#mark menghi

[nuagederose]

“we rock”

ig: badmotorartist

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter two: a glass of whiskey

The stagehand led me to the backstage area, and I knew for a fact that I hurt something when I fell down on that hard wooden floor because my knee ached me. All I could think about was what I wanted to say to those four men once all was said and done with them. And I had a hunch that it was sooner than I believed, given the crowd beyond the doorway there was already going wild.

The stagehand took me by the hand and guided me into the dressing room, and I could only hope that Marcy would follow suit right behind us.

“Are you alright? Do you anything?” he asked me as he led me towards the plush looking couch tucked in the corner.

“A drink of water, please,” I replied as I took my seat there before the corner. He very carefully helped me put my leg up on the cushions and then leaned me back so I could recuperate.

“I'll be right back with the water and an ice pack for you,” he assured me, and then he bowed out of there in a flash. I lay part of the way down on the couch and I hoped I wasn't taking up too much room there, especially once they all filed in within a few minutes' time, dotted in sweat and with their eyes wide open from the rush of the adrenaline.

“There she is!” Mark decreed. “The tough little artist girl.”

“Man, you took quite the tumble, didn't you?” Dave said as he took his spot next to me in the recliner.

“Yeah, that was... I was not expecting that in the least,” I confessed with a sigh, even though I never was out of breath. I scooted back a bit so Mark could have his seat there on the other side of the couch. He nestled back into the corner and fanned the side of his neck with his hand even though not a bead of sweat had emerged on his head.

“How'd you like the show, though?” he asked me as he straightened the bill of his ballcap and I could better see into his hazel eyes.

“Oh, I loved it! You guys rule.”

He raised a fist to me for a bump, and the stagehand returned with a bottle of water and an ice pack for me: Alex followed suit right behind him.

“Hey, there she is!” he declared, and his voice struck me in its warmth and roundness; all the while, I was expecting him to talk in this high scratchy tone but it came as a sweet surprise. Mike was out there somewhere, but I needed to relax with these three men before anything else happened from that point forward. The stagehand then handed me the bottle and the ice pack for my knee, which I kindly obliged to him: Mark helped rest the pack on my knee, and the sudden cold made me gasp. It helped nevertheless; I couldn't drink that water fast enough as my cocktail had dried me out a great deal.

Because I took up most of the couch, Alex parked himself down on the floor with his legs crossed and his hands rested on his knees as if he was about to meditate. His hair stood up upon his head as if he had walked through a field of static and a slight pink blush crossed his face: none of them had broken out into a sweat as far as I could tell from there.

“I will say this, that was pretty ballsy of you to go running into the pit like that,” he confessed.

“I actually did it once before,” I explained without giving away too much. “Trying to make lightning strike twice.”

“And you did,” Mark assured me. “Those drawings you did for us were put in a safe place faster than I could finish this sentence.” I sighed with relief and rested my hand on my chest, which made Alex smile.

“We have to protect artists,” he vowed to me. “Especially the female ones.”

“I’m actually a baker but art is unquestionably my passion,” I explained to him.

“We have to protect artists of all kinds!” he corrected himself, and that coaxed a giggle out of me.

“Would you like something else to drink?” Dave offered me. “A beer or something?”

“No, thanks, I'm good,” I assured him.

“I could totally go for a beer, though,” Mark said.

“Yeah, count me in, too,” Alex chimed in.

“I actually don't drink if you can believe it,” I said.

“Oh, I can believe it,” Dave replied with a nod of his head as he stood up and strode across the room.

How the world mistook him.

Mike bustled into the room right then, complete with a bewildered Marcy and my purse.

“I told you she's back here with us,” he quipped to her.

“Well, you know, my best friend and everything,” she insisted to him.

“Yeah, her best friend,” I added in a singsong voice.

“Alex, why are sitting down there?” Mike demanded as he walked in.

“Because she's resting and healing, Michael, that's why,” Alex scoffed. I snickered at that, but Mike walked over to him to ruffle his hair.

“Absolute guitar legend and yet he still finds a way to be lazy,” he grumbled.

“Hey, I'm not lazy!” Alex insisted as Mike snatched a pair of folding chairs for him and Marcy. “Not even a little bit...” Mike rolled his eyes as he ducked back out in search of another one for himself. Marcy gingerly took her spot next to me while Alex slithered up into the chair directly across from me so I could look at him in the eye.

“Those two fight like brothers,” Mark explained. “In fact, all of us do. We don't call ourselves an allegiance for no reason, after all: we're all buddies and siblings at the same time.”

“Lot of adrenaline in the air right now, too,” Alex said as Dave handed him and Mark a beer each; Marcy and I both refused one again.

“It's kind of like when the bakery gets slammed,” I followed along as best as I could. “There's just a lot of energy in the air that it's hard to find a bit of relief.”

“You know, now that you say that, I'm glad you didn't bake these boys something, Al,” Marcy pointed out.

“Yeah, me, too. Fewer things are more heartbreaking than sinking hours into a cake or a pie or something only to drop it on the floor or have someone else drop it. I'll never forget the first time that happened to me with some cupcakes I made for a birthday party.”

“I imagine it being like loosing a limb,” Alex said as his eyes drooped a bit: the rush of it all began wearing off.

“It is,” I replied with a nod and a shifting of my weight so the ice had more surface to cover. “Luckily, it was one of those things where I could whip up a back up and the client was no rush, but yeah. It was like I got punched in the stomach when it happened. And you know, now that I think about it, and now that we've all met each other, I just wonder what you guys like.”

