirts. Tracy ran in and grabbed some Corona promotional T-shirts from the bar and we headed in to our own little section of the bar with a beer pong table. Tracy bought us a bunch of pitchers and seemingly endless rounds of shots. We spent the night drinking, dancing and laughing our dicks off until last call and finally we made our journey to Brooklyn to stay with our friend Nick from a band called Bröhammer.

The next morning we all awoke in a haze all at the same time. Mason had crashed on one of those really tall air mattresses that was supplied by Nick and set up for our arrival. To my complete delight I noticed that there must have been a giant hole in the side of it and mason ended up on the hard floor. We watched him wake up and realize his unfortunate predicament. He stood up immediately in his undies and mumbled angrily “Fuck this. This sucks!” and we all had an over-tired giggling fit that lasted about 15 minutes. After such a wild and magical night, the next morning it all almost seems like a dream, doesn’t it? Where did this Tracy girl come from, and why did she treat us like royalty? Did she even exist? Or is she just a ghost of New York parties past?

The next day we were playing a venue in Brooklyn called Saint Vitus bar. This is the place to be in New York. It really is a killer metal bar. When we got there the first thing we did was order our favourite drink: the Pickleback. It’s a shot of whiskey followed by a shot of Brooklyn pickle brine. Sounds nasty, but I assure you the 2 flavours complement each other beautifully and leave you with a joyous taste like you just had a nice warm Ruben sandwich covered with booze. And I haven’t been able to find them anywhere except Brooklyn. The show was fun as stink, and it was great to see Bröhammer perform. The singer Joe has an amazingly powerful falsetto that he wields with such aggression that it’s almost like watching someone walking a tight rope, you know that it can all go wrong at any moment. But it never does. We spent a lot of time with the bass player Nick. He is such a savage, and also one of the funniest dudes I know. We spent most of today driving the streets of Brooklyn while he made us laugh till or faces hurt by saying the most ridiculous shit to pedestrians. Every time we past a gorgeous woman he would lean out of the window and bellow “Yo gurl, how’s that smell?  Yo, what dat smell like?” in the voice of Tracy Morgan.

Not even 2 weeks into this tour and I am already having the most incredible time of my life. I absolutely fell in love with New York this weekend.

Now, take me to Baltimore...

Spencer “too ugly to drink, too drunk to laugh” LeVon

Towards Disastour Blog Vol. 2.5: Sleepless in Greenfield

Last night I had the shittiest sleep of all time. We were put up by Brian from American thrash band Lich King in a small town called Greenfield, MA. He lives on a beautiful property at the end of a long, skinny and winding forest road. We headed there after our set in Florence Mass for some much needed shut eye. When we got there Brian gave us a tour of his basement, which turned out to be an awesome recording studio. I would normally be all too enthusiastic to be hanging out with all of this great recording equipment and great company, but I was just too damn exhausted to hang out. Instead of being a polite guest, while everyone was preoccupied I meticulously and connivingly scoped out a place to sleep. “Forget these chumps I am traveling with; I'm looking out for numero uno. Self-interest is the name of the game, baby,” I selfishly grunted to myself. As the band was getting the grand tour and being polite, I took off in a flash in search of a soft surface to rest my weary head.

I came across a large room I can only describe as a utopia of sleeping apparatuses: couches and bunk beds galore. I had my first pick of all of them. I believe I started laughing maniacally before doing a quick test sample of all of them with my fatigued fanny. Until I found it: the top bunk of the bunk bed. I could not resist its charm. There is something about the top bunk that has always been sacred. It has been fought for and coveted through the ages in school-aged sleepovers since the invention of the stackable bed. I love everything about the top bunk. Especially that intrepid and gallant feeling you get as you pitter-patter up the silly little ladder. I scaled that fuckin' dumb ladder in 2 and a half seconds and descended into sweet, sweet comfort and relaxation.

Enter Adam Zlotnik

I will say this right now. Sleeping on a bunk bed above Adam Zlotnik is like trying to slow dance with an epileptic at a rave. It’s fucked. He immediately hopped in the bottom bunk and made a phone call to my complete sorrow and disappointment. Once the phone call was complete, he began tossing and turning like a listless trout washed up on the beach of fuck-it. Once he got settled he would go “AAAAH” like he had just drank a nice iced tea on a hot day. All the while I was wiggling about on the top bunk like an asshole whose only fault was being mind numbingly self-serving.

Then finally I approached rest. You know that warm and tender feeling you get as you slip away into sweet unconsciousness? It’s like a hug from your mother, and a pleasant bath all in one. I just started drifting… and drifting… and drif…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I immediately become fully alert and filled with homicidal rage. I realize that it is Adam knocking in my bed from underneath me. “WHAT!?” I squeaked like I had just had a dream of road rage. “Is that you snoring?” he whispered. It was then that I look to the floor and find my brother and drummer: self-sufficient snoring Mason on an inflatable air mattress that he had the foresight to bring from home so that he would never have to sleep above a gentleman with the personality and likeability of a wet sock ever again. “NO IT’S MASON SNORING, AND NOW I HAVE A FRONT ROW SEAT FOR IT ASWELL YA PRICK!” “…sorry.”

