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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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Rockstar (Indruck)

A friend on discord, @morganeashton, requested #28 of the meet ugly list for Indruck: I’m a famous singer and you’re the new techie who just tripped and pulled the plug out of my microphone mid-concert [extra awkward if they lip sync, extra badass if they keep singing and their voice is still on point]. This is NSFW.

A peril of high quality sound equipment is that when it goes out, it’s very obvious.

The mic goes, his guitar and Dani’s bass cut out, and the effects are gone. For a moment it’s total silence as the audience watches him.

Then he picks up exactly where he left off, notes coming as easy as breath. After a moment Jake starts up quieter than usual on the drums, giving him rhythm. By the time he finishes, the mic and instruments are back on and the applause is deafening. He smiles to himself.

He’s still got it.

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Duck knocks on the dressing room door.

He’s so fucking fired.

“Come in.”

Mr. Cold is sitting at a mirror, takes note of Duck’s reflection.

“Ah, Duck, I thought it might be you. Mama said you were the one who disconnected our sound tonight.”

“Yessir. I, uh, it was an accident, I was movin somethin in a tight space and caught my foot on the cord without noticin’. I’m, uh, I’m real sorry, and, uh, I’ll, uh-”

Mr. Cold holds up his hand and Duck shuts his mouth. The singer turns, in his chair, face now free of make-up. His features still have that alien edge to them, the strange mix of young and old that’s made his attractiveness the subject of much debate. Duck knows where he falls on it; anyone who thinks Indrid Cold is anything other than sex on legs should get their eyes checked.

That won’t help him, he knows that.

Indrid leans back in his chair, “you don’t need to plead your case to me Duck, for two reasons. One is that I’m not the one in charge of hiring or firing the road crew. That falls to Mama and Joseph completely, and if I ever tried to toss someone out for an accident they’d put me in my place very quickly. But more importantly, I’m not angry with you for what happened. Quite the opposite.”

“You...wait, really?”

Mr. Cold counts off on his fingers, “The space was small, so everyone could still hear me. There’s been rumors I’ve been using a dub, so this ought to quell them nicely, and” he looks at Duck over his trademark red glasses, smile widening, “it was unexpected, something that’s rare for me these days. When you get to this level of fame, everyone is terrified of not having a flawlessly executed plan. But that is not how the world is; it’s not how art is. So it was nice to have the chance to show everyone that the unexpected can be invigorating. Thank you for that.”

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome?”

Mr. Cold smiles as he stands up, “you should sit down, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“It’s fine, uh-”

The singer simply rests a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes. Duck sits.

“Would you, ah, like a drink? The hosts here left a very nice bottle of tequila.”

“Sure.” Duck tries not to stare as he bends over to retrieve a glass and a bottle, pouring Duck a shots worth of tequila that costs more than his rent. Duck mumbles a thank you when he hands it to him, then gawps when Mr. Cold sets the bottle aside and retrieves a Capri Sun from the mini-fridge.

“I can’t stand alcohol. Used to try for the sake of fitting in but” he makes a face like a disgusted cat, “eech. One moment, I need to change.” He disappears around a corner, leaving Duck to wonder what the fuck the polite thing to do is. Mr. Cold is always polite to his crew, but he keeps to himself much of the time. Not to mention Duck’s only been with them since the tour started a month ago.

A photo on the table catches his eye, and he scoots his chair closer to get a look.

“Was, uh, was this an alternate cover or somethin?”

“Hmm? Oh” a light laugh, “no, though you’ve got a good eye; we shot it the same day we shot the cover image for The Cryptids. That was a shot that was nixed because we looked too silly, I think Vincent had said something funny and cracked Barclay up, who set me off. I bring it with me to every show, a sort of good luck charm mixed with a reminder of where I came from.”

From the faded photo, nineteen year old Indrid Cold smiles at him.

“I take it you’re a long time fan, then.” Mr. Cold reappears in a pink and yellow bathrobe, the last color scheme Duck would have assumed he owned.

“Yeah, over a decade. I, uh, I was sixteen when The Cryptids released their first album. Scraped together fifteen bucks to buy the C.D and wore the damn thing out I listened to it so much. Never heard anything like it. That’s, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “that’s not why I took the job, though. Mama didn’t tell me who I’d be crewin’ for until after I accepted.”

“If you’re afraid of looking like a ‘fanboy,’ don’t be. Do you know how Joseph came to be our manager?”

“Uh, story I always heard was he came backstage during a show on your first tour and offered.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “he did. But what very few people know is that he came back in his lovingly homemade ‘Bigfoot’s Boy’ t-shirt and a a lot of glitter--remember, that was the E.T tour so everyone was space themed--clearly having left the house with the intent of trying to get into our bassist’s pants, and instead proceeded to tell us he’d seen how our manager operated through the night and we could so better and here’s how.”

“Jesus.”

“He was remarkably intimidating in spite of the glitter and his argument was airtight. So we fired Hayes and hired him. He did eventually bang our bassist, but that was perhaps obvious.”

“Given that they’ve been married for like five years, yeah. Still can’t believe Barclay went from beiin a rockstar to bein’ a chef.”

“He was always an ingenious cook. He once made breakfast using nothing but the still-hot engine of a mini-van.”

“AGH, god, why?”

“We were broke and hungry and there was nowhere to buy food.”

“That’s hardcore.”

“Mostly just oily.” Mr. Cold grabs another Capri Sun, sitting down across from him, “hmm, if you were sixteen when we started, did you ever get to see us?”

Duck shakes his head, “only kinda. Y’all mainly played twenty-one plus places even after you started gettin big, then you weren’t tourin nearby. When you announced the farewell tour, my friend Juno and I drove to Richmond to hear y’all play from outside the stadium. She’s still got a picture of us from that night somewhere, all geared out, tryin to look cool enough to be there.”

“You’ll have to let me see it, so I can determine if you pass muster.” Mr. Cold teases.

“I ask if she can send me it. Christ, I remember bein’ so fuckin bummed when y’all announced The Cryptids were disbanding, then so fuckin relieved when you said you were gonna keep makin new stuff and performin just as Indrid Cold. Your voice is fuckin amazin.”

“That’s not always the word used.”

“So you don’t sound like Bruno Mars or some pop diva, big fuckin’ deal. You sing and people listen because they ain’t ever heard anyone like you. No one in the world sounds like Indrid Cold.”

The singer gives him an odd smile, “that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Sorry, guess there’s still some fanboy hidin’ out under the roadie.” His cheeks heat up as he finishes his drink.

“I think we should both get some rest.” Mr. Cold stands, ushering him to the door, “and that we should talk again sometime. And thank you again, Duck, for your happy accident.”

‘You’re welcome, Mr. Cold.”

A famous smile that’s never stopped being weirdly captivating, “please, call me Indrid.”

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“You sure Indrid wants me on the bus and not just to, I dunno, load it?”

“Yes indeed.” Ned, Indrid’s publicity man, gestures grandly to the open door of the tour bus, “now kindly get yourself and your bag on it so we can get a move on.”

Duck climbs aboard, awkwardly sets his bag on the carrier shelf as he nods hello to Boyd, Indrid’s driver and part time bodyguard.

Indrid is lounging on a black couch, but sits up when he sees Duck, “ah good, you decided to join me.”

“Yep. Uh, did you ask me for a reason or?”

“I like talking with you.” Indrid cocks his head, as if puzzled by the question. Duck wants to point out that the a god of the alt scene, a musical genius, who could have anyone he wanted for company, seeming to be excited by hanging out with a roadie is a bit confusing.

