Bringing Metal To The Children: The Complete Berserker’s Guide to World Tour Domination. Rob Zombie
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Название: Bringing Metal To The Children: The Complete Berserker’s Guide to World Tour Domination
Автор: Rob Zombie
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Музыка, балет
isbn: 9780007413331
isbn:
Silhouette of My Testicles on a Shield—This is not a patch on the vest at all, it’s a silhouette of my nut sac. I tried to get this particular image printed with a scratch ’n’ sniff effect, but we were unable to reproduce the correct scent, so you’ll have to use your imagination or just sniff your own nut sac. We were originally going to use this design for our crest shield patch, but after a band vote, the idea was completely shut down.
BLS Crest Shield—The shield of strength represents family heritage. In the Black Label family crest you’ll see everything that Black Label is: the unbreakable chains to represent determination and faith; SDMF between the two images of Skully, which represent strength in numbers; and the black and white colors illustrating that there are no gray issues. There’s only yes and no, right and wrong, as in “Yes, Barb, I would love a blow job this morning,” and “Right, I haven’t bathed since the deployment of our tour over six weeks ago.”
When you’re on tour, your goal is to get yourself from point A (your hotel room) to point B (the rock show that night). Everything in between is the gray area that nobody gives a fuck about. You get a flat tire on the way to the gig, you stop by the liquor store and get shot at, and your dog eats your fucking homework. Nobody wants to hear about all that stuff. Just get it fuckin’ done. Get yourself from point A to point B and handle your business. Black and white.
Doom Crew Iron Cross—The Doom Crew patch honors the hardworking crew involved in keeping the Black Label Armada rolling.
BLS Nation Flag—Represents the BLS Nation and everyone that belongs to it, including all you Society-Dwelling Mother Fuckers!
The Black Label Order—The Order is a lot like the Illuminati—it’s a secret religious order with its foundations deeply embedded in the Black Label code. Members of the Order belong to their respective chapters worldwide, signified by the crucifix and the unbreakable circle that supports the cross standing in front of it. As the circle represents everlasting faith and commitment, the crucifix represents unconquerable strength, blood, and sacrifice. Skully is at the bottom, representing the foundation and the true secrets of the almighty Black Label Order.
Basically, it’s so secret that we don’t even know who we are. Truth be told, only Bea Arthur from The Golden Girls knew our most sacred and core secrets. And if you go back and watch some of those old episodes you can clearly see Saint Bea blinking and signaling codes that will reveal the truth of the Order.
All of the symbols and acronyms that make up the colors stand for something meaningful to me and all those who wear them. They represent a philosophy on how to approach life, with the music of Black Label providing the enchanting hymns and melodious anthems for those within the Almighty Order.
In Witness of Unity
BY ERIC HENDRIKX
SAN BERNARDINO, 2002: THE BLACK LABEL SOCIETY TOUR bus rolled up to the Blockbuster Pavilion. Within a few hours of their arrival every single ticket holder at the venue was made aware of their presence.
Sirens pierced through the scorching desert air, instantly setting the tone to one of terror and aggression. It was a warning signal identical to the alarm for incoming air raids heard during the kamikaze attacks on Pearl Harbor. The alarms clutched the attention of every society dweller within their reach. But this time, the alarms were not sounded to warn people that their lives were in danger. Instead they were fired up from the Ozzfest main stage to alert fifty thousand crazy motherfuckers that Black Label Society was about to pummel their eardrums with the Metal sounds of Valhalla. The crowd gathered below the stage with fists and devil horns raised by the thousands in anticipation of the fury about to be unleashed.
And then it began.
Draped in denim, leather, and unbreakable chains, the Viking Zakk Wylde, graduate of Jackson Memorial High School in New Jersey, class of 1985, marched to the center of the stage, raising his battle-axe of choice above his head for all to behold, a Bullseye Les Paul guitar. His heavy brow and jaw, Hessian hair (which was washed and double conditioned using Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific), and paralyzing stare into the eyes of his audience were all testimony to his uncontested command. And while the alarms continued to rupture the air, his band commenced with the pounding of thunderous drums and bass. Taunting guitar harmonies bled through stacks of Marshall cabinets as Wylde and his evil twin guitarist Nick Catanese cranked their Marshalls up and stroked their first chords.
“How many of you motherfuckers believe in rock ’n’ fuckin’ roll?”
The San Bernardino Berzerkers roared as Zakk yelled back, “So do I! And that’s why I still live at home with my mommy and dada, and occasionally sleep on the floor of my buddy Andy’s van—down by the river!”
The crowd roared like a pride of lions as the band tore into what sounded like war between the gods of Olympus and Titans of Tartarus.
The mosh pit beneath the stage flowed with reckless abandon. Berzerkers who populated the circling masses of Metalheads had donned the same attire as the band. Their black leather and denim, with BLS emblazoned upon their clothing in Old English lettering, was testimony to their loyalty to the Metal giants before them. Just then, Black Label manager Bob Ringe whipped out his trusty calculator and started counting heads among the sea of Black Label T-shirts, headbands, and vests—and started to beam with sheer unbridled enthusiasm, knowing he was that much closer to purchasing a forty-thousand-square-foot home sitting atop beachfront property in Malibu.
The band began doom-trooping into “Battering Ram,” “Graveyard Disciples,” “Bleed For Me”—as each song merged into the next, Wylde challenged the Black Label family to raise the bar and bleed even more. Mosh pits formed by the crowds throughout the modern Colosseum. “13 Years of Grief,” “Demise of Sanity”—the open lawn of the venue looked like a dusty swarm of locusts where hordes of moshers circled to the hostile rhythms of the music.
Wylde’s fixation was unbreakable as he ripped through guitar solos with precision and speed. One hand continued to play while the other worked to empty a can of beer down his throat, foaming down his long beard, all over his clothing, before he crushed the can into his forehead and chucked it into the crowd. His voice could be heard for miles as he delivered line after line of his lyrics through the main stage’s PA system.
Leading in with his wicked bass line, Trujillo fired up the anthem of the Berzerkers as Wylde pierced the ear canals of his listeners, screaming, “Let me hear you, motherfuckers!” and then went into the final jam before hurling his guitar into the sky, allowing its inevitable crash into the stage floor. Feedback and resonance struck listeners as the band took its exit.
And as I wiped the dirty sweat and blood from my eyes and brow, I gazed around at the rest of the moshers in the pit with whom I’d СКАЧАТЬ