New World Record

10 millenniums in Los Angeles

I hope everyone is now unzipping their layered and thermal outerwear, finally welcoming the opulent rays of the sun; the warm round beast that has been hiding behind leagues of frosty universe, leaving our entire country to freeze in an unpredictable frigid climate. During the wrath of Earth's icy dominion, we Fear Before had the opportunity to shoot a new music video---a video that took place outside. At night. Each of us covered in cold wet mud. For 7 hours. I am typing with a sniffly stuffed nose, still yet the aftermath of a bare fleshy warm-blooded body at mercy to nature's unyielding force. But it was one of the best times of my life. I am glad we survived...
The day of the shoot we had all afternoon to sleep in and prepare ourselves for the ultimate exposure to the most unprecedented dreary weather Los Angeles had thrown at its greasy pavement since long before anyone could remember. Scene call was at 430 PM and we threaded through the tight Los Angeles suburbs in our van and trailer, beads of thunderous rain splattering at our windshield. We pulled up to a colossal veranda tucked deeply away, past winding pavemented pathways and extensive open yards, the terrace costumed in a blatant castle design--resembling some ancient ride at Disneyland that would have been torn down mid 80's during the influx of theme rides that choked the expensive real estate of booming Southern California. Quickly the amiable director took charge, requesting that we change into the clothes we were willing to destroy in repeated rock n' roll maneuvers and gallons of clumpy bubbly thick mud. We were seamlessly swinging our hair doused in baby oil and faces caked in Milano foundation cream, clenching our frozen digits around the muddy necks of our guitars..trying to look infused with rock core amidst the terrible elements of nature breaking our backs with each cold pounding rain drop upon our shoulders. With the staggered alleviation from a heated living room dressed in garbage bags to ward off the mud stains, we zipped in and out of the frosty field with only enough time to recirculate the blood through our veins, heating our hands and feet next to the television that was constantly playing reality television. But hardship yields results. So stay tuned for the upcoming video for "Fear Before doesn't listen to people who don't like them", because we almost died of hypothermia to deliver it to you. That's my column for today.

Great Season's Greatings

Good Season to all... I hope your lavish days of tranquil leisure and bountiful consumption of Santa's favorite treats left you feeling complete and satisfied to take on another new year. Oh 2009! What mystery you hold. I have a feeling 2008 will only cower in the shadow of the monumental powerful profile such a becoming and tenacious year as yourself wields. I am flipping through pages of new year's resolutions and trying to slug out a better me come this new year; hoping to welcome in the fortitude of 2009 with open arms and relief like a feeble peon humbling before rain clouds. 2008 had it's highlights, but over half of it I feel I wasted--sitting around like life would shower me with gifts and opportunities; rather it befitted me with the humble realization that you make life what it is. So...using this spirited outlook and tasteful approach, one of my new year's resolutions is to comment on my life occurrences and choices as if my life were a column. I will tell enthralling tales of life on the road, romances, disparities, humor...everything. I hope to gain new readers and sift out the stale old ones. This is Mike in black and white. So hold on tight, because when the going gets weird...the weird turn pro.

Maybe For Only This Moment

Maybe for only this moment
Concerns will be brushed aside
Relationships will be at bay
Money will be only numbers
And Time will finally stay
And I will float here
As the waves of now
Carry me up and down
But my mood will not wary
Because my anchor is found
Just stopped right here
In the time of now

Sorry.

Many apologies to everyone and myself for my prominent diffidence with my writing---the second half of tour was far too much fun and swept my studious behavior away like rats in a rainstorm. I am gratefully home now, after the taxing drive across 1/3 of America with a most fearsome winter storm nipping at our accelerating hindquarters. We barely missed getting buried in the dolloping blanket of foot upon foot of heavy snow, covering the western United States in frost like an Oreo cookie. On this arduous drive home I pounded out some thoughts and will virtuously elaborate on them in the next coming of days.

Thesis on how I am invincible and there is no challenge I cannot overcome

Evidence #1
It was a brisk night, infused with the kind of cold that steals your body heat away like a passing apparition grabbing at your soul. The desert of New Mexico offered no warmth from its sandy hills and cloudless sky; it sat there lifeless and frozen like a bad painting---vacant and void. We played at a venue called the Launchpad and it was embarrassingly empty. This was due to one reason and one reason alone…the mega-hype hip-hop gangsta-frat-boy sensation known as “3OH!3” was playing a free show down the street and drew all the local kids like toddlers to an ice cream truck. After we packed away our equipment and tucked away our disappointed furrowed brows, we quickly joined the masses in congregation---but with a different motive---two of our very best friends were on tour with 3OH!3 and we desperately wanted to see them. I drove our van to the event in drooling anticipation and parked it illegally; the tour bus idling in distant view. We ran up and shook them out of the bus like coconuts from a tree; exchanging high-fives and fine whiskey shots in the frosty parking lot as if it were a wedding reception. We all had such a jubilant time and the party moved onto the bus until the wee hours of the morning. I was Mr. Responsible and played the role of the designated driver, calmly sipping on a stale Budweiser can and catching up with my friends. Eventually the celebration ceased and we loaded back into our van, sadly bidding our friends farewell. I maneuvered our van through the city streets in destination to a distant motel en route to Phoenix with the erupting laughter from the back of the vehicle piping up and ricocheting around like a wild beast in a cage. We were about 40 miles away from the desolate Motel 6 when amidst the laughter and bedlam in the van comes a crashing thunderous pound on the passenger door and I realize there is a massive 18-wheeler semi-truck knocking us into the median and almost into oncoming traffic. Survival tactics are always dependable and I watched my limbs jolt and thrust in a mechanical reaction as our van slowed down, headlights flash, horn honk; swerving to the side of the interstate---my arm jolting out the window with a towering middle finger erected in the frosty desert air; intended for the negligent truck driver ahead of us. In complete fury and powered by the atavistic energy of adrenaline, I jolted to the driver’s side of the truck and pounded on the door like Luther, beckoning the evil soul to emerge. There is no feeling like almost dying with 5 of your best friends. “Did you see what you just did to us?!...you almost killed us you bastard!!!” “Well…I was trying to plug something in. I must have swerved”. I was so infuriated and irate. I wanted to grab him from the neck and toss him into oncoming traffic. Instead I ran to the nearest road sign to find our location and alerted the authorities, who sleepily arrived at the scene; taking pictures and reports as if people almost lose their lives all the time. The truck driver was issued a ticket (is there a fine for almost killing someone?) and our insurance information was exchanged---police report filed. Now I am sitting here on my bed talking to my insurance company trying to figure out how to milk this guy for all the money he is worth. I want to get paid for almost dying.