I could have gotten back to sleep if my entire being wasn’t consumed by hate and irritability.

Should have taken the couch.

Spencer “Me first” LeVon

More tour photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/98333748@N04/

Tour podcast: http://www.fatality.podbean.com/

Towards Disastour Vol. 2: The Fourth of Jul-high

Greetings gang,

Spencer LeVon here whimsically gliding along the Massachusetts Turnpike with my brothers, drained, clumsy, and dumb while at the same time optimistic and ready for more. Last night was one of the crazier nights I have encountered while touring. We just left the Sonic Pulse headquarters, which is a house on a residential street in a town called Framingham. We performed at a rowdy house party for the 4^th of July and shit got out of control immediately. Let me get back to that later, because since last we spoke, we were barreling out of control towards the American border with a fear of having our cavities searched.

Crossing the border into Vermont was actually as quick and painless as I have ever encountered. With some luck, we got the only border official with a sense of humor in the history of travel. Imagine Foghorn Leghorn wearing rubber gloves. We had some playful banter with the guy, and the only slight snag was when our roadie Sean had to prove his American citizenship without having a US passport, during which time the border guard took the opportunity to shuffle a pair of handcuffs in his hand like poker chips. Despite this minor setback we were in and out in about 20 minutes, which was a real treat. I may have gotten a tad too comfortable when he said “That will be $24 for the 5 of ya, and you can be on your way.” “Make it $23 and you’ve got a deal,” I confidently barked back to the visible horror of my bandmates. Why the hell do I push my luck? We weren’t even in the country yet. He could and probably should have violated our bungholes out of sheer principle.

Our first gig in the states was in Portland. We played with one of my favorite bands Hessian and our new metal amigos Black Mass. We had an absolute blast and ended up staying and partying late with a dude we befriended last time we were in town named Kevin. He is an absolute lifer. A guy in his late 40’s with more energy and passion for heavy metal than anyone I have ever met. He thrilled us all night with his amazing music collection, notably a super rare tape of Van Halen from before they made their first album. A collection of demos as well as audio from Pasadena High School dances and sound checks when the VH boys were in their late teens. We loved those recordings so much that Kev gave us a copy.

The following day was Canada Day. We drove to our friend Matt Tomasz from Seax’s hideaway in a cabin on a river in a rural area of Maine. Apparently this was the river that the first priest was executed in during the Salem witch trials. When we got there it was raining, and no one was home. We let ourselves in and were greeted by 2 enormous dogs and some serenity. We spent the entire day resting, playing chess and listening to Zappa records while all of our friends back home were undoubtedly vomiting on each other in the name of the great nation of Canada. I slept for 16 hours.

The following night we performed in Worcester at a bar called Hotel Vernon. What a divine shithole that place is. It was a dive bar, but for all the right reasons. Free peanuts, a piano, pool table and $1 draft beers. The venue section of the bar looked as if it were the bowels of an old wooden sailing ship. It was a fitting, because after overzealously consuming $1 beers, everyone in the bar developed a severe case of wobbly sea legs. Also, after a full week of malnutrition, I think I may have the scurvy. I was very impressed by the great and many talents of Seax, Black Mass and Skull Hammer. AYE MATIES!

On to Providence, Rhode Island. We played at a very interesting Gothic style bar in an industrial area. The whole place was decked out in velvet and lit candle chandeliers. Mason said it best when he remarked that it looked like “Dracula’s living room.”

That leads us into the bizarre and outrageous night that I had mentioned in the first paragraph: the 4^th of July house party at the Sonic Pulse headquarters. The house was decked out with bands in the basement, depraved partying all throughout the house and a BBQ pool party in the back complete with women in bikinis having water gun fights and grown men in Speedos playing a good natured game of grab ass. Did I mention there was some of the more self-destructive daytime drinking I have ever witnessed? When we got to play our set we were all already blasted out of our minds. I had the distinct pleasure of wearing Dan Hammers headset microphone. I felt like Ted Nugent if he wasn’t a right wing lunatic, but instead a clumsy Canadian with too many day beers in his gut. What a night, man. We raged into the evening, until a group of us decided to go for a midnight dip in a nearby reservoir, coupled with a beautiful view of the stars in the Massachusetts night sky.

You need to see the pictures taken by our buddy and roadie extraordinaire: Sean DeCory, because they are absolutely wild. All of the photos are now available on our new Flickr account. Also, please check out the Fatality Podcast at www.fatality.podbean.com for more excerpts of goofy storytelling and camaraderie form the road. God, I love this life of mine. What makes it all the better is that I get to share it will all of my friends coast to coast and be inspired by their fire, and then share that same fire the next night with a whole roomful of likeminded others. Positivitiy, sisters and brothers.

I love you,

Spencer “That Ain't Decaf” LeVon

Wicked show review of our CD release party in Toronto: http://www.metalmasterkingdom.com/fatality-psychonaut-cd-release-party.html

More Tour Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/98333748@N04/

Tour Podcast: http://www.fatality.podbean.com