Evil Brian's Evil Thoughts...it's a MotherFucker

Strength Beyond Strength

You know, I wasn't listening to metal in 1986. In fact, I doubt I had much musical preferences at all when I was 5 years old. So, when Cliff Burton tragically lost his life in a horrific bus accident, it didn't affect me. Even looking back, having enjoyed Ride the Lightning an innumerable amount of times, I could never quite grasp just how important he was, or the reverberation that surged through the metal community when he lost his life on that chilly winter's night.

John Lennon had died almost a year before I was born. The impetus behind most of The Beatles' successes, and an accomplished solo artist in his own right. Even so, after getting my full Beatles knowledge and being able to sing along with "Imagine" before A Perfect Circle had ever dreamed of covering it, I always had a hard time understanding the pain and anguish felt by millions of people that cold December of 1980.

Finally, unfortunately, I think I understand where everyone was coming from.

I got home from work at about 8:30 AM Thursday morning and, as per usual, I checked all my usual websites. Real Life had a pretty funny webcomic up and, apparently, was raising money for a new server. Fark had the usual mix of important news and insanity, but nothing earth-shattering. Then I checked up on Your Favorite Band Sucks, to see who responded to the listing of Grammy nominations I had posted earlier, and there I saw a posting from the one and only Space Lord, and it broke some terrible news. A shooting at a Damageplan show. 4 people killed Others wounded. Dime...

"Dimebag" Darrell Abbott slain.

I quickly went over to Blabbermouth.net and it was plastered with breaking news of the tragic events that had unfolded while I was hauling boxes all night. Musicians pouring with regretful reminiscences and heartfelt goodbyes. Grief and misery the world over. The very foundations of the metal community, it seems, had been shaken. Hows and whys thrown left and right and everywhere people searching for answers. A groundbreaking guitarist had been stolen from us before his time. Shot in the fucking face by a madman whose name doesn't deserve to be repeated. For the first time in a long while, I felt the pit of my stomach drop and crack. I felt sick; my mouth agape and my eyes glued to the words on the screen. I understood, finally, what it feels like when a musician you grew up with is taken away from you unexpectedly.

I had never really gotten into Pantera much until listening to thier live album "Official 101 Proof". That's where it all hit me. The unrelenting Becoming. The shout-along Walk. The indescribable Cemetery Gates. They all hooked me in, and I believed the hype. I understood why all the badass looking bikers wore Pantera shirts, and why the metal community worshipped the ground these guys drank on.

Nobody could've seen this coming, and nothing, I believe, could have stopped it. I always figured Dimebag Darrell would die from alcohol poisoning; overdose; liver failure, something along those lines. The hard-drinkingest guitar player in the business had no right to go out the way he did, and it pisses me off. Like Owen Hart before him, Dimebag Darrell left us on the stage he used to entertain us so many times before.

This Friday Night Lyrics is dedicated to his memory.

"Hollow"

Pantera

Vulgar Display Of Power

1992