THE BRAVEST MAN IN METAL: DRINKING IS FOR PUSSIES

THE KEN MODE TOUR EDITION – PART 1

The overlords here at MetalSucks have on at least a couple of occasions referred to me as the Bravest Man in Metal. Not because I sit around in a fur-lined loincloth in a metal-themed man-cave (pictured above) chewing the legs off Cornish game hens while pining for the days Manowar wrote cheesy metal and not cheesy symphonic metal. Nah. Here, for your memory refreshment and finger pointing fun are exhibits #1 and #2.

My head would have to be buried in the sand and a good halfway to China for me to say that I don’t get why Neilstein and Rosenberg refer to me as ‘brave.’ At the same time, I don’t get what the big deal is. Okay, it’s not a surprise that the metal scene en masse is conservative, about as conservative as a Sarah Palin rally in the town of Stepford, Connecticut (and believe me, she’s probably asked her campaign manager more than once about the possibility of giving a speech there), and there are moments more independent thought came crawling out of 1933-1945 Germany than from your typical gathering of the denim and leather set. So, when some ass hat comes along who’s doing shit that falls outside of metal’s heavily prescribed box, the proverbial shit of steel hits the fan. I just happen to be one of those people – or so I’ve been told – with the added bonus being that my position as He Who Writes About Metal means that my goofy opinions have the (un)fortunate luxury of being in print and on display lo these many years.

So, it was thrown on the table: let’s see just how brave I can be. Let’s take this ‘bravest man’ thing and run with it like Usain Bolt chasing down a dude he just caught fucking his girlfriend. I have no qualms in letting anyone know how un-metal I am in my metal-ness. Why not let in the expanse of the interhole on my poser-ific ways? Basically, MetalSucks has agreed to give me the space to talk about other maligned albums I enjoy, not having long hair, why drinking sucks, skipping out on shows to stay home with my wife and kid, how I’ve never been near a moshpit despite being a regular attendee of shows since the mid-80s, and all the other un-kvlt behaviours I routinely engage in while still managing to love the music I’ve loved since the cover of Iron Maiden’s debut freaked out my punk-ass nine year-old self.

Ironically, not doing what’s prescribed – even by myself – has already wormed its way into this, the first ‘bravest man’ column as I’m not going to be strictly discussing myself and my engaging in non-metal activities, but how a travelling group of us do. At the time of my writing this, I have only hours ago returned from a three-week jaunt roadie-ing and slinging merch for Winnipeg’s KEN Mode on a US/Canadian tour with “fucking” Ottawa’s bastardized grindcore veterans Fuck the Facts. Now, for some reason, the idea that life on the road is a non-stop binge drinking, drug-addled party where penis-vagina-congressional-meetings happen at every stop along the way and responsibility is pissed away like so much complementary PBR continues to exist in certain minds; usually those who’ve never been on the road.

There were a couple of dudes attending the show in Edmonton who started talking up their band to me, hurling self-promotional this, that and the other and going on about how they were planning to hit the road come summer time. They asked if I had any tips to help them make it through their first tour. After taking a look at the many empty pint glasses on the table before them, I commented, “You won’t be able to drink like that every night on tour and survive.” The look of shock and disbelief on their faces was priceless. Sorry to burst your bubble, dudes, but when heavy amounts of drug or alcohol intake on the road is involved, it usually means either: a) your band is as loose as a Kansas City streetwalker, b) that a former shell of someone’s self is withering away while clandestinely slamming substances in dark rooms behind everyone else’s backs, c) or it’s already gotten to the point where trying to help is no longer an issue while band, crew and entourage are hanging on for dear life, just trying to make it to the next show without being too shitty or being written up on Blabbermouth for doing something dumb that was caught on someone’s camera phone. If years of hearing about life as an independent band should have taught everyone one thing it’s that this prevalent idea of life on the road being a party is wrong, wrong, wrong. Sorry. Sorrier that I’m starting to sound like my dad. Or Moral Orel.

On the flipside of things is life on the road with KEN Mode. Now, the theme of all things un-metal will have probably already raised its mighty oppositional spectre as a whole whack of you out there likely might not even consider the band to be of the “metal” persuasion. Maybe you’re right. They do have the requisite distorted guitars, pounding drums and neck vein-bulging screaming, but this trio hail from the noise rock side of the tracks. As far as I’m concerned it all falls under the banner of extreme music. Check out clips from their latest Profound Lore release Venerable here and pass your own judgment.

And as much as being out from under the watchful eye of the daily routine of home points to a life of debauchery, the tour I just returned from was metal only in sound and the number of black t-shirts present and for sale. And I fit right in and loved it.

Let’s start with the first and most obvious transgression to the world of metal I (or anyone, for that matter) has ever been accused of. No, not enjoying St. Anger… but not enjoying alcohol. Yeah. I don’t drink. At all. The reasons aren’t compelling. I’ve never had a relative succumb to cirrhosis of the liver or a friend killed by a drunk driver. Mainly it’s because I don’t like the taste, would rather direct what little money I have elsewhere and obviously don’t need to ingest alcohol to engage in stupid and/or embarrassing behaviours. Plus, I quite enjoy not passing out and having people draw shit on me. Minor Threat and straight-edge militants from Salt Lake City would be proud of my teetotaling status, but I don’t really ever make a big deal about it, even though it appears to be a big deal to others.

That’s not to say that the members of KEN Mode don’t enjoy the occasional beer after a show – both vocalist/guitarist Jesse Matthewson and Fuck the Facts guitarist Topon Das will proclaim that a cold beer goes down nicely after sweating up a storm on stage and having nothing but warm saliva or tap water caress your taste buds in the process. However, excess is not a word that comes into play here. In fact, on the couple of occasions when drummer Shane Matthewson was spotted cracking into his second brew of the night, it was like he immediately transformed into that kid in the school yard everyone (ok, me) made fun of. Except the barbs flying left, right and center had nothing to do with headgear braces or asthma inhalers, but about his impending “alcoholism.” Yeah, the party never ends with us.

Those of you familiar with playing shows in bars or venues that serve booze know that management will sometimes give the performers and crew drink tickets. You’re usually handed a couple per person and for those who are already eating shit to survive on the road, it helps in whatever little way save a bit of cash. Empty the pockets of any one of our entourage post-tour and I’m sure a myriad of coloured drink tickets will come spilling out amongst all the pocket lint, pennies, moist tissues and food receipts. Actually, one night Jesse jokingly offered me a bunch of the band’s unused drink tickets from a few days previous in lieu of actual payment for services rendered. There was the show at The Red Room in Boise, Idaho where, after we realized ¾ of the way into the night that the drink tickets weren’t limited to alcohol and could be used for juice, a mad rush to the bar resulted with everyone trying to not let free orange and cranberry juice go to waste. Granted, a couple people were dealing with tour cold and flu, but still, you’ve never seen faces light up so much. Even a spurned Usain Bolt couldn’t have beat myself or bassist Therese Lanz to the bar that night on the hunt for complementary Vitamin C.

This is just one example. In the upcoming second part, I will go on about other non-metal, nerdy stuff that any self-respecting metalhead would be embarrassed to have publicly known involving Nintendos, cartoon soundtracks and what really happens in hotel rooms, post-gig at 3am. As well, being that this is the internet, I’m sure criticisms will be forthcoming and plentiful, but if you have any suggestions on what you might like me to pick and poke fun at in refining this column, feel free to offer ‘em up. Thanks for your time.

-KSP