My Week In Review

Oh my goodness it has been quite the week. I have traveled the onerous changing of time zones, long drives, late nights and far too much stimuli. Waco; San Antonio; Dallas; Lubbock; Albuquerque; Phoenix; Barstow; San Diego---a cavorting quest across the savage desert of the United States. In each and every city we have played I have had the honor of seeing good friends, making the distance I feel being away from home tolerable. Waco was a great show; a warehouse packed full of enthusiastic kids who danced about the floor like carnival acts. I spent 2 days at my brother’s house in Austin, joyously playing with his gargantuan Labrador and devouring the lavish feasts from some of my favorite restaurants in the country. We visited the Alamo, stayed awake until the wee hours in Dallas playing beer pong, had a relaxing day off in Lubbock with friend, partied on the 3OH!3 bus in New Mexico, got in an accident with a distrait semi truck driver, munched on massive pizza pies in Phoenix with our amazing friend PJ, met the members of duck duck goose in Barstow who kindly housed all 3 bands, and ventured into the locale of southern California to play a house show that was published in the local newspaper. It really is too much to tell. This is one of the seldom times where I cannot convey my brain operation through my fingertips. I am sorry. But one day I will be telling these stories to my grandchildren in front of a fireplace with steaming hot chocolate and a dog asleep at my feet. Until then, ask questions and I will answer them in a staggered manner. Mahalo

December 5

I woke up to the warm beams of light cast down upon my body in dignified measured lines like notebook paper; the effort of the auspicious sun pushing its thawing energy through the closed blinds and massive frozen window next to me. I rolled up my sleeping bag—careful not to wrap up any of the junk littering the rest of the bed—and dragged my sleepy legs through the trampled yard to our van. Flattened beer cans and smashed plastic cups lay lifeless in the dewy frozen matted turf, as if a herd of giant marching centipedes in rain boots passed through during the course of everyone’s slumber. I fumbled from house to house identifying my band mates in the piles of sleeping bodies everywhere, calmly waking them and advising them to hop in the van; it was time to start our drive to Lafayette, LA. We graciously shook hands with those who were awake early enough to bid us adieu and thanked them for housing such an unforgettable event. The drive was a straight path West, through the lush wooded trees of Mississippi and onto the elevated roadways of Louisiana, towering high above the swampy stale marsh on sturdy columns like birds nests in elm trees. I watched as the sun slowly burnt away over the Earth’s wet silhouetted ocean, its rays dancing about the glassy surface and then reflecting off as they dissolved into the milky clouds; the sun soon tucking itself behind the planet’s shroud and letting the moon take over. We arrived to the venue and loaded all of our equipment in and soon the other bands did the same. Soon the night would turn into the most incredible story of the tour, an outcome no one was expecting. The show ran smoothly and there was a comfortable back room for band members---and only band members. There was a dubious character hanging about, being very social with the bands and interacting like he had befriended the entire tour. As the night went on, he and his girlfriend inhabited the backroom and came and left from it like they were in a band themselves. After the show the guy was helping us load out and I had a bad feeling that some of the items he was grabbing weren’t exactly making it to our trailers. I ran back into the band room and realized that 2 laptops were missing (yes, one was mine…stolen twice in a week!) and there was a bass guitar and backpack missing as well. I warned everyone outside to look for the items and the first place we thought to check was the car belonging to the irregular character hanging about. Robbie from Heavy Heavy demanded that the guy pop his trunk so we could inspect. After much hesitation from the character, force was used and we made him show us his trunk. There it was…the bass guitar sitting atop a twisted pile of clothes like a prized jewel. Busted. Robbie and Thuggy charged for the kid and knocked him down into a pile of leaves, pummeling him with fist and foot repeatedly as his sturdy frame whimpered in, deflated by the assault of strikes. I knew my laptop and the other missing items were somewhere to be found, so I watched with satisfaction as the kid was nearly being broken in half. I could feel the vibrations in the ground from the wet fleshy thud of each punch. I felt so satisfied that justice was being served and wanted to orchestrate the slaughter for hours. I despise anyone that calls someone a friend and then steals from them. He deserved every bit of damage my friends were giving him. Soon a policeman who was running security for the dance club next door came over and asked us what was going on. He was the size of a pro wrestler and had the short patience of one as well---so when the kid was not cooperating with his questions he handcuffed him and threw him to the ground. We were all surprised and very satisfied that even the police knew that beating him up was the only way to teach him a lesson. We found the laptops buried in leaves next to his car and the backpack in his car. All items were retrieved and we left quickly with permission from the authorities that had the kid in the back of a squad car bleeding and defeated. Too bad the film crew for Cops wasn’t there, it would have been quite the spectacle for all of America to see.