“I like anything and everything, in case you couldn't tell,” Alex joked, and he rested his hand on his little belly.

“Oh, you amateur,” Mark quipped back to him with a sip of his beer, and Marcy giggled.

“I'm really partial to Indian and Italian stuff, though,” Alex continued without missing a beat. “I got into cannoli some years ago and I seriously cannot get enough of them.”

“I've only made cannoli a couple of times and they weren't that great,” I pointed out to him. “I'll try my best, though.” He flashed me a wink as he sipped on his bottle of beer: a cold beer despite it being a cold, wet day there in Los Angeles.

“I'll take good old fashioned apple pie,” Mark told me. “You know, nothing too fancy just because I think about how swamped you would get from time to time.”

“Well, things aren't as bad at the moment,” I assured him. “We finished up the rush around Christmas, Hanukkah, and New Year's, and in the next week or so, we'll be gearing up for Valentine's Day. But that's a week off, though.”

“So you could do it all tout suite over the next week give or take?” he asked me with a sly grin.

“I could, yes! Maybe I'll stay overtime tomorrow to make these two things, a batch of cannoli and some pie. I'm right over in Oxnard so it's just a quick drive over for any of us.” I craned my neck for a glance over at Dave. “What would you like, Dave?”

“I'll share some of that pie with Mark,” he replied.

“What about Mike?” Marcy chimed in.

“I think he got lost,” Dave replied.

“Him and Blitz got blitzed in the basement,” Alex cracked as he took a sip, and the bunch of laughed at that.

“Blitzed their tits down in the pits,” Marcy added, and he let out a big hearty bout of laughter at that. Indeed, Mike never did return to the dressing room, and at that point, I was more than willing to stand up and walk around so my knee could breathe. Alex and Marcy walked alongside me so I could return to the feeling in my leg.

“This is not the worst thing that's happened to me,” I assured them.

“I should walk you back to your place,” he suggested to me. “That is, if you don't live too far from here.”

“You sure?” I asked him. “You look wiped.”

“I always look like this,” he assured me with a shake of his head; his hair floated around his head as if he was underwater.

“He really does,” Dave added, and Mark chuckled at that.

“Yeah, that's quite the order up: some chocolate cannoli for the man with the fuzzy hair all around his head,” Marcy said to me.

“And what'd you say your name was again?” Alex asked me as we walked back to the couch.

“Alison,” I replied. “Everyone I know calls me Alison Chains, or Ali.” I dared not tell them about Jerry being there, especially when he seemed to have high-tailed it out of there prior to then.

“Alison Chains, I like that,” he quipped, and he showed me a little smile: it was one of those sideways smiles that made him look as though he was up to no good.

“I do, too!” Mark declared.

“I got to see them before the pandemic,” I boasted. “They played with Korn down in San Diego, and it was easily one of my favorite shows.”

“Wow! I must've slept on that tour, because I imagine it being loud.”

“Oh, it was,” I said, and the three of us held still there before the couch.

“How're you doing? Can you stand on it?” Alex held back and looked long at me.

“I think I can,” I said. Dave then leaned forward and took his phone out of his back pocket.

“We better get a move on, fellas,” he informed. “And ladies. Curfew's coming on.”

“Ah, damn it,” Mark cracked.

“Right? Just when I thought we'd hang out with these girls all night...” Alex shook his head and adjusted his shirt with his free hand. Marcy took a hold of me as the five of us headed outside to the darkness over the street; Mike still hadn't caught up with us. But Alex caught my eye, and he lowered his gaze down to my shirt.

“Who's that...” He leaned in for a closer look and then he raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Chris Cornell! I thought that was Robert Plant for a second.”

“I think I'll always miss him,” I confessed with a shake of my head. “I have yet to visit his grave, too.”

“Where's he buried?”

“Up in Hollywood. Mark Lanegan's buried up there, too.”

“Yeah, I saw Mark got a nice stone erected for him,” he said with a nod and a ruffling of his hair. “I only just follow along with that whole scene so that's as far as I know.”

“Imagine playing grunge rock for a time, though,” I told him as Dave and Mark raised their arms up for their taxis.

“I've tried covering Nirvana or Alice In Chains in the past,” he quipped right then.

“Have you really?”

“Oh, yeah! It's pretty tricky, though, especially Nirvana. Lot of bar chords, and the fact Kurt was left handed, it's easy to throw you if you're not used to it.”

A trio of black cars rolled up to the curb before us, and Mark and Dave climbed into the first two first. But Alex held back and looked on at me with a thoughtful look on his face, accentuated by the light from the street and overhead as well.

“You know, I'm gonna be down here for the next few days before I go on tour again,” he said. “Tomorrow I have another show over at the Baked Potato, over in Studio City with this really great bass player, Stu Hamm. Maybe before then, I can come on over and we can do something together?”

“You mean like a date?” I teased him. “A date for the busy man?”

“Not necessarily,” he replied with a chuckle. “Although you can view it as that if you'd like. When do you get off your shift?”

“Two thirty,” I said. “So, you know. Hang out for a bit, or come on over for a round of breakfast.”

“Round of breakfast and a shot of whiskey, too,” he laughed. “You're over in Oxnard, you said?”

“Yeah. Smell the Magic. It's not too far from the water's edge and the sign's got big red lettering and we open at six and close at two thirty. You can't miss it.”

He turned to his driver. “Did you get that?”

“I certainly did,” he assured us.

“See you tomorrow,” Alex promised me with a wink and another sip from his beer bottle before he climbed in. Marcy and I watched them go when the fourth car rolled up for Mike. We scurried out of the way and back towards the street.

I couldn't help but blush at the mere thought of him being in my bakery. I was going to have to come in for breakfast and make him something as well. A round of breakfast and a shot of whiskey, too. There was something interesting about that as I had only known two other people who had a shot of whiskey with breakfast, my dad and my stepdad. The former cleaned up his act some ten years before, but the latter wasn't nearly as lucky. I remained positive, though: it was only a joke and he seemed in good spirits as well.

*********

I kept on thinking about that night as I clocked in the next morning at five thirty for the early morning breakfast rush and Marcy was eager to be there as well to join the two of us. I was up late that night from the pain in my leg and from the rush of it, and thus, I was working on very little sleep, but at least I had cause for it; add to this, Marcy looked ready to pass out by the time she dropped me off at my place.

I had just begun putting the croissants in the oven with some ham and cheese when the front door opened.

It was going to be some time before they came out and thus, I wondered who would come in right before sunrise and when everything was being made. I emerged from the kitchen to see his long fuzzy hair, still as poofy as ever, there on the other side of the counter.

“There he is!” I proclaimed.

“Yup, here I am,” he declared, still with that little grin plastered across his face. He looked a little drained, as if he had been up all night long.

“I was just putting the ham and cheese croissants in the oven, so it'll be a few minutes if you'd like one,” I offered him.

“I totally forgot to mention last night that I'm Jewish,” he told me. “You know... can't have pork and also meat and cheese together.”

“Oh! Not a problem, not a problem... make a special one on the house.” I snapped some new latex gloves on and adjusted my apron.

“What kind of cheese you got?” he asked me.

“Cheddar, Swiss, baby Swiss, cream cheese, Havarti, Muenster, Gouda, Edam, and Gorgonzola.”

“Ooh, give me some Gouda and Havarti,” he answered, and that smile never left his face. His eyes drooped a bit and I could only assume that he just woken up prior to then. “You got any coffee back there, too?”

“Not yet,” I told him as I took out my rolling pin and powdered it with some flour. “You can come back here if you'd like so you're not standing there in front of the counter. It's only us for the time being.”

“Beautiful,” he remarked as he rounded the counter towards the other end. “I couldn't really sleep last night so I got up at four thirty and came over here with my driver basically because I was bored. Right as we pulled in, my stomach started rumbling at me.” He followed me into the back room, where I began rolling out the dough with some butter there on the table; I moved a chair out from behind me so he could take a load off without crossing his legs.

“Just right on time,” I said as I quickly rolled out the dough extra thin.

“You hand make everything?” he asked me as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Absolutely everything,” I assured him as I turned the dough and the butter. It was going to have to proof for a bit before I could do anything else, but he seemed in no rush whatsoever. I let it rest in the fridge right next to the ovens as I turned to the coffee maker on the far side of the room for a fresh pot.

Once I came back to him, I saw he had taken out a silvery flask from the inside of his jacket.

“Little bit of screwdriver before things get moving,” he said with a raise of his flask.

“You actually have orange juice in there?” I asked him, slightly mortified as I knew that orange juice wouldn't last five seconds in there.

“Nah, it's just water,” he told me. “I did think of getting a screwdriver for myself before coming over here, though. A screwdriver for me and a mimosa for you.”

I smiled at that. It was actually nice to have a little distraction in there while I tended to some pie dough for the apple pie. More often than not, I was left to my own company before opening and it often got lonesome back there before my coworkers came in for the day.

“You only made cannoli twice before?” he quizzically asked me.

“Yeah, and the first time, it fell apart, and the second time, I was in a hurry so I wasn't able to decorate them all too well,” I explained as I sliced some more butter into cubes before I put it into the food processor with some flour and granulated sugar.

“I'm sure these will be decadent,” he promised me, and that little smirk returned once again.

“I'll try my best,” I vowed to him as I put the butter into the processor. A few blitzes, followed by some water, and a few more, and I had the precursor to a pie crust. I dumped it out onto table and proceeded to knead it a bit before I rolled it out flat; after that, it was to go into another one of the ovens for ten minutes for a round of blind baking.

“So, how does a young lady like you get into the world of baking when she also happens to be of the artistic type?” he asked me in a single breath.

“It's an art,” I told him. “It's an art, and it's also a science and... I've just had a knack for both things. It's always funny to watch people totally bomb at baking, though.”

“Why? You like a little taking pleasure in misery?” He squinted his eyes at me.

“Nah... well, maybe. But to me, it's just so simple because you're following a recipe and I often wonder like, 'how do you mess this up? It's as clear as day to me.'”

He chuckled at that. Once the dough was nice and smooth, I draped it over the pie tin and poured in some old pinto beans so it would set properly.

“Really interesting way of doing it,” he said as I brought the crust over to the oven closest to me. “And you're right, it is a science.”

I was met with the blast of hot air as I placed the tin upon the rack. I shook my head about once I closed the door, and he showed me another little grin, still with his flash rested in his lap.

“Has anyone ever told you your voice is like molasses?” I asked him.

“Molasses, really? No, that's a new one.”

“It's rich and full and very sweet without being too sweet,” I told him. “I love working with molasses, putting it in gingerbread and certain spice cakes and goods for diabetics.”

“Plus, it just looks hearty on top of that,” he added as he rested the side of his face in his palm and rested his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Absolute beauty shot right here,” I said as I held up my index fingers to him.

“Beauty shot?” he chuckled again, and that time his whole face lit up.

“Just one great big glamour shot here,” I declared as I took off one glove and brushed a lock of hair back from his face. Despite his pale skin, it still remained soft. He gazed up at me with those tired eyes and a proud little smile: not the lopsided one, but one that looked rather content.

He then stood up before me, and he all but dwarfed me there; I was going to make the filling for the pie and the dough for the cannoli but he kept his chest right before my face to stop me for a second.

“Come away with me,” he whispered to me. “Come away with me on the tour of the West Coast. Metal Allegiance will pick up some time again after that, as will Testament. You could be our personal baker and our personal chef while we're all out on the road.” He then offered me a sip from his flask: perhaps it was from the early hour, but he still looked so loosened up from that bottle of beer the night before; and even though I knew there was merely water in there, the memories were still very much intact in the back of my mind as well as my own flesh.

“I'm serious, it's just water in here,” he told me. “I just might bust out some wine later on.”

“I can't,” I confessed to him with a shake of my head. “I can't... you know, I like to treat myself once in a while, but my dad's an alcoholic and my stepdad was, too. My dad sobered up, but my stepdad wasn't so lucky, though. I also lost a good friend to drinking, too.”

“Oh, man.” He held the flask back away from me. “I'll respect those wishes.”

“And you know, you heard me last night, I don't really drink much,” I continued. “It starts and ends with one every now and again.”

Alex inched back to the chair and rested his hands on the edge of the seat of the stool. I gazed into his slightly rounded face and those deep eyes of his, the way they seemed to penetrate and follow me around like one of those trick statues at the Haunted Mansion.

The way they haunted me, like the souls from all those years ago. They were so clear, and I could tell he wasn't much of a drinker himself. He wasn't much of a drinker even though he carried a flask.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” I told him. “They're so soulful and soft. Before my stepdad started falling off, he had pretty eyes like yours, too.”

“Keyword there is 'had',” he pointed out without a single change of expression.

“Yeah, he just... he wouldn't stop. I remember his doctor putting a light up to his pupils and saying right away that he was jaundiced.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head at that. As I took a closer look at Alex, I noticed his skin seemed a touch paler than the night before: he had such a healthy, blooming blush to his skin immediately after the show, but I wondered if that had to do more with the rush of having played a show before a bunch of people than anything. I dared not worry about him, but it still permeated because he seemed so casual about it all.

The timer on the croissants went off, and I returned to the first oven for that morning's batch: I was going to make fresh dough right before my shift ended so it would proof overnight; but those went out for the first people that morning. The dough for his croissant still was chilling in the fridge.

“How much more time?” he asked me.

“About thirty minutes total,” I replied. “The dough has to chill for a bit more and then I can put the cheese in and roll it around and make it into a croissant.”

“At least we have coffee,” he pointed out.

“At least we have coffee, right! And we have day-olds, if you'd like.”

“You got any rugelach?” he asked me.

“As a matter of fact, we do!” I told him as I took off my gloves for a moment, and I walked on over to the day-old rack in the main room. There was one bag of a dozen rugelach, those tiny handheld croissants half of which were chocolate and the other half had jam inside, left on the bottom shelf, and it was all his.

“Ten bucks,” I informed him.

“Ten bucks for all that rugelach?” he gaped at me. “That's a steal!”

I chuckled at that. “Well, it's been sitting on the shelf for a few days,” I told him as he handed me a ten dollar bill; I tucked it into the front pocket of my apron for a second as I handed him the bag. I doubled back to the sink to wash my hands and fetch him a cup of coffee.

“I like mine black, by the way,” he called out to me as he took a chocolate one out. I returned to him right as he took a bite.

“Oh, god,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

“Hm?”

“It tastes just like how my grandma used to make them,” he said with his mouth full. “Right amount of chocolate with a little bit of cinnamon and some cardamom. That's home to me.” He shook his head again as I handed him his coffee.

I continued on making the apple pie as well as his croissant, the latter of which he was more than eager to have all to himself. I noticed he ate very slowly, and I knew he was loving every part of it.

His face lit up when I presented his croissant to him, as if he had just been presented a gold medal. I watched him indulge in it as I made him his cannoli and tended to the register. He was on the road a lot, and thus, I figured he could use a little rest and relaxation with some fresh coffee and baked goods; every time I came into the back room, he seemed so much more relaxed from the time before. It wasn't until more of my coworkers came in when he decided to head on over to his next venture.

“When's the show tonight?” I asked him as I sprinkled some chocolate chips over the cannoli.

“Eight,” he replied. “I can come and get you if you'd like.”

“I think Marcy's going to join us,” I told him, even though I knew I was going to have to call her. “But that's so sweet, though.”

“How much do I owe for these?” he asked me with a gesture to the cannoli.

“Twelve fifty,” I said. “It's a dozen, so a little more than a dollar each.”

“Beautiful, beautiful... and the pie?”

“Mark and Dave can worry about that,” I assured him as I took a fresh plastic bag out from underneath the table.

“They sure can!” he chuckled. I packed it in for him, and he traded me thirteen dollars. “Keep the change, dearest Alison.” I couldn't help but blush at that.

“So, I'll see you two girls tonight.” He flashed me a wink before he left the bakery with the day-old rugelach and those cannoli in his arms, and back out to the street. I thought about the night before once again, and I could hardly shake the smell of the alcohol on his breath, even when in junction with that soft cologne on his neck. I knew that smell anywhere, after nights of watching my stepdad come unraveled after having one too many or my real dad having one too many himself.

A smell that took shape and transformed into something else with time.

All the while, I couldn't stop thinking about Chris. He had gone away because of his own internal strife, and I couldn't bear the idea of potentially losing Alex to it, either. I could hear him say it to me in that lush voice: “don't worry about me. Please, don't worry about me.”

Death surrounded us and yet, he and I were willing to live through it all. He was willing to find that piece of comfort wherever he could possibly find it.

And I knew it because I was looking for that comfort as well.

[metalsongoftheday]

Thursday, August 15: Metal Allegiance, "Destination: Nowhere"

Metal Allegiance was perfectly fine as a lark, a way for journeymen and semi-legends to hang out and play some covers for fun, but nobody was looking for them (especially their bassist and semi-official leader, who nobody outside of these musicians had ever heard of) to write songs and put out albums.  But Mark Menghi was apparently a strong enough networker to not only land a deal with Nuclear Blast but get a fairly robust roster of players and frontmen to commit time to writing and recording fresh material, though to be fair a good chunk of these guys will appear on pretty much anything they were invited to, with Matt Heafy being a prime example on “Destination: Nowhere”.  As expected, the track mostly played like a Trivium outtake, but nobody sounded like they were phoning it in so the tune was actually fairly catchy and heavy: the riffing was stout and fleet, and Heafy wisely worked his mid register and didn’t lean too hard on trying to sing.  It still felt a bit tossed off, which wasn’t entirely unintentional- Metal Allegiance was supposed to be about having fun, after all- but kept “Destination: Nowhere” from feeling essential.

[metalshockfinland]

What Does Guitarist ALEX SKOLNICK Think about John Bush, David Ellefson, Chuck Billy, Mike Portnoy, Bobby Blitz & Mark Menghi?

Jimmy Kay from Canada’s The Metal Voice recently spoke to Metal Allegiance, Testament guitarist Alex Skolnick. In this fun chat Alex talks about the upcoming Metal Allegiance show on Jan 25, 2024 at the House of Blues in Anaheim. He also talks about the history of Metal Allegiance and discusses the personalities of the core group and the guests who have participated over the years. On January…

[clangandclatter]

Charlie Benante (Anthrax), Bill Kelliher (Mastodon), William Duvall (Alice in Chains), and Mark Menghi (Metal Allegiance) cover Soundgarden's "Rusty Cage" (along with a cameo by Kim Thayil)

https://youtu.be/WEpGOWEp7E0

[mxdwn]

Charlie Benante of Anthrax, Alex Skolnick of Testament and Mark Menghi of Metal Allegiance Share Cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon”

https://music.mxdwn.com/2020/10/10/news/charlie-benante-of-anthrax-alex-skolnick-of-testament-and-mark-menghi-of-metal-allegiance-share-cover-of-fleetwood-macs-rhiannon/

[m3t4ln3rd]

Metal Allegiance to release sophomore album Volume II: Power Drunk Majesty, issue video for "Mother Of Sin" feat. Overkill's Bobby Blitz

Metal Allegiance – whose core lineup consists of Megadeth’s David Ellefson on bass, Testament’s Alex Skolnick on guitar, Mike Portnoy (Sons Of Apollo, ex-Dream Theater, etc.) on drums and songwriter Mark Menghi – will be releasing their second record, titled Volume II: Power Drunk Majesty, on September 7th through Nuclear Blast. The effort was produced by Menghi and Skolnick, with Mark Lewis (Ca…

[orleff]

Интервю с Bobby "Blitz" Ellsworth (Overkill, BPMD) и Mark Menghi (Metal Allegiance, BPMD) | Rock The Night https://rockthenight.eu/interview-bobby-blitz-ellsworth-overkill-bpmd-i-mark-menghi-metal-allegiance-bpmd/

[rockbrary]

BPMD - Featuring Bobby Blitz, Mike Portnoy, Mark Menghi and Phil Demmel - Releases Re-Energized Cover of Blues Standard "Evil"

BPMD – Featuring Bobby Blitz, Mike Portnoy, Mark Menghi and Phil Demmel – Releases Re-Energized Cover of Blues Standard “Evil”

“Absolutely f*cking brilliant! God bless the real music krankers of America! Godspeed!” -Ted Nugent

“Super charged versions of some all time great (but not overplayed!) classic rock songs done by a killer band. I loved the originals of many of these tracks, and these versions bring a whole new edge and energy that make it fun to rock them once again.” – Eddie Trunk, iconic rock radio and…

[ghostcultmagazine]

BPMD – Featuring Bobby Blitz, Mike Portnoy, Mark Menghi and Phil Demmel Share's new Video for their Cover of Aerosmith's "Toys In The Attic"

BPMD – Featuring Bobby Blitz, Mike Portnoy, Mark Menghi and Phil Demmel Share’s new Video for their Cover of Aerosmith’s “Toys In The Attic”

BMPD – the all-star cover band featuring Bobby Blitz, Mike Portnoy, Mark Menghi and Phil Demmel have announced their new album American Made coming soon, on June 12, 2020 via Napalm Records. Pre-order’s are live below. Watch their debut music video for their new single, a cover of Aerosmith’s ‘Toys In The Attic’! (more…)

[horrorpatch]

Heavy Metal Supergroup BPMD Signs Worldwide Contract with Napalm Records!

The new heavy metal supergroup BPMD has announced they have signed a worldwide record contract with Napalm Records. The band is comprised of Bobby Blitz (Overkill) on vocals, drummer Mike Portnoy (ex-Dream Theater), bassist Mark Menghi (Metal Allegiance) and guitarist Phil Demmel (Vio-lence, ex-Machine Head). Get all the details of this new union right here below.

From The Press Release

The…

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter one: jigsaw pieces (part two)

The memory of having driven out to Santa Barbara to see him flashed through my mind: all the while, I was expecting to see one of those white vans with the serial number on the back fender. I knew back then that I would never forget seeing the silhouette of Chris' frizzy curls in the backseat, through the rear view mirror, and to that day, I wished that we had followed that van over to the Grenada Theater. But we never did see anything like that on the P.C.H., all the way down to Anaheim.

Meanwhile, Marcy seemed blissfully unaware of my going down memory lane as she hummed to herself and drummed her fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. She had suggested putting on some Kiss on the way down but it wasn't that far, and besides, neither of us knew what they were going to play for the evening as well. I had listened to their first record, but that was where it started and ended with me.

We were hours early and luckily, we had found a spot right down the block and not too far from the entrance. It had been a long time since I was at the House of Blues: my last concert there was Velvet Revolver, back in high school. I thought about digging my old shirt out of the back of the closet when I spotted a tall man with long blond hair over by the edge of the blood-red awning and the vertical sign with the flaming heart. He was wrapped up in a thin black leather jacket and he looked to be waiting for someone with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

Marcy pulled on the parking brake while I peered out the rear driver's side window: I swore that I recognized him, even from a distance.

“What's the matter?” she asked me.

“I think I just saw Jerry Cantrell,” I confessed to her. “Over by the vertical sign, kind of... away from everybody else.”

“Well, you have to remember that they're like an all-star supergroup,” she explained. “You know, it's the four of them and then they have all manner of guest singers floating around in the wings, especially during their gigs. So, expect to see some faces around here.” But then she glanced back over her shoulder for a look out there as well. “That does kinda look like him, though, doesn't it?”

“It's hard to tell from here,” I noted, and I climbed out of the car first.

That night of seeing Alice in Chains all over again, but this time, I was actually about to see him for myself, that is if it was in fact him there underneath the sign. The flaming heart had lit up, even though nightfall was a few hours off: as we crossed the street and came on closer, I recognized his prominent brow, illuminated by the warm red and white neon light over his head. He gazed down at his phone and nudged a lock of smooth blond hair back from his face.

“Is it—?”

“Is it really?” Marcy followed suit.

“Yeah, it's definitely Jerry! Come on, come on...” We hurried up the walkway to the outside patio: four o'clock in the afternoon and a few patrons had already settled in before the big Friday night rush into the venue. But we rounded the corner right as he glanced up from his phone.

“God, I wish I had my drawing with me,” I mumbled to myself. He showed us a smile.

“Hello,” he greeted us.

“Hi,” I led the way.

“Hi,” Marcy echoed me.

“How's it going?” he asked us as he tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket to better pay attention to us.

“We just wanted to meet you,” Marcy explained. “Meet you before the show starts.”

“And without all the official crap,” I added, to which he chuckled at that.

“Oh, I feel you ladies,” he said, and his voice was like melted chocolate in its smoothness. “Sometimes it feels nearly impossible to meet fans anymore without them having to pay an arm and a leg for backstage passes. It's usually right before a show starts, too, so we can't chat for hours on end.”

“I'm kicking myself that I didn't bring the drawing that I made for you,” I confessed to him.

“You made something for me?” he asked me, and he showed me a little unsure smile.

“I'm afraid it's in my desk drawer back home,” I told him with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Aw, man, you should always bring that with you whenever you go to a show! I'm really curious now.”

“You oughta give her your number,” Marcy joked to him.

“And why should I give her my number?” he demanded as he pressed his hands to his hips.

“So I can give you that drawing!” I declared. “Duh!” He burst out laughing at that.

“I think that can in fact be arranged,” he told me, and he reached into his opposite jacket pocket for a small notepad of paper and a pen. Marcy put her arm around me and gave me a little shake of excitement.

“You mean it?” I asked him, taken aback.

“Yeah, I kinda like you girls,” he said as he ran his tongue along his lips. “You saw me from afar and didn't make fools of yourselves.” He turned his attention to me, and he knitted his eyebrows at the sight of me.

“By the way, you smell good,” he confessed to me.

“I work in a bakery,” I replied with as I fixed my sweater. “I often come home smelling of bread and cakes.”

“Oh, that's gotta be like one of the best things in the world,” he said, and that sly grin never left his face. “What's your name, by the way?”

“Alison,” I told him. “My friends call me Alison Chains.”

“I was just gonna say, Alison Chains,” he chirped, and he handed me the piece of paper.

“And I'm Marcy Playground,” she added, and he let out a big bold laugh at that.

“Yeah, I really like you girls,” he decreed.

“Will you be joining them up on stage?” I asked him as I held the paper up to my chest, as if I had just been offered a date.

“Who, Metal Allegiance? I just might, you never know.” He flashed me a wink, and for a second, I swore that he puckered his lips at me. Jerry then took his phone back out of his jacket. “Speaking of, I've got a place to be. I'll catch you girls later.” He showed us a pretty little wave before he ducked back to the other side of the building to meet up with someone else, and Marcy and I gaped at each other.

“He was hitting on me, wasn't he,” I muttered aloud.

“He certainly was,” Marcy replied with a chuckle. “He gave you his number, teased you, 'you smell good'...” She brought a hand to her face to stop her laughter in its tracks, but she laughed anyway.

With our masks on, we hung out there on the front patio until the bar opened, and at that point, I had hurried back to the car for those drawings. I kept them close to me lest anyone see them and take the surprise out of it all.

Marcy had ordered me a midori sour while she took a Cosmo for herself. Nothing to see here, just a couple of girls enjoying life as it was there on a Friday night. We congregated out on the patio once again, that time under the veil of the twilight. As far as I knew, they all had gone backstage and met up for their annual warm up before the show started. I tucked the drawings underneath my chest as I sipped on that glass of bright green, so bright in fact I wondered if it would glow a bright neon from under the floodlights that lined the awning above us.

“You think Jerry's going to be up there with them?” I asked her at one point.

“No clue. He did hint at it, though, didn't he?”

“Nah, he gave me that 'you never know' thing that I employ now and again.” She chuckled some more as she sipped on her Cosmo. Still, I wondered if Jerry really meant it or if he was only there for a good time.

I still had a lot of drink left over by the time the doors opened and we filed inside of there: we were in the drink rail section, right behind the pit, and right next to the sound booth so we could not only see everything but see everything that went down behind the scenes as well. I was eager to witness them, my very first heavy metal show: the closest I had gotten before then was Korn, but they were a league of their own in my eyes. I was in need of witnessing some metal in the flesh, and what better way to go about with it with some all-stars and their opener, “Pledge of Allegiance”, sung by a guy who introduced himself as Mark. His long black hair seemed to float around his head while his sun-kissed skin seemed to glow under the lights. He was like a vampire.

Mike towered over his drum kit with a long goatee dyed a bright fiery red and a ball cap turned backwards over his head. Dave had opened his shirt and let his long mousy colored hair dangle over his shoulders, almost nearly identical to the drawing that I had made: indeed, it was the drawing closest to my chest. All four men had such long luscious hair down past their shoulders, especially that lead guitarist with the plume of gray at the side of his head. He was so long and lanky, and his fingers seemed to crawl across the guitar neck with utmost control and ease.

Something about him was so hypnotic and entrancing, and I realized I was watching Alex. Every so often, he gave his hair a little toss back with the flick of his head. He, too, was like a vampire.

Right before us, a mosh pit was forming down in the floor section, and I was glad that Marcy and I had picked out the drink rail instead. On the other hand, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if any drunk people could come out of the woodwork as the show progressed along.

The lights swept over us, and I raised my glass right then: the green of the midori shone bright towards Mark like a searchlight. He pointed right at me and Marcy let out a loud cheer, and he flashed the two of us a thumbs up. She gave me a high five right then, and I put my arm around her: I was holding onto those drawings for dear life against her shoulder.

Another singer, a man named Troy, took to the stage next. We were also met with a few female singers, as well as a big Native American man whom Alex seemed particularly chummy with: I was going to learn all of their names by St. Patrick’s Day, I was certain of it.

“Someone backstage recommended these to the two of you,” was all I could hear over the noise of the crowd.

I turned my head to see Marcy talking to one of the ushers. She leaned in closer to her to hear it, and then she turned to me, even with her mask on over her face.

“Someone who bought presale tickets didn’t show up, and someone backstage suggested we get them!”

It was meeting Chris all over again, from the excitement to the fact it felt like the tickets fell out of the sky.

“Dammit, Jerry,” was all I could mutter to myself as the two of us strode on up the aisle towards the pit section. It was going to be a bit unruly there, but I held onto those drawings for dear life. It was exactly like when I met Chris, except I had no clue as to when or if I could be able to make my way up there to the rail to catch someone's attention.

But we stood there at the rim of the pit. It wasn’t like the Grenada Theater where I could duck to the stage and flag down their attention: if we ran, we could make our way over to the stage and do that. But the theater had the help of a buffer zone of sorts: i ran the risk of being smacked in the head or knocked down by the pit.

I had a hunch that the show was going to wrap up soon enough, and thus, I had to act quick.

“Here, I'll hold your purse,” she said right into my ear, and I slung it off my shoulder for her. I then took one final drink of my midori sour. The mosh pit flared up again, and it was of substantial size at that point. But I clutched onto the drawings, and I glanced up at the stage, at Mike’s red goatee, at Alex’s plume of gray hair, and I knew that my gun was loaded. I had cleaned my gun.

I wore actual shoes that evening rather than little slippers.

I looked over at Marcy and the expression of concern on her face, even from behind her mask.

“Fuck it, I'm going in,” I blurted out.

I bowed my head and kept the drawings close to me. I was running through a war zone. I skirted along the rim of the actual mosh pit itself, and I ran opposite to the ring. I was getting close to the stage. I could see Alex and Dave’s feet.

Someone pushed me, hard.

I fell right before I reached the stage. People behind me gasped.

Someone pushed me because I was going against the current.

“Pick her up! Pick her up!” someone declared in the microphone. “Somebody help her out!”

I fell face down, right by the side of the stage. I knew I should have avoided the pit section but I needed to give the art away. There was no way around it without any sort of elbowing or moving about with utmost power, and I had my hands full with those drawings fresh off the press.

“Oh, god, I think she's hurt,” I heard someone say. I lay there on the hard floor with a sharp pain in my shoulder. I pinched my eyes shut, and all the while, I thought about Chris. I rolled over as I could feel their hands on me. I was so relieved to have my mask on. 

The silhouette of his face right above me. 

Not even his marriage could stop the feeling that I sensed between us.

There was something between me and him, something that I missed for so long at that point.

“Are you okay?”

I swore that I heard his voice again. Almost a decade since he and I had met and came face to face with each other, and the better part of one since he had passed. Somewhere through the pain, I believed that I had found him again, like in the dream the day after the news had hit us all. But I still recognized his voice. 

I still recognized him.

“Hey, doll, are you okay?”

I opened my eyes to see those deep set bright eyes right over me, in all their luminosity and all their soul. For a second, I thought I had met Chris again, with that scraggly dark hair all around his head and shoulders and the soulful look to his eyes. But Chris never had that prominent of a nose, or that bright of a gray streak upon his head, or that olive of skin, either.

“Are you alright?” he asked me in a gentle voice; those prominent teeth, those soft looking lips…

“I think so,” I replied to him in a broken voice; I hoped he could hear me through that thick mask.

“You be careful out there in the pit, okay?” he advised me; when he raised his dark eyebrows, it brightened his whole face. “Someone tries to come at you, don’t be afraid to give 'em hell.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” I sputtered out; he gave me his hands and helped me to my feet. It was right then I realized I had dropped the drawings but someone caught them for me.

“Hey, did you draw these?” Mark asked me as he showed me the one of him, a mirror image drawing where one side of him resembled a football coach and the other side had him dressed to perform along with his bass guitar.

“Yeah, those are for you guys,” I said as I rubbed my head with my fingers.

“Holy shit!” He showed Alex the one of him, to which he gasped and he held his hand to his chest as if he had seen heaven.

“Oh, my god, these are amazing,” he told me, and then he turned to the tech behind him. He said something but I couldn't hear anything over the noise of the crowd behind me. He then handed the drawing to the tech, and turned to me.

“Go backstage,” he advised me. “My tech will take care of you, but we’re almost done, though. We’ll be with you before you know it.”

“Thank you,” I said to him as I gathered myself and followed his tech backstage. “Thank you, Alex.”

I hoped that Marcy would find her way back there as well.

And all I could think right then was “dammit, Jerry.”

[thephotopitmagazine]

METAL ALLEGIANCE Celebrate The 5 Year Anniversary With 4 West Coasts Shows

METAL ALLEGIANCE Celebrate The 5 Year Anniversary With 4 West Coasts Shows

Celebrate The 5 Year Anniversary With 4 West Coasts Shows METAL ALLEGIANCE began as a celebration of heavy metal, powered by the almost tribal bond shared between the extreme music community’s most revered trailblazers, armed with a list of contributors onstage (and off) that read like a Wikipedia entry on the genre itself.

What started…

[metalshockfinland]

METAL ALLEGIANCE Announce First East Coast Show by 'Core 4' in 6 Years

METAL ALLEGIANCE began as a celebration of heavy metal, powered by the almost tribal bond shared between the extreme music community’s most revered trailblazers, armed with a list of contributors onstage (and off) that read like a Wikipedia entry on the genre itself – whose “core 4” is comprised of David Ellefson, Mark Menghi, Alex Skolnick, and Mike Portnoy. On September 6th, 2024, the band…

[megarockradio]

BPMD Feat. BOBBY 'BLITZ' ELLSWORTH, MIKE PORTNOY, PHIL DEMMEL And MARK MENGHI: Listen To Cover Of 'We're An American Band'

BPMD Feat. BOBBY ‘BLITZ’ ELLSWORTH, MIKE PORTNOY, PHIL DEMMEL And MARK MENGHI: Listen To Cover Of ‘We’re An American Band’

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BPMD Feat. BOBBY ‘BLITZ’ ELLSWORTH, MIKE PORTNOY, PHIL DEMMEL And MARK MENGHI: Listen To Cover Of ‘We’re An American Band’

https://www.blabbermouth.net/news/bpmd-feat-bobby-blitz-ellsworth-mike-portnoy-phil-demmel-and-mark-menghi-listen-to-cover-of-were-an-american-band/

BPMD Feat. BOBBY ‘BLITZ’ ELLSWORTH, MIKE PORTNOY, PHIL DEMMEL And MARK MENGHI: Listen To Cover Of ‘We’re An…

[josiebelladonna]

a running gag with testament is that they all look similar to each other.

and… you know. honestly, i don’t blame you. when i was getting into them earlier this year, it took me a bit to discern them from each other, too. it’s any comfort, though, I went through the same thing with anthrax as well 😳

some of you may have seen that joke post i did for testament a few months back (although i was also tryin’ to be as accurate as i could, though, despite me joking). but here’s a quick little guide for all of youses trying to figure them out to tell them apart and also get to know them a little better, seeing as both quintets are garnering some new and much-needed attention (i’ll do one for anthrax later on, too, just ‘cause)—mind, this is for the “classic” lineup, because testament went through (get ready to faint) nine drummers, namely john tempