Posts Tagged ‘Biohazard’

…on how a chance encounter and short-term friendship with a female bassist in early 1993 led to important life lessons, not to mention a two-degree separation from a popular CBS reality show.

Witch Hunt, six incipient months into existence, finally graduated from playing the Teen Hut in Quantico, Virginia to an actual club gig. Witch Hunt, still consisting only of me and my brother Ben, got slated to play an uninspired venue called the Tiki Fala sign 1994Tiki Fala in the dingy ville of Dumfries in February 1993. A novice at these things, I’d assumed locking down the chance perform there would be a touch more complicated than actually ‘twas. And yet miracles of the metal variety transpired on a frequent basis in those olden days of my teenage years: verily, indeed, I called the club, spoke briefly to the manager, and while pitching her on the virtues of our fine musical ensemble uttered a word meant to penetrate profoundly into her cheap-ass soul: FREE. Yes, Witch Hunt would perform for FREE. That Witch Hunt was an underage death metal band lacking a complete lineup, with but a single poorly-recorded demo tape to our name, and zero profile outside of the Marine Corps base on which we lived, mattered not to the madame of the Tiki Fala. And bless this woman’s bottom-line scrutinizing soul, she booked us to play two sets on Tuesday, February 23, 1993, opening for an all-female act out of Minneapolis cleverly called No Man’s Land. A short article on them ran in a recent issue of the then-reigning supreme overlord of American monthly metal publications, RIP Magazine. So I justifiably considered the metal stars shining upon Witch Hunt, for our first real gig would be sharing the stage with people mentioned in a major music publication.

We played the show, but despite our efforts failed to deliver the goods in a fashion that would bring new fans a-calling. We had so few songs down at that point that we had to play all of them twice each during each set. But on the fundamental assumptions that no one pays attention to opening bands (who opened for Motley Crue at the Blaisdell Center Arena in Honolulu in 1990?), and no one knew our songs in the first place, we worked through numbers like “Cryptic Death” and “Nothing Survives the Fallout” a baker’s dozen times, taking the precaution of introducing them under different titles every No Mans Land 1993time we recycled the songs. To no small dismay of the club’s manager, who heckled me between sets about why we didn’t have a full lineup, I had nothing to offer by way of excuses beyond shrugging shoulders and faking the sudden sickness of an imaginary bassist who hadn’t been able to make the date. But professionals that we were, I explained, the show must go on. As for No Man’s Land, they signed my issue of RIP Magazine in which they were featured, took photos with me, and handed us a free copy of their debut album. They spoke to our parents – our immensely supportive mom and dad who made it to every show we played in the early days – and provided advice about how Ben and I could beef up our musical chops. Sarah, No Man Land’s bassist, took a particular interest in us and I remained pen pals with her for a short period after the show. Sarah’s sudden presence in Witch Hunt’s death metal micro-galaxy quickly shaped one of the innumerable tangents we would take over our eventual decade of existence: I decided what we really needed was a girl in the band.  (Keep mind mind, this was well before it was common for women to be in death metal bands: Anneke hadn’t yet joined The Gathering (who were hardly death metal, but still…), Angela Gossow wasn’t even a mere itch in Arch Enemy’s crotch, and groups like The Agonist might as well have been the Jetsons.)  And so we’d find a female bassist… Who was around our age… Who could play death metal… Who had her own transportation… And could drive 2-3 times weekly onto the Witch Hunt First Club Show at Tiki Fala 1993military base where we lived to practice with two underage boys writing songs about slaughter and pillage.  Despite what you accurately assess as a broad base of inhibitors to pulling off a plan as zany as ours, the decision wasn’t entirely a senseless one. I believed then, as I do now, that sound logic undergirded that fateful choice taken in early 1993. First, prospects for a two-man band were limited. This was well before Local-H and the White Stripes blazed a new minimalist path in the alternative universe. And anyway, neither of those groups was metal. So I knew we’d need to flesh out our lineup if we were ever to be taken seriously as a contender to our local metal throne, let alone attain recognition on a grander scale. Second, watching No Man’s Land’s sound check and the first song or two of their actual set, I took note of something: people pay more attention if you have a chick in the band. It’s not like No Man’s Land had sold a lot of records, and in fact the band didn’t even have a proper record deal with tour support and promotion. And yet the Tiki Fala was gills-stuffed with bikers and all manner of local machista rabble that I estimated were not there to absorb the ethereal quality of No Man’s Land tunes. This newfound mission in mind, in March 1993 I fleet-footed my way to Music City in Woodbridge and posted a small ad on the musician’s bulletin board seeking our bassist. And right below ours was one posted by an 18-year old female bassist, into metal, seeking to join a band.

So I made note of the number, rushed home, and excitedly dialed. She answered. We talked. Jennifer Arroyo was a blend of contradictory elements. She was of Puerto Rican ancestry but did not speak Spanish. She was legally a Virginian who considered herself spiritually an offspring of Brooklyn or maybe Queens (though realistically any of the boroughs would do). Such was her mania to pass for a New Yorker that after seeing Biohazard live on the Urban Discipline tour a few months prior she even began feigning a New York accent identical in octave, attitude, and vehemence to that spoken by Evan Seinfeld himself. A few weeks before we met, Jennifer quit a northern Virginia-based hardcore/metal crossover outfit dubbed Open Defiance, hence the posting of her ad at Music City. I am not falling prey to selective memory when I say that Open Defiance were outstanding. As Jennifer played me the band’s first demo over the phone during our initial conversation, I sensed that had it not been for what I later learned were the exceptionally conflictive differences of personality betwixt the band’s members, Open Defiance could have risen to the top of the heap. With cutting thrash guitar work and thuggish, skippity percussion set against socially conscious lyrics about judicial corruption, the deplorable treatment of Native Americans, and decriminalization of cannabis, Open Defiance were a musical force of nature, the likes of which I scarcely imagined possible in suburban Virginia.

We never actually brought her over to practice with Witch Hunt, but did develop a friendship of sorts in the coming weeks. In March 1993, she took me to an Open Defiance house party, where I witnessed a young pre-While Heaven Wept Tom Phillips jam with members of a long-defunct called Parasitic Infestation. I took Jennifer to my high school’s Sadie Hawkins dance in Brian with Jennifer Arroyo at Quantico HS Sadie Hawkins Dance 1993April 1993. We talked of bands and compared notes, and I went to see Open Defiance play live when possible. Ultimately, in summer 1993 Jennifer brought me into the band’s fold as a second guitarist. I even disbanded Witch Hunt to do so, playing two shows with Open Defiance in June 1993 before they imploded. Thereafter, Jennifer and I attempted putting our own project, but my lily-white vision of our shared musical affinity vanished into the thin air once we attempted jamming in the utility shed behind her mom’s townhouse. We just couldn’t write music together: it was as though I was auditioning for Testimony of the Ancients-era Pestilence, and she for any era of the booty-licious Suicidal Tendencies side project Infectious Grooves. Our musical collaboration would not, sadly, be a long-enduring one.  It did not matter, however, since Open Defiance reformed yet again in August 1993 and did not invite me along for the ride. Which was fine by me, as I’d opted to get Witch Hunt rolling anew, laying all my chips on Ben and myself. Open Defiance’s unpredictable on-and-off shenanigans, volatile personalities, and wanna-be thuggish hangers-on were apt to drive me into premature baldness were I to stick around a moment beyond my tepid welcome. I learned to appreciate the simplicity of Witch Hunt while I was away from it. It was much easier practicing with Ben at home than having to borrow our mom’s Jeep Cherokee and drive into Woodbridge for a rehearsal that may not happen if the members of Open Defiance blew it off. I liked the music Witch Hunt was doing more, preferred playing my own songs over someone else’s, and most importantly, loved my brother and trusted Ben intrinsically to do the right thing by me and our band.

Thus it was that both Jennifer and I settled happily into our respective grooves. There existed a certain kind of interaction between our bands over subsequent years, and we supported each other mutually. In early 1994, we invited Open Defiance to play with Witch Hunt at the Teen Hut in Quantico (though it being a military base, I had to make vocalist Chris Briton Jennifer Arroyo with TattoosPROMISE he wouldn’t swear or promote marijuana legalization in his between-song banter).  Once Witch Hunt completed its lineup mid-year with the addition of Erik Sayenga on bass, we began playing throughout the northern Virginia club circuit, and in September 1994 our two bands shared the bill one evening at a club called Maxim’s in the fine Nascar-supporting semi-metropolis of Manassas. By then, Open Defiance had a radically different lineup and was musically all over the map; they’d even re-written their “classic” demo-era songs in a manner that struck me as blatant pandering to the rap-metal style soon to become the rage du jour.  When I graduated high school and began university studies in autumn 1995, Jennifer and I fell entirely out of touch, the unintentional byproduct of people with different lives and distinct priorities.  From then on, we saw each other sporadically. In 1997, I ran into Jennifer at Ozzfest at the Nissan Pavilion in Manassas. In 1998, before I flew to Guatemala for a summer of volunteer work, we had a chance encounter at a Taco Bell in Fairfax. In 2001, fresh upon my return from Peace Corps service in El Salvador, Ben and I went to see Vince Neil play a solo Jennifer Arroyo livegig at Jaxx Nightclub in Springfield, and spoke fleetingly with Jennifer as she passed out fliers for Spine, a industrial metal band she joined on bass. Whether owing itself to so much time passing or my appearance being very different than in my metal glory days I will never know, but at the Vince Neil show Jennifer didn’t seem to remember me, even when I reminded her that we had once played in a band together.  That was the last time I saw her in person, though periodically I glean metal grapevine tidbits suggesting that “Lady J” (one of her multiple self-nominated noms d’guerre) has done well for herself, achieving on some level the success and recognition we both dreamt of a decade prior. While in graduate school in Ohio in 2004, I snatched a copy of Metal Maniacs at the university bookstore. And in its glossy pages, who should be photographed slapping away on bass for Canadian all-female band Kittie but Jennifer herself. The article mentioned that she had moved to New York, started her own music production company, and even joined a side project band formed by one of Biohazard’s guitarists. In 2008, after returning home from a tour in Iraq, I watched the Get Thrashed documentary – suitably titled for its long-form telling of the history of thrash metal – and noted Jennifer’s inclusion in one of the interview segments.  I looked up her awhile back online and learned Jennifer was on season 14 of CBS’ flagship reality show Big Brother.  And last week, while getting my daily dose of Blabbermouth.net news, I saw her featured in an ad for the Kickstarter campaign supporting Kittie’s 20th anniversary biopic documentary, currently being filmed for eventual DVD release.