Indrid, meanwhile, is shoving drawings and notes aside so Duck can sit down, “mind you, I don’t expect you entertain me or something; I’m working on some poster art right now, for that fundraiser, so if you have things you like to do on the road, you’re welcome to do them. My room is that way if you want to nap, and it has a t.v as well if you want to watch something. Oh, and we have wi-fi, of course.”

He sounds like a college kid showing off his first apartment and it wrong-foots Duck enough that he just grabs his book from the pocket of his bag.

“Thanks, uh, think I’ll read for a bit.”

Indrid grins, goes back to his drawing, pen scratching hurriedly as the bus jolts to a start and pulls onto the road.

After awhile, Indrid glances at him and asks mildly, “what was your favorite album? Of The Cryptids, I mean, not my solo stuff.”

Duck taps the spine of the book against the table as he thinks, “I mean The Cryptids has that whole edge by bein’ the first, because there was nothin like hearin’ your sound for the first time. But I gotta say...Unsolved. Whole thing is fuckin amazin, but your vocals on “To a Flame” still give me fuckin chills.”

“I haven’t played that song in a long time.” Indrid says softly, smiling, “it was always a favorite. I wrote it about someone I could never have.”

“You can feel it. In, uh, in the way it’s arranged, the way you sing, gives this whole feelin of someone who’s decided to love someone completely even though they’ll never be loved back.”

Indrid looks at him a moment, that same odd, small smile quirking his lips, then returns to his drawing. When the road gets bumpier, they move to a couch in the middle of the bus with a low table nearby. Duck pulls out his laptop and plugs in his headphones, pulls up Planet Earth as Indrid’s head starts drooping. Two episodes in, the singer falls asleep, flopping sideways so his head is in Duck’s lap.

He should move him, Indrid will probably think this is weird when he wakes up. Then again, he looks so cute like this. And it’d be rude to wake him up.

Duck’s to the episode on jungles when a slender, tan hand reaches up and plucks his left earbud out. Startled, he looks down to find Indrid putting it on and adjusting his head in Duck’s lap, clearly engrossed in the carnivorous plants onscreen.

“Do you want me to just turn the normal sound on?”

“No” Indrid murmurs sleepily, “this is perfect.”

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Duck assumes the bus will be a one-time event, but he’s ridden with Indrid each time since. Which is why, when his phone dings, Indrid is sitting right beside him.

“Looks like Juno found the, uh, the photo.”

“Let me see” Indrid grabs the phone from him, cackling with delight when he sees the image, “you two were really the pair of cryptozoologists, weren’t you?”

“Told you we were tryin too hard.”

“On the contrary, I love it, it’s exactly the kind of weirdness we wanted to inspire in people. And if seems you did like to collect our merch, that shirt you’re wearing was a limited run.”

“I know. I, uh, I saved up for it, way I always did if something had art of yours on it.” He slaps his hand over his mouth, embarrassed by the admission.

“That’s very sweet.” Indrid smiles at him, then lifts his glasses for a better look, “what does the collar you’re wearing say?”

“I, uh, fuck, I don’t remember, got, uh, got amnesia, collar specific amnesia, fuck, uh-”

“C, O, L...you were wearing a collar with my name on it.” Indrid’s grin takes on a hungry edge, “someone was downplaying whose fanboy he was.”

“I, I didn’t want you thinkin I was creepy, or that I was just bein nice to you because of the crush I had on you in college.”

“I don’t, I promise, though I appreciate the consideration. Here” he hands the phone back, but as Duck takes it he leans in and whispers, “but you really should wear a collar more often.”

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“Sooooo how’s it going with Indrid?” Aubrey, Indrid’s magician opening act, sits down next to Duck at dinner.

“Good. Wait, shit, are people talkin about us?”

“Kinda? I mean, Indrid hangs out with the band, and with me, plenty, but none of us get to be on that bus. Not like I’m complaining, Dani and I have our own sweet ride.”

“There ain’t anythin goin on between us. It just...Indrid seem like he likes bein’ friends with me.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah” Duck sighs, wistfully, “y’know, it’s funny. Even after I started workin here, he was still Indrid Cold in my head, the guy who sang like he was diggin down in my head, who did wild shit like kiss his male bandmates on stage, who was always so fuckin cool. And now he’s Indrid, this guy who’s kinda awkward and wears way more pink than I assumed and flaps his hands when gets excited and somehow that’s even better.”

“Awww, someone has a cruuUUshh.”

“Had, Aubrey. Had.”

“Whatever you say, Duck” she winks at him, “whatever you say.”

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“Are these yours?”

Duck shakes himself awake. They’ve been driving all evening and well into the night, and he must have nodded off and knocked his notebook over. Which is why Indrid is now holding several sheets of loose paper.

“Shit! I mean, uh, yeah, but they ain’t anythin special.”

“I didn’t know you wrote songs.” Indrid scans the pages with a critical eye.

“Sometimes. Like I said, they ain’t anythin to make a fuss over.”

Indrid makes a noncommittal noise and picks up a nearby guitar, tuning it, “you can go back to sleep, I’m just going to fiddle about for a bit.”

Duck lays down on the couch, and falls asleep to the sound of Indrid’s hums.

He’s shaken awake two hours later, and is thoroughly confused to find Indrid in tight black pants and silvery shirt, black boots on his feet and a deep green on his lips; that’s his stagewear, not his pajamas.

“Put on your most punk-rock outfit, and make it fast.”

He manages to get an old Cryptids t-shirt on along with black jeans that, if he does say so himself, make his ass look good, and is tugging on his boots when the bus pulls into a dusty parking lot.

“It’s the only goth/gay bar in the county.” Indrid says by way of explanation as he pulls Duck out the door, Boyd following them as Ned stays behind to watch the van (“in case we need to make a hasty retreat”).

“Wait, holy fuck, I always thought that was a myth, that you would stop at random clubs and play.”

“Not in the least, though it’s been awhile. Ooh, whoever is already playing sounds very good.” He pushes open the door, the smell of smoke and stale beer and sweat pouring over them in waves as they enter. Indrid keeps to the side of the room, holding Duck’s hand all the while, and spots the tiny merch table with “The Hornets” painted on a yellow sign on the front.

“Wait for me here.” He kisses Duck’s cheek and disappears into the crowd. When the band finishes the song, a youngish woman waves them over to the side of the stage, strangers in the crowd turning to each other to ask what the fuck is going on.

The guitarist and lead singer reappears, giant H on their shirt, and grabs the mic, “y’all aren’t gonna believe this, but the Hornets have just acquired a new singer and it’s gonna blow your fucking minds. Give it up for one of the gods of horror-surf, the grinning man, the mothman himself, Indrid fucking Cold!”

The crowd screams loud enough to shake an entire coat of dust from the walls as Indrid steps on stage, beaming and waving.

“Thank you very much, Hollis. I’ve got four songs for you tonight, including something very, very new. So, without further ado” he grabs the mic, flicks his hair, “let’s prowl.”

The Hornets launch into the opening notes of “on the prowl,” the crowd cheering and hooting and singing along with so much energy that Duck can’t hear Indrid’s voice until the last verse. He claps along with everyone else as Indrid takes the mic of the stand, “and here’s one I haven’t sung in far too long.”

The bass and guitar start in a minor key, half country swing and half horror sting.

“Always on the outs, always in the dark.” Indrid shuts his eyes as he croons, “always so hungry for one little spark. Always so willing to play your game. What can I say? I’m like a moth to flame.”

Duck knows the song by heart but he’s never heard Indrid sing it live, like there was someone in the room he was hoping would hear it and know it was for them. He doesn’t breathe until the song ends; he doesn’t want to miss a single note, miss the way Indrid’s voice curls around the room as if searching for him.

As the crowd applauds at the end, Indrid crosses to Hollis, who hands him their guitar. He loops it over his shoulder, returns the mic to the stand.

“Now, this next song is very special, it doesn’t have an arrangement yet, so you’ll have to live with just my melodious voice.” He picks the guitar, brow furrowed in concentration, and Duck gasps.

He knows this song, he’s just never heard it played anywhere but inside his head. Indrid sings it flawlessly, the crowd swaying in time with him, and Duck realizes he must have practiced nonstop while he was asleep.

The short song comes to a close and he tilts his head, “what did you think?”

The audience bursts out cheering and Indrid grins, “yes, that’s about how I feel too. I can’t take credit though, it was written by a friend.”

He returns the guitar, nods to the band, and purrs into the mic, “the sun goes down and the moon comes up.”

Shit how did he know? Does he know? He can’t know.

He can’t know this is the song Duck used to jack off to. A cover of a cover, a video where Indrid growls and purrs and nearly fucks the mic as he sings.

“You better duck, when I show up, the goo goo muck” he writhes in time with the music, “I’m a nightmare, honey, looking for some head.”

God, fuck, how could he have forgotten just how Indrid sounds when he sings this, like the monster under the bed came to life, turned out to be hot, and really wants to fuck you. Indrid is on his knees now, working the front row, dragging his free hand across his body with moans between the words.

“He must really like you, mate.”

“Gahfuck, Boyd.” Duck jumps, but doesn’t take his eyes off the stage.

“I’m just sayin’, he’s never let anyone come to one of these before. I only do because Stern’ll kill us if we let him go without some kind of backup.” Boyd pats his shoulder, heading back towards the door.

Indrid finishes the song panting, the Hornets looking harried from keeping up with his energy. As the crowd screams and claps he bows, and hurries off the stage. In cries for an encore and the darkened house, Indrid finds him again, grabbing his hand and sprinting outside.

“God I missed doing that!” He laughs as they run, “did you have fun?”

“Fuck yeah, Indrid, fuck, you really liked my song?”

“Of course. And it seems they did too.” The bus doors close behind them, but Indrid doesn;t stop moving, “we’re both very tired, going to bed now, goodnight!”

Duck’s about to point out he sleeps on the pullout couch, not the bed, when the bedroom door slams shut and Indrid yanks him into a kiss, tongue in his mouth and hands in his back pockets, groping him with a growl.

When Indrid breaks the kiss, Duck’s certain he has stars in his eyes.

“Is this alright?”

“Hell fuckin yeah it is.”

“Good” Indrid shoves him backwards onto the bed, “shirt off.”

Duck obeys, Indrid stripping his own away and tossing it on the ground. As Duck fights with his jeans, Indrid retrieves a condom and something black from a box, setting them on the bed. He notices his struggle and shakes his head as he prowls on top of him, “ah ah, we don’t have time for that.”

“Butmmmmfff” Duck gasps and moans as Indrid kisses him again, demanding and messy.

“Get them low enough for me to fuck you.” He bites Duck’s lip and sits up, wiggling his own black pants down enough to free his cock. By the time he gets them free one leg and down to his knee on the other, Indrid has the condom on.

Indrid tosses away his glasses, gives him a long once over, licking his lips, “good boy.”

Then he’s on top of him again, cock inside him and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Oh fuck, you’re soaking, god, what got you so wound up, hm?”

“You, just you, watching you, Indrid, god please fuck me.”

“Gladly, goodness, fuck, that’s it sweetheart, you take me so well.” Indrid hammers into him again and again, kissing him each time he whimpers or moans.

Duck wraps his legs around him, manages to get his head up enough to tease his tongue along Indrid’s nipple.

“AH! Good boy, mmmm, I knew you’d be perfect to fuck.” He adjusts so he can run his hand up Duck’s throat. There’s no pressure in the gesture, but plenty of possession.

“What do you think, shall we get you a new collar?”

“Yes, yesyesyes, Indrid, god, fuck please.”

“Oh you like that, mmm” he switches to slow, deliberate thrusts, a counterpoint to Duck’s frantically jerking hips that makes them moan in tandem, “we could get you several, would you like that? I could put them on you according to my mood and what I wanted you to be that day.”

Duck means to say yes, whines instead, grinning breathlessly when Indrid strokes his cheek.

“Good. I’d like it, too. Nnnh, god I’m close.” He stops entirely, awkwardly shifts and pulls them until he’s on his knees with Ducks ass in his lap, “but I want you to cum first.”

“I, I can try.”

“It was an order.” He reaches down, revealing the black object from earlier; a vibrating wand.

“Oh fuck yeah, fuckFUCK” his legs thrash when the vibe presses against his dick, “Indrid, sugar, ohmyfuckinggod.”

Indrid grins, wide and wanton, and turns the toy up, eyes flicking between Ducks face and cock as he cries out and bucks his hips.

“What a good boy, getting my cock so wet” he wiggles his hips with a moan, “you feel delightful when I use this on you, perhaps tomorrow I’ll have you sit on my cock and do the same thing over and over again, edge myself with the feeling of you needy and tightening around me.”

“Indrid, fuckplease, yes, yes, fuck, I’m so fuckin close darlin, ple-fuck, ‘Drid!” He cums with groan, whole body shaking as pleasure overloads his nerves.

The vibrator thunks to the floor as Indrid lunges forward, pinning him to the bed and fucking him hard and fast, cock thudding into him in time with his purring groans.

“So, so good, my Duck, so very good, god, yes, yesyes” he’s moving so violently Duck is now grunting from the force of the impact, “that’s it, good boy, take what I give youAHHnnn, Duck, Duck.” His hips slow as he groans, Duck drinking in the sight of him, orgasmic and loving above him.

Indrid pulls out, condom hitting what is hopefully the trash and not his guitar case, and immediately curls around Duck, kissing his neck and face.

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou.”

Duck giggles, kisses him back, “why are you thankin me? I’m the one who just got to fuck a rockstar. You got to fuck some regular dipshit.” He bumps their foreheads together to show he’s teasing.

“Incorrect. I got to fuck you. You, who are funny and charming and to the point, and who has taught me a remarkable amount about plants.”

“S’important to have hobbies.” Duck mumbles into his shoulder.

“Indeed. My point is, you make me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time. And while fucking you has been on my mind has been on my mind lately, it was not actually what I planned to do first. I, ah, I” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, hides his face in his neck, “I wanted to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend.”

“Hell fuckin yeah.” Duck hugs him tight as he laughs with relief, “Indrid, I wanna be with you, the real you, not the one I had the crush on all those years ago. I wanna make you happy.”

“You do that just by existing, but I have some other ideas as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck kisses his nose.

“Well, for starters” Indrid’s eyes gleam as he looks up at him, “how would you like to write some music with me, boyfriend?”

“I think that sounds fuckin amazin. Boyfriend.”

#indruck #rockstar au #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #prompt fills

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doomedandstoned · 7 years ago

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Rise of the Wizard Union!

Part I: Seek & Ye Shall Find

By Billy Goate

Ceremonial Smoke by Wizard Union

After The Great Wizard Fight had scattered what was left of our clan to the four corners of this God-forsaken orb, it was believed that the Great Hoary Ones of Olde had all but disappeared from the land. Yet, in the progress of time, rumors passed by me -- whispers at first, faint as baby's breath, but slowly they crescendoed into a wyvern's roar. The Wizards were back, one traveler said feverishly before collapsing. His last words: "They have gone underground. Look to the barren wasteland of Michigan." Impossible, I muttered, as this region was long thought to be uninhabitable, cooked to a crisp after the nukes had done their worst.

Having heard good enough of these annoying anecdotes, my apprentice and I ventured forward into the vast unknown to find out whether this congress of baked mages was one of myth or of mischief. With cloak, staff, and Geiger counter in hand, we set out for the Forbidden Zone. As we crossed its borders, we begin to pick up on the trail of blunts and faint wi-fi signals. We did cross paths with Wild Savages and broke bread with Bubak, Blue Snaggletooth, and the Bison Machine. We did ride the Cavalcade to the dank steps of the Temple Of The Fuzz Witch, where we were compelled to partake in the bizarre Stone Ritual.

This unlikely fellowship with barbarian hordes led us ever closer to the fabled irradiated thaumaturges. It was said that after the blast, they had become both one and many and that these diviners could, through their strange alchemy, compel rocks to roll until they were transformed into an altogether different substance, something the smiths were wont to call "heavy metal." An enchanted guild had become responsible for crafting this heavy metal. They called themselves the WIZARD UNION.

Notes stealthily changed hands, leading us to close associates of this Wizard Union, both present and past. With care, I crossed the Laserbeams Of Boredom, walked over the husked remains of Lizerrd and Lord Centipede, followed the scent of Bladder and Verminous Scum. Nearer, still nearer, until my companion and I chanced upon the Wizard Union's lair.

There, my eyes could scarce believe, lay the very manuals of the Wizard Union containing the secrets of their magick. I tore eagerly through them, from 'Smoking Coffins' (2014) to 'Phantom Fury' (2016), finally partaking of the 'Ceremonial Smoke' (2017) itself. My eager apprentice could bear it no more and excitedly ventured forth into the cavernous dwelling of the Wizard Union in hopes of speaking with them. Meanwhile, I sent word to the skies by way of my trusty raven, declaring with a shriek: "Our brothers yet live in the frigid armpit of America!"

Art by Unexpected Spector

Part II: Knock & The Door Shall Be Opened

Interview by Shawn Gibson

Today, we're visiting with Samir Asfahani of the band Wizard Union from the Ann Arbor, Michigan area. Samir, maybe start by telling us who all is in Wizard Union and the album you just released, 'Ceremonial Smoke.'

Sure, sure. We have me on guitar and main vocals, Aaron (or "A Ron" as we like to call him) on bass and backup vocals, and there's Larry on drums. Though A Ron didn't record vocals on this particular record, we had special contribution from sound engineer JC and his girlfriend Lindsay, who recorded the special effects you hear in the album's title track.

You guys have a really good stoner-sludge sound -- vocals are harsh as hell.

Yeah, even though I run the Super Dank Metal Jams blog and my co-writer, Brandon, covers a lot of the doom and stoner stuff, I've kind of stuck with the sludge and now into more grindcore and death metal stuff. In Wizard Union's last album, Phantom Fury, we were experimenting more with hardcore-punk type vocals, and then things progressed from there. I approached the guys and said, "Hey, would you mind if I did it this way, to add something new to the mix? I'm not saying we need to tweak anything else at the moment, but this is kind of what I'm into." They said, "Yeah, go for it!" Anything to make us a little different or even just to be a little weird is good.

It's certainly refreshing for the genre, whether it's straight-up doom or some death, black, grind, or sludge combo. Really heavy, crazy shit turns me on! Go for different, go for unique, because far too many bands sound the same.

I don't really fault bands for that, though. When we started out, we definitely were just like, "Let's play slow and heavy music. This is the stuff we know and like." From there, we spent a lot of time exploring whatever we happened to be into at the time. I dropped the idea of having more of a collective, which is kind of developing into its own record label now. We're going to be dropping a lot of stuff that encompasses side projects, not being anything Wizard Union-related.

Going back to not faulting bands, you start out with what you like. It might be knocking off like, Electric Wizard, Sleep, or Sabbath. I think from there, you're there three or four albums in, you kind of have to make a choice and ask yourself if that's what you want to be, just a knock off band or do your own thing and find your own sound. We're still exploring that. Our last jam on Sunday, we were playing what sounded more along the lines of "Give Me That Amulet, You Witch!" I don't know if in the future we're going to have a regular release, then a companion release with more stuff like that to follow it up. You get two different sides of Wizard Union there, so we'll see!

I've been digging a lot of Konvent, Cavurn, and Spectral Voice, so it's awesome to hear what you've been doing with those Wizard Union vocals.

Yeah, I really like the death doom lately, definitely more old school sound, not anything super technical. On top of that, I'm not a technical player. I don't know too many bands that mix the death, doom, and sludge thing. That's something I wanted to explore more. There's definitely more bands out there that mix grind and sludge, I've been digging more of that. That's probably where many of my side projects will go once they've picked up steam.

Yeah, I'm really into Dragged Into Sunlight, Clinging To The Trees Of A Forest Fire, bands that like to blend grind and sludge, playing heavy and fast.

I don't think we'll get there with Wizard Union. I have Verminous Scum, a project with Clay, the drummer from Mutalatred out of Toledo. So there's a lot of blasts on that coming up, whenever we get our first recording mixed. It's a little like if Wizard Union had blast beats; it still has that core sound to it. That's what I've posted lately on my blog.

You've been involved in the heavy scene around Ann Arbor for a while now, haven't you?

We've been playing shows with bands from the Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti area. Ypsilanti, for people who aren't familiar with the area, is the next city over from Ann Arbor and that's where Eastern Michigan University is. It's kind of like a shared area almost. Because of Ann Arbor being gentrified, you're seeing the price of things going up and a lot of people are moving out of Ann Arbor to buy houses in Ypsilanti, especially artists. We usually play in Ypsi. I actually used to be in a band called Lord Centipede. We put out a vinyl called Centipede Up Your Ass. It's a kind of doom-tinged stoner-hardcore-thrash album, came out in 2012 or 2013. After we broke up, it just kind of sat there. I decided I wanted to do something with it, put it out again -- it will be up for download as soon as it's done mixing. Now the drummer is in a new band we've just booked a show with, called Bubak.

Cool!

Then there's Temple Of The Fuzz Witch, a Detroit band we're playing with, as well. There's Wild Savages, not really a doom band but they've got that stoner vibe, as does Bison Machine. There's Stone Ritual, those guys are pretty good. Cavalcade is a band out of Lansing we liked playing with recently. There's Blind Haven, who play the Toledo area -- they're really good. There’s Hung From The Rising Sun out of Northern Ohio. Those guys also play in the noise rock band Wax. I don't want to miss anybody on this. I know some people will get upset if I do! (laughs) Anybody we played with, if I didn't mention you, you're awesome!

Phantom Fury by Wizard Union

So you edit Super Dank Metal Jams and you’ve organized the Burnout Society Film Club, as well?

I started the Burnout Society Film Club on a suggestion from Joe Eldridge from Shade Beast Records. We were talking about cult films and he said, "Oh, yeah! Somebody should start a group about this." I was like, "Shit, I'll do it right now!" I immediately thought of a random name that had the initials "B.S." so Burnout Society was born and it's actually becoming more of a real life thing, not just something on the internet. It's turned into a local group in Ann Arbor. We have movie nights and just chat about film.

Nice!

We screen movies and it's usually themed. The first movie night was The Wild Life (1984) with Chris Penn, Sean Penn's brother, and Eric Stoltz. It was kind of made by the people who made Fast Times At Ridgemont High (1982). The theme of the night was films that are still stuck on VHS. That was a film that was obscure; a lot of people didn't know about it. Then we watched another film, Dudes (1987) , that hasn't made it to DVD or Blu-ray. For whatever reason, they’re kind of like obscure, even though they're good movies, so I thought it'd be a cool first movie night. The second event we held was holiday themed: we had Black Christmas (1974) and The Star Wars Holiday Special (1978).

Star Wars holiday Special that was a rare thing.

We had a bootleg copy we were watching and it had the original commercials that aired, which were probably more entertaining than the Star Wars Holiday Special itself! (laughs) The next one I think is going to be Bigfoot themed. We're also going to do an actual screening at a bar for a film that's been passed on to us that we'd like to show people. We'd like to do public screenings for DIY filmmakers whenever possible.

We are all into the cult movies -- weird, strange movies. I've always been into 'em. I think it really took off when I was working at a Hollywood Video in high school.

Lucky!

Yeah! You got three movie rentals at a time. I'd just grab whatever I could find. It didn't take long before I started getting into Troma movies.

Lloyd Kaufman! Man's a fucking genius.

Have you ever met him?

Not yet, I bet that's wild.

I've met him three times.

So what's Lloyd Kaufman like?

He's really weird. He's really eccentric. He was really cool, too. Around the time that I met him the first time, he was showing Citizen Toxie (2000) in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I volunteered to be Toxie at those events. (laughs) Have a friend who volunteered to be the Noxious Offender from Citizen Toxie, but we hadn't seen the movie yet, so we had no idea what we're getting into. Lloyd gave me a screener copy and was like, "Here, just watch it before you come out or whatever." I remember my friend and I were at my parents’ house watching it until 3 am, just laughing. My parents woke up screaming at us, "Be quiet!" (laughs)

That's awesome! I got started with The Toxic Avenger (1984). I'd get my grandma to take me to the video store and I could rent anything, she didn't check. We got back home and I started to play it around 8 pm. My grandma walked in on the locker room scene with topless women. "Nope, nope, nope!" she said. I was like, "Goddammit!" So I waited until midnight or so, snuck out of bed, and watched the rest of the movie.

Shame on you! (laughs)

Then I rented that Class of Nuke 'Em High (1986) , Sgt. Kabukiman N.Y.P.D. (1990) , and other Troma flicks.

I feel you on watching The Toxic Avenger while you're young. I was a product of the times, when they were pushing R rated movies onto kids by making them cartoons. There was a Rambo cartoon, as well as a Robocop, Toxic Crusader, and Police Academy cartoon. The original Police Academy, remember, was rated R.

Right.

I recall being three or four years old and watching the Rambo cartoon and just begging my mom, "I know there's a movie based off of this -- you've got to let me see it!" I remember how devastated I was when I brought it to her at the video store and she was like, "No, you can’t get that, it's rated R!" It was the same thing with The Toxic Avenger. I was like, "This was a movie? Oh my god, I've got to see it now!" So then, a couple years later, I go and find it -- same thing. One night I was able to persuade my mom to let me watch The Toxic Avenger: Part II (1989). That finally happened and then I realized somehow it was connected to Class of Nuke 'Em High, just like looking at the covers. It wasn't until years later that I realized what Troma even was. They used to have those marathons on the USA Network.

I remember them well!

I know they had the Up All Night series, where they'd play all the movies -- Nuke 'Em High 1, 2, 3, and what not. They did a Toxic Avenger marathon during the day -- it was the weirdest thing. I don't know of any other time where this happened, it was a rare moment for USA, sometime in the mid-'90s, so I got to watch all three back-to-back.

Smoking Coffins by Wizard Union

What's a damned good book you've read lately?

See, the thing is I only read non-fiction.

Me, too.

Last fictional book I read was Ready Player One (2011). As far as fiction goes, I would recommend that totally. Anybody who wants to go see the movie, Spielberg is directing it. The premise takes place in a dystopian future, where everyone's doing this virtual reality thing. It’s not unlike Facebook, if Facebook was VR. Every bit of information comes to you in VR format -- movies, stuff like that. Everybody’s creating avatars for themselves to portray TV and film stars. That'll be cool translated on the screen. From what I've seen of the trailer, unfortunately, it's not going to be as literal as the book. The fact is it's being put out by Warner Brothers and Amblin. I think whatever properties those two production companies own is probably what you're more likely to see on screen. There are plenty of obscure references made in the book, though. It's a very entertaining read. As far as non-fiction, I recommend The Disaster Artist (2013).

Cool. I've seen the trailers for the movie. I didn't know it was a book as well.

Yeah, that's what it's based on. I do most of my "reading" through Audible. It's one thing I've learned, to be more productive, is actually listen to audiobooks if you can versus wondering, "When am I going to have time to read, anymore?" I got an Audible account and started doing books that way. I get through two books in like a month. I don't feel bad about it, I still read what I need to -- blogs, articles, and stuff like that. The one physical book I'm reading at the moment is The Tao Of Bill Murray (2016), which I got my wife. That's a really entertaining book.

I bet. I love Bill Murray!

Trying to think of one more book -- a random one -- it's All Your Worth: The Ultimate Lifetime Money Plan (2005) from Elizabeth Warren and her daughter, Amelia. I'd recommend that to anyone who's having financial issues or trying to figure out how to get their financial troubles back together. I think after going through that book I was like, "If she ran for president, I'd 100% vote for her." She could get this country back on track. (laughs) If she's able to get the middle class to figure out their finances there has to be a way. She's got a plan! (laughs)

I’m not too confident in the one we have in office now. I don't think he's made it so great again. I don't think it was great in the first place. Just my opinion.

Well, I'm not going to go into that, just for starting a comment thread about who's on whose side. I'm sure that readers can figure out where we align politically. I feel like when Cheeto came into office, there were a lot of people who felt like this'll make music great again or whatever. It'll make people angry again. I haven't really noticed much of that. (laughs) There's always been angry music; there's always been politically charged music. Whatever gets you motivated to create, go for it, you know? That's one thing I want to encourage people, that's what I push myself to do. Everything I do is to create, to keep going and make more whatever it is and not to question yourself or hold yourself back. That's why I do the blogs. Burnout Film Society is going to starting a blog soon, with reviews for movies.

Cool.

The members of Burnout Film Society are all people that, as far as I know, haven't written for a blog before. I want to show people that you don't have to write for something. If you love something, if you have a passion for it, obviously you know what to say.

It exudes!

That's what it was for me when I wrote Dank Metal Jams. I thought, "If I were in a band, I'd want someone to write a review for me." Not that I'm doing these guys a favor, but I truly want the people to listen to their music! I'm going to write what I think about an album and just put it out there. Hopefully, I can get some other people on board that feel the same and agree, "Yeah you're right!" That's the only reason I have the blog around. It gives me something to do, while constantly introducing me to new music. It keeps me open to new ideas and fuels my creativity, especially when it comes to song writing. "Oh I can do it this way, I didn't even think about that way, or I can mix this with that."

What’s in the crystal ball for Wizard Union this year?

We've been around, this is going to be our sixth year now, and we're still kicking! We know we're not quitting anytime soon and we've got more ideas we want to put out there. I have another kind of stoner side-project I'm working on that doesn't have a name yet. It's me and Aaron, the bass player. Actually, we switched it up -- I'm doing bass and he's doing guitar. Then we have a local drummer who is in a one-man band called Laserbeams Of Boredom. We're working on that and finish recording in early spring. We still haven't settled on a name for that one, either. I don't want to drop any names or suggestions yet before it happens. I don't know if it will be out by the end of this year or the beginning of next year, but it's definitely something we're working on right now.

Samir, thanks a lot!

Oh yeah, thank you!

Follow The Band.

Get Their Music.

#D&S Interviews #Wizard Union #Ann Arbor #Michigan #Doom #Death Metal #Death Doom #Doom Metal #Shawn Gibson #Doomed & Stoned

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devils-gatemedia · 6 years ago

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Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to the (impending) passing of Wigan’s finest chug rockers: Bigfoot. Unless they are tears of laughter and general tomfoolery, there will be no tears shed. Black ties not required, regulation black tour shirts, mandatory.

The time has come for Glasgow to bid farewell to Bigfoot, only in a headlining capacity mind you as the buggers are back in May as special guests of The Treatment! Wha-ay!

Frontiers Music have kicked three of their #newbreed acts out onto the streets to spread the word #rockaintdead. Bloody hashtags. Three bands, three different sounds, all falling under the Rock umbrella. But sadly, Bigfoot have announced their decision to split…unless these dates give them something to ponder?

First up are The Brink, a high energy five piece from Sheffield and Cambridgeshire. They suffer from the early doors, as well as the dreaded curse of those who linger at the bar rather than watch the bands. They don’t care a jot about either as they begin warming up a room that is in dire need of warming up. The sound is not very kind to them either, it’s a bit on the loud side.

It’s hard not to be impressed by The Brink as they have a lot going for them. Melodic and very catchy songs, ‘Little Janie’ and current single ‘Break These Chains’ being just two examples to get the feet tapping and the heads bobbing. They are also very confident onstage.

Lead guitarist Lexi Laine impresses with his playing, as he also does with his six-pack when he goes shirtless #tapsaff (more bloody hashtags). He takes a bit of good natured ribbing from his bandmates, but if you’ve got it you might as well flaunt it. Himself, fellow six-stringer Izzy Trixx and bassist Gaz Connor are a blur as they constantly change sides; if one leaves a gap then someone fills it.

Poor old drummer Drake Bocci can hardly be seen through the darkness, but we can hear him alright. As for vocalist Tom Quick, we can just about hear him enough to realise that the dude can carry a tune. There is a spark there with The Brink and their energy is infectious. File under “ones to watch out for”.

When the ten-legged groove machine known as Doomsday Outlaw break into their opening song the sound has worsened, and vocalist Phil Poole cannot be heard over the bass and drums. It’s not a case of “if it’s too loud then you’re too old Grandad”, it’s a case of distortion so loud that people are visibly giving up and moving to the bar at the back. This is a great shame as Doomsday Outlaw have something different about them. Hard to put one’s finger on what, but they have a certain something about them.

Mix a sprinkle of Clutch with a dash of Zeppelin at their heaviest, add some of Glenn Hughes/Trapeze (the majestic ‘All That I Have’) and you are on the right path. Phil Poole is incredible to watch, a vocalist who very much marches to the beat of his own drum. His mannerisms and facial gestures hint at someone with a devilish streak running through them. Neil Fallon mixed with Euron Greyjoy from Game Of Thrones.

The band are amazing; incredible twin guitar work from Steve and newbie Alez (especially on the slide-tastic ‘Hard Times’). Bassist Indy lays down some serious groove, while drummer John suffers the same fate as Drake from The Brink: you can hear him, can’t see him though. Something a little different from the norm; a hasty return is required.

Welcome to the stage, for the last time in a headlining capacity, Bigfoot. Damn, that’s a hard one to take. A band who you genuinely found yourself willing on. A band that you wished every success upon, because that would have meant that, sometimes, the good guys win in the end.

Any idiotic doubts that Sam, Mick, Tom, Matt and Sean would dial it in on these dates were quickly blown out of the water with the opening salvo of ‘Eat Your Words’, ‘Tell Me A Lie’ and ‘Prisoner Of Love’. The sound has improved, ever so slightly, but still an improvement.

Although vocalist Sean Seabrook joined Bigfoot at quite a turbulent time, you honestly wouldn’t guess as he is so comfortable onstage. Flanked by twin lead guitarists Sam Millar and Mick McCullagh, along with bassist Matt Avery, Seabrook forms a formidable frontline that lays down the killer four-way vocal harmonies that make Bigfoot stand out from the pack. Propelling the band along from the darkness is drummer Tom Aspinall.

Most of the self-titled debut album is aired. ‘Karma’ followed by ‘Freak Show’ and ‘I Dare You’ have fists raised in the air, while the magical ‘Forever Alone’ ends with a few people “with something in their eyes”. Older tunes from the handful of earlier EPs that the band released are greeted like old friends, none more so than ‘Blame It On The Dog’, an ode that most of us can identify with in some way or another. Bassist Matt Avery gets his funk on during the latter and the bass is well and truly slapped. Before all too long, the familiar strains of ‘Uninvited’ bring the evening to an end and it’s one more show down, a handful to follow.

All good things must come to an end, blah-blah-blah, but let’s be honest here folks, this is one wake that is far too premature.

For all forthcoming Bigfoot live dates, connect with them on facebook.

Review – Dave S

Images – Dave J

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Review: Frontiers New Breed Night – Glasgow Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to the (impending) passing of Wigan's finest chug rockers: Bigfoot.

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yerbevan · 6 years ago

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It doesn’t bother me...

alright...a big, whopping, comprehensive, no-holds-barred, in your face, out of your face, steal your face, to the left and right of your face, review...my very first! it's a thing! pardon my writerly predilections...i'm not into sentencing right now...and put your gavel away...that too

watch out...here we go!

my impressions of the ride, start to finish:

bass a little low in the mix during first four minutes, but corrected soon enough

vocals a little too prominent for my taste, but there is an upside: you can hear all the lyrics very clearly

this is a show that benefits from somewhat aggressive voluming, if it doesn't wake the neighbors

the aural picture shows some tweaking and improvement along about track three, which was not unusual at dead shows, drums and percussion benefitting notably

the sound reveals characteristics of the hall itself, it doesn't bother me

we're sliding into a nice groove here in Big River...clearly the band is in it all the way tonite, going for broke, not holding back, and ready to jam...the overall mix more cohesive

it's The Grateful Dead! let's not forget why we're here, campers...can't we have a little fun tonite? i'm into it...it's all coming together...onward and upward!

Bigfoot County is nigh, Vista Cruiser on...pass that over here, friend...Jerry the Singer is having a good night...singing like he means it, friends!

yer New Minglewood...the crowd is way into it, picking up on the energy...Bob delivering a nuanced vocal as well...remember those nites when the boys challenged each other, upped the ante? believe it, friends

Big Railroad rolling into the station, all aboard...the vocal amplificationism is tightening up, more presence, less reverb...instrumental amplificationism likewise...vocals tweaked down a bit, but still refreshingly clear

Who says this band can't Rock & Roll? not me...one a them not sit in the chair shows

Looks Like Rain is not usually one of my favourites, but this one has that little extra something that makes you sit up and take notice...the tempo a little more brisk than i recall from the shows i seen

Deal is one of my favourites...always ready for a good Deal...Jerry is ready for this one...i see the stars and moon coming out, friends! alright, all the bugs are out...set too here we come...an outrageous, exceptional, and totally fantabulous Deal! and it's only the first set, friends!

gonna have a leisurely, half-hour break, maybe get a beer, go out and chat with the people about the first set...okay with you? thanks...we're good

and umm...everybody here seen a real, live dead show, right? pardon me...just asking...you don't have to show me no I.D...forget i even brought it up

so there was two reasons i had to get this one: had to hear the 'Wang Dang Doodle', and 'Help/Slip/Frank'. i want anything that has help slip on it. and it's a good one. already out in deep jazz space...Jerry is in top form tonite as an instrumentalist

Franklin's Tower, the 14-minute version...i'm in Dead Heaven...done gone and went...Jerry is putting something unique into this one...tonite only...Brent is on it here, too...man, the energy just went up a notch, as if that was even possible! the Garcia instrumentalism tour-de-force continues...very interesting approach to the close of Franklin's Tower...tonite only

Estimated...always a pleasure, as everyone knows, got real funk in it and all over it...and under it and to the side...there's the Bob Dead and the Jerry Dead...providing alternate vistas, and welcome variety...about halfway through and i don't want this show to end...and it doesn't have to end...you start over and take it from the top...or just do the second set...or move on to that other show you haven't checked out yet...whatever you want! i mean it's freedom!

Eyes of the World...another iffy proposition for me...sometimes great, sometimes the vocals are a little too tough for that particular nite...good...i'll take this one...especially for more of Jerry's jazzy instrumental breaks

And there's the brief but necessary fill from an audience tape...alright, no problem...it's an exceptional show, so we're good

Drums into Space...most excellent and interesting...Space is in a minor key, fairly unusual...Bob's picking on this Space is most excellent...in his own way, Bob is as advanced an instrumentalist as Jerry...two different lead guitarists, two different guitarism flavours...blended and complimentary tho: you wouldn't expect anything less from The Grateful Dead, Grateful Dead, or even the Dead...it's all good

And now Space into Throwing Stones...you didn't see that every nite...all of our singers in good shape, tonite...more of Bob's distinctive Dead Funk

into Goin' Down the Road...you didn't see that every nite either...so now Jerry, the maestro, slows it down for Black Peter...all kinds of originalness going on tonite...another inspired Jerry guitar break...does it get any better? tearing it up on the vocals, too...excellent and gorgeous ensemble singing on this Black Peter...another one for the history books

Many of these aural differences are about various source tapes, i think, more so than i initially thought...the high-energy performance is why we're all here right now, tho...glad i got a ticket for this one, you know

and Sunshine Daydream rolls on in...more Rock & Roll for us campers...and i say again, play this one as loud as you can...and i don't often say that about Dead show recordings...and Sugar Magnolia comes to a crashing halt...now Bob Dylan's 'It's All Over Now, Baby Blue'

now the Vista Cruiser returns to earth for a soft landing, no encore...it was worth the trip

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kayincolwyn · 7 years ago

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In Memory Of Bryan Hilton (3-8-1967 - 8-25-2017)

Just a couple of weeks ago our family lost a close longtime friend, Bryan Hilton, who we had known, along with his family, for about 25 years, to cancer. Bryan was only 50 years old, and is survived by his wife of almost 30 years, Kelly, and his two sons, CJ and Kyle. My father, Tim, first met Bryan when they worked together as custodians and they became friends and our families were introduced to one another sometime in the early 90s; my mom, Kathy, connected with his wife Kelly, and I connected with their oldest son CJ when I was about 10 and he was about 5 and he became like my little brother through my teens (although it wasn’t long before he was taller than me, I’m about 6′ now and he’s about 6′4) and eventually Kyle came along and he became like another little brother to me (although thankfully he and I are about the same height). Our families spent a lot of time together in those years; they would come over to our house and we would go over to their house, and we would go on trips and spend holidays together, and would help eachother out and all became like family to eachother. Over the years Bryan would become like an uncle to my sister Harmony and I, offering us encouragement and support when we needed it, and he was also like a brother to both my dad and my mom. And over the years we would all go through changes, like when we moved out of our house or when they moved out of theirs, and when my parents split up when I was about 19 (after which I stayed with the Hiltons for a couple months, and then nearby them for a few more months after that in a rental room, while I worked my first job at the McDonalds in their area, until things settled down and I eventually moved back in with my mom), and through many ups and downs, and yet through all of that we remained friends and a part of eachother’s lives, and while I wasn’t as close to Bryan as I was to CJ and Kyle, he was a part of my life and I was fond of him. Bryan loved fishing and camping and being in the outdoors, as well as music (especially metal and hard rock and Nirvana) and coffee and spicy food and hot sauces, and he had a great sense of humor (he was especially fond of poop jokes and fart jokes and bathroom humor in general), and he had a way with people and could make friends with just about anyone and was a hugger (and would give big bear hugs being a big bear of a man), and, of course (seeing the picture that I included above) had a passion and love for all things Bigfoot, and will be long remembered by those who knew him and loved him as one of the biggest Bigfoot fans in the world. Bryan believed or was open to many things, including ghosts and aliens and God and life after death and of course Bigfoot, and believed in the goodness in and worth of people, even with all of our struggles and problems. Bryan admittedly struggled with many things throughout his life, including drugs and alcohol and depression, and he made his fair share of mistakes in life, and yet in spite of all of this he was a big man with a big heart who would give you the shirt off his back and who tried to help others as much as he could even with all of his own problems, who would give everyone a fair shake and underneath his big frame and his bravado there was a tender and gentle spirit, a man who even with all of his struggles and shortcomings loved his family and his friends. Like one story that Kyle shared with me to give an idea of what a generous man Bryan was, in spite of his own struggles, was how there was this older lady who he had made friends with in the neighborhood who was really poor but was wanting to interview for a job but didn’t have any good shoes for it, so Bryan went to the store next door and bought her some new shoes without her even asking him. And Kyle said he would do things like this all the time. My own memories of Bryan include listening to him jam with my dad on his bass at our old house, and going hiking and fishing and on camping trips with him and my dad, sitting around the campfire cracking jokes and telling stories, working together at the Expo Center volunteering as porters at the annual antique show where he always knew how to talk with people and get us jobs while my shy and awkward self followed along, admiring his confidence, talking with him about the paranormal (which we were both avidly interested in, though of course his chief interest in that arena was Bigfoot) and about life. My last memories of Bryan were last winter doing gift exchange for Christmas and seeing him light up as we gave him Bigfoot related gifts (including a stuffed Bigfoot teddy that he named Harry Jr., after the Bigfoot named Harry from Harry and the Hendersons, which was unsurprisingly his favorite movie) and then hearing about how touched he was when I was able to contact Cliff Barackman from the show Finding Bigfoot, who kindly sent Bryan a card in the mail which meant a lot to him (and which he had displayed prominently in his hospital room along with Harry Jr.) And the last time that I saw Bryan was just a few days before his death, when my mom (who had been there for Bryan like a big sister or surrogate mother through everything, as well as being there for his family) and Kyle and I went to see him at the hospital. It was really difficult as that day he was in a lot of pain and was very upset, crying out for an end to his pain, and it was a surreal experience. It was hard for all of us seeing him like that, but eventually after he received some more pain medication he calmed down, and I watched as my mom comforted Bryan, and then as Kyle held his hand and told him he loved him and hearing Bryan say he loved him too, and though I didn’t get a chance to say anything to him (though he recognized me and said my name when we first came in the room) when we were walking out he said ‘I love you guys’ and through the pain he had a flicker of a smile on his face. As it often is in reality, as reality often doesn’t play out like it does in the movies, Bryan wasn’t able to do much of he wanted to do before the end and he didn’t have as much time as he hoped he would, but family and friends or those who cared for him were able to say their goodbyes in some way, whether with him or from afar, and he passed peacefully in his sleep on a Thursday night, and just a few days later was cremated wearing one of his Bigfoot shirts and with a box of Tabasco sauce (according to his wishes) and had his ashes put in a Folgers coffee can (also according to his wishes), and whenever his family is ready his ashes will be sprinkled somewhere (not exactly sure where yet, but I’m sure that will also be according to his wishes). We knew Bryan for about half of his fifty years of life, and he most definitely left a mark on us, just as I’m sure he did on his family as well as every one he came into contact with, as Bryan is one of those people that can’t be easily forgotten. And of course I can’t speak for everyone who knew him, for his family or friends or anyone other than myself, but I will remember him as a man who struggled and wrestled with things throughout his life but who also had a big heart inside that big frame of his (much like Harry in Harry and the Hendersons), and who loved what he loved, whether that be fishing or music or coffee or hot sauce or poop jokes or Bigfoot, and who loved his family and his friends, and who believed in things bigger than himself and also believed in people, and even with everything that he struggled and wrestled with throughout his life, was, underneath it all, a good man. I don’t know where Bryan may be now, whether he is a ghost wandering about looking in on us trying to get our attention (something he talked about doing), or whether he will be reincarnated (maybe as a Bigfoot, who knows) or whether he is in some wonderful place that is beyond our imagining, but wherever he may be I hope that he is at peace and knows that he was loved and cared for, and while I can’t speak for everyone on what their thoughts or feelings are about Bryan, I think I can at least speak for everyone when I say that we all hope to see him again someday, and until then we will remember him.

#bryan hilton #bigfoot #harry #in memory of

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devils-gatemedia · 7 years ago

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As sure as the sun rises in the morning and sets at night, you know that come November the gig diary will be rammed, and clashes are inevitable. Spare a thought though for those that live in backwater places like say… Plymouth. Starved of gigs, I tell you. Starved. So it came to pass that the night Wigan’s finest, Bigfoot, ventured north of the wall, probably passing half their audience either going east to catch the Black Star Riders in Edinburgh, or going south to Hard Rock Hell in Wales. I’d put a wager on that, had the gig been the night before, they would have at least doubled the audience, but that’s life, I suppose, and those in attendance had a great time watching three young and very different bands putting their own stamp on proceedings.

The job of opening up the evening fell to local funk monsters Black King Cobra, a four piece, whose current single ‘Blood Rush’ is making people sit up and pay attention. Live, they sound bugger all like they do on the single, shaking it up as they stretch the songs out with some meaty jams. Free from the constraints of the studio, they showed great imagination, and a degree of improvisation, as they mix it up. At one point, vocalist Callum Moran left the stage and went for a quick game of darts as his bandmates go full throttle into a beast of a jam. At no point did they sound self-indulgent, just a young band not wanting to “play by the rules”. Good for them, I say. Moran has a warm, rich voice that in places reminds me of Mike Patton without the screaming or the cockiness that makes you want to twat Patton. The guys in the band are no slouches either. Drummer Steve Todd has a deft touch for a big fella and linked up well with bassist Johnny Keel who slapped the bass in fine Flea-style. Guitarist Ross Clark has been electrocuted onstage before, and plays like he still has a surge flowing through him, constantly spinning around lost in the music as he peeled off riff after riff. The set is very eclectic and very groovy. Listening to ‘Ball and Chain’, you might pick up a bit of Free’s ‘Fire And Water’ towards the end, but on ‘Blood Rush’ or ‘Wrack N’ Ruin’, it’s all about the bass, mon. Refusing to pin their flag to one genre, it’s best not to try and pigeonhole Black King Cobra, just enjoy the variation on offer. Find them on facebook.

You could count the gigs that Uproar have played on one hand and still have enough fingers to stick two up at the boss behind his back. Watching them on stage though, it is hard to grasp that they only played their first gig back in May. Throw in the fact that guitarist Garreth Neilly only joined the band a few weeks prior, and it makes a mockery of their relative inexperience. They came flying out of the traps after a short intro tape, and vocalist Johnny Hollis was everywhere… literally everywhere. He’s on the stage, then off the stage, getting in the faces of the cheering section down the front, a cheering section that included Hugh Jackman’s stand in from Wolverine, I should add. Hollis also sings with Titan Breed, a more extreme metal band than Uproar, who play their metal the groove way. Think Pantera, and you are on the right track. Hollis channels his inner Anselmo while the facial fuzz says Vinnie Paul. Uproar were the surprise of the evening. Those in the know knew, and those of us who didn’t know now do. ‘Wonderland’ is a total banger. Groove metal bands never forget the hooks or the melodies, and this one has them by the bucketload. Same with ‘World’s Collide’, which got the heads bobbing in appreciation, as did ‘Lost In The Dark’ and ‘Fight Song’. ‘Forever Burning’ was dedicated to a much missed friend. It’s a ballad, of sorts, without actually being a ballad. If the definition of ballad is “the slow one that punches you in the guts”, then it’s a ballad, a true showstopper. Let’s hope that the next gig is just around the corner as Uproar seem to have built up a head of steam. Check the band out on facebook.

Headliners Bigfoot are part of the ever growing bunch of young British bands out there bubbling under in what has become a very healthy scene today. Signed to Frontiers Music after the release of a few self-released EP’s, the self-titled debut album is finally out and the five piece are quietly going about the business of building up a solid fanbase. Plenty of Bigfoot T-shirts are dotted around the crowd waiting to get in, and the band members themselves are out and about, greeting fans like old friends. Once they hit the stage and steamroller into ‘Tell Me A Lie’, the joking around stops, and Bigfoot get down to what they do best. One aspect that makes them stand out from the pack is their use of vocal harmonies. Not simply satisfied with standard backing vocals, the guitarists add rich layers to the sound that vocalist Antony Ellis produces. Not so much Def Leppard, think more along the lines of Eagles or Kansas. The dual guitar sound from Sam Millar and Mick McCullagh is as impressive as ever and helps give ‘Eat Your Words’ a bounce factor. Again, the vocal harmonies are spot on. On the debut album, Ellis reminded me of Ian Gillan, not so much the screaming, as no-one does screams like Gillan, but the same style of almost talking the lyrics, ‘Prisoner Of War’ and ‘Freak Show’ being a few prime examples. It’s great to discover that this is still the same on the live stage. A very affable frontman, Ellis brings to mind the persona of Jack Black, but only if Black wasn’t so smug and annoying. The band are very well rehearsed, and you can tell that they put the hours in when not gigging. The crucial rhythm team of drummer Tom Aspinall and bassist Matt Avery form quite a formidable team. Avery however does seem to be suffering from a wardrobe malfunction of sorts, either that or the hashtag #FreeTheNip is trending again. I didn’t realise how cold it was that night, but you could have hung a wet dufflecoat on them. Distracting male nipples aside, Bigfoot have plenty of bangers in their arsenal, of which ‘I Dare You’ and ‘Forever Alone’ are two of the standouts… especially the latter with it’s soaring guitar solos and towering vocal performance. Away from the debut album, ‘Blame It On The Dog’ is the show stopper that it always is, and let’s face it, we can all identify with the lyrics…

Bigfoot are beginning to wrap up their gigs for the year, but you can catch them at Winterstorm Festival in Troon on November 24th followed the next night by an opening slot for Tyketto in Edinburgh. Highly recommended. More information here.

Review: Dave Stott

Images: Dave Jamieson

Live Review: Bigfoot – Hard Rock Cafe, Glasgow As sure as the sun rises in the morning and sets at night, you know that come November the gig diary will be rammed, and clashes are inevitable.

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