How Dying Fetus Got Their First North American Tour

Posted: March 23, 2014 in Uncategorized
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In April 1993, I was a 16-year old high school sophomore perusing an issue of Northern Virginia Rhythm. My area’s best (and if I remember correctly, only) free monthly music newspaper, I’d picked up the latest edition at Music City       Chainletterin Woodbridge, a few miles up the road from where I lived. In those pre-Internet days, reading the music circulars – always available in awkward stacks at area music stores – was the single reliable, surefire avenue to keeping one’s finger on the pulse of the local scene. Normally, Northern Virginia Rhythm, dealt in the rather vanilla wares of whatever the pop rock flavor du jour: and in the early 1990s, this meant predominantly alternative music. Yet and still, the Rhythm occasionally still ran quickies on select area’s glam/hair metal bands, those helium-throated remnants of the previous decade’s withered musical era, despite the tectonic plates of pop culture shifting brutally under their fairy-booted feet. Those infrequent news bits provided me just enough hope to pick up a copy of the Rhythm every month, praying that eventually the paper would pony up useful info about real metal of some variety. And so ‘twas that in April 1993, I found myself chuffed to spot a full-page article about a Maryland-based fanzine called Chainletter. The ‘zine dealt exclusively with all the most extremes subgenres of metal: thrash, death, grindcore, and black. I read with no minor dismay that editor Mark Gonce had already published 12 issues – entire multi-page issues packed with info about the latest and greatest in extreme music worldwide – without my knowledge.

Now, THIS was NEWS. I’d never heard of anything called a “fanzine”, but reading the article aptly surmised the essence of these homegrown fan-driven publications: cheap, photocopied, poor (or non-existent) copy editing, yet packed with information useful for networking with bands, record labels, and other publications, ‘zines were labors of immense and unabashed love by people who sought to connect other people of a community of very few people who were spread over an immense geographic area, i.e. the entire Planet Earth. The dedicated fans-turned-editors producing ‘zines wrote the articles and reviews, transcribed band interviews, and managed the type setting and layout all on their own. Their technologies were typically nothing more than a typewriter, Scotch tape, Elmer’s glue, and a Staples copy machine. The ‘zines served as focal point and clearing house for underground bands, record labels, publications, radio programs, and fans alike. The ‘zines brought people from different walks but common musical interests together through the global postal network: like the demo review you just read? Here’s the band’s address, and you can contact them directly. Practically whizzing my trousers with newfound metal animus as I finished the article in Northern Virginia Rhythm forthwith, in all haste I rushed two bucks out the door in a discreet white envelope.  A short week later, I encountered a brown manila envelope in my mailbox containing Chainletter #12. The handwritten letter of thanks penned by the editor himself immediately imbued me with a sense of belonging, since I knew I’d never get that sort of note from, say, a major publication’s editor upon purchasing a subscription

In the three months that followed, I continued faithfully purchasing the ‘zine every month, and by summer 1993 I’d formally dubbed Chainletter my lifeline to the metal scene. It provided my band Witch Hunt’s first exposure outside my high school, publishing a lukewarm review of one of our demo tapes, an enthusiastic two-song recording Witch Hunt first review ever Chainletter Magazine 1993derivatively entitled Born Dead. The ‘zine also provided info on death metal tours passing through the Washington, Maryland, and Virginia region, timely and immensely helpful since you’d be hard-pressed to acquire that info anywhere else. Editor Mark Gonce played drums for a band called Corpsegrinder, at the time fronted by and up-and-coming singer named George Fisher who was dual-hatted as a member of Monstrosity and would later be catapulted into death metal’s pantheon of deities as vocalist for Cannibal Corpse. If not for Chainletter, I’d never have gone to see Corpsegrinder play at one of the greatest death metal lineups ever to defile a Bathe in Entrails demo inlay cardstage: Suffocation, Dismember, Vader, and Virginia’s own Deceased in Manassas, Virginia in June 1993. But most crucially, the ‘zine raised my awareness of the talent in my own backyard, for it was through Chainletter that I learned of a Maryland-based band called Dying Fetus, then feverishly promoting their Bathe in Entrails demo. I wrote the band offering a demo trade, bassist/vocalist Jason Netherton dubbed me a copy of their material, and I sent the Witch Hunt stuff in return. Jason was a few years older than me and we lived a state apart; in teenage terms these both constituted a chasm between us, thus Jason and I didn’t run in the same circles in those days. But the pen pal contact we entertained did help us develop a relationship over time and, ultimately, we did each other mutual favors: Witch Hunt brought Dying Fetus to play their first-ever Virginia show in December 1994; and Jason invited me to road trip with Dying Fetus to Quebec City for a show in July 1995.

September 1995. It was early in my first semester of university at Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, Virginia, in those days a foggy retirement town famous primarily for its Civil War history and useful as a stopover between the national capital and Richmond, nearly a decade before the Beltway’s hegemonic creep rendered Total Metal at College in VA 1995Fredericksburg a suburb of the Washington, DC. I should have been studying but was having none of it. Instead I was wholly distracted from all matters academic by the fact that after a protracted and awkward puberty during which girls pretty much kept their distance and there as no “getting lucky” to be had, now I lived in a co-ed dorm with semi-nude women routinely gallivanting in the hallway. And so I hung out in the women’s wing as often my hectic work, band, and class schedule permitted, praying to make the acquaintance of someone who might provide me company during the humid, pollen-rife evenings of the late Old Dominion summer. Aside from a few hookups, all of which were inconclusive by any standard, I speedily gave up the ghost and settled on having normal female friends: ‘twas far easier than evaluating every woman I met as a potential conquest, the eternal error of countless hormone-charged young men (and, unfortunately, plenty of old ones). And so I began frequented and spirited conversation with a gal named Becky. Preppy yet bizarrely inclined to speak to The New Long Haired Guy, it turned out Becky boasted a bona fide metal connection: her sister was in a relationship with a dude named Kelly, whose agonized throat provided the acrid pipes for Long Island-based ensemble Death Rune. I had never heard Death Rune’s music, but knew of them tangentially through tape traders I’d dealt with in the preceding two years. Both our bands – Witch Hunt and Death Rune – had been reviewed in a handful of the same fanzines, and had received occasional Voracious Contempt album coverairplay on the same late-night college specialty radio programs, the ones run by freakish metal kids playing violent music quite incongruous with the alternative tastes dominating modern rock’s airwaves throughout the ‘90s. As it turned out, within a few weeks of meeting Becky, Witch Hunt accepted an invitation to play Long Island. We’d been asked to open the show at Internal Bleeding’s Voracious Contempt album release party in November, which we readily accepted. Witch Hunt had been trying to get out of state, but unforeseen obstacles conspired to shaft our out-of-state tour ambitions. In September 1995, we’d been booked to play in Saginaw, Michigan but the gig was cancelled after pissed off parents picketed the venue when the occult imagery one of the other bands offended their religious sensibilities. The Long Island show opening for Internal Bleeding would therefore be our first “real” travel gig. I asked Becky to pass word to Kelly that he ought make it to the gig. Come November, we traveled to New York, played the gig, I met Kelly, and a friendship ensued.

Fast forward about a year, to summer 1996. I’d barely croaked through the final throes of my freshman year at university. I was still playing for Witch Hunt, and our debut CD, Prophecies of a Great Plague, was pending release Prophecies of a Great Plague album coveron Mexico’s X-Rated Records. But as would happen routinely with Witch Hunt – both during and after my tenure with the band – at the precise moment when things seemed on track, something always set the band back. In this case, the problem was mine. My college dorms were closed for the summer, so I had to rent a room from a family friend locally to remain in the area, that I might stick around to practice with the band. But due to a domestic violence situation involving the family I was renting from, I thought it better to move out. There was nothing else around for $25 per week, and so I was compelled to move to my parents’ place in North Carolina for what remained of the summer. I ended up spending the entire summer of 1996 at my parents’ place. Which meant I wasn’t rehearsing with Witch Hunt, and the other two guys unexpectedly had a lot of idle time on their hands. Witch Hunt’s drummer and the band’s primary talent, Erik, was looking for something to do. He’d been working at the Midnight Video Club, a porno video emporium in northern Virginia with a standing selection of 50,000 skin flicks at all times. Erik was making double minimum wage, wore metal shirts to work, and frequently served as chauffer to starlets in town for autograph sessions. Essentially, he was our hero.

Yet his sights were set on musical grandeur, and when Erik leaked word that he would be unencumbered during summer 1996, he didn’t wait long before opportunity came knocking. Dying Fetus asked him to sit behind the kit for a handful of American east coast and Canadian shows they’d scheduled to christen the release of the first full-lengthPurification Through Violence album cover album, Purification Through Violence, set to hit the streets in summer 1996 courtesy of Illinois’ Pulverizer Records. Erik did not have to be asked twice. And rightly so, since even a metal dufus could see Dying Fetus was on the cusp of something big, a breakthrough of some kind. Articles on the band featured routinely in all the most important underground metal publications, and even in a handful of the glossy-covered ones available in major bookstores chains like Borders, no petty accomplishment for a brutal death metal band in the mid-1990s. Yet despite the band’s brilliant songwriting intertwined with their high/low vocal interplay and John Gallagher’s arpeggio-sweep solos, percussion was persistently Dying Fetus’ weak link. Correctly sensing this was the only serious obstacle between their band and greatness, the band placed a call to Erik as they got ready for the album’s release and subsequent string of shows. Two weeks into Erik’s time with Dying Fetus, he called me excitedly, splooging into the phone that what was originally designed to be just a few shows had morphed into a full North American tour supporting Canada’s Kataklysm and Florida’s Monstrosity, easily two of Erik’s favorite bands. The tour was slated to run July-August 1996 and would see the band performing roughly 30 shows in the United States and Canada.

The day after speaking to Erik, I got a call from Kelly, who phoned me from Long Island. Unaware that Erik had joined Dying Fetus, Kelly dropped a serious knowledge bomb on me: he was tour managing for Kataklysm on the upcoming North American jaunt about which Erik had spoken. But apparently, Dying Fetus’ inclusion on the bill was Erik with Dying Fetus 2001not set in concrete yet, and a very animated Erik had committed the musician’s cardinal sin of prema-tour ejaculation when he called me. As it turned out, Kelly said, they hadn’t determined who would open the show yet, but had whittled the list down to two possibilities: Dying Fetus and a band from Ohio called Decrepit. Seeing the opportunity to help shore up the tour for Erik’s sake – and to repay the favor Dying Fetus had done me when they invited me to travel with them to Quebec the previous year – I recounted in lurid detail to Kelly my earlier chat with Erik and explained to him in no uncertain terms that, honestly, I probably wouldn’t be with Witch Hunt much longer, and wanted Erik to have other opportunities since he likely wasn’t going to acquire them through me. Kelly, ever a bro, decided then and there that the tour’s opening honors would thereby fall to Dying Fetus. And that, all ye death metal faithful, is how Maryland’s finest landed their first North American tour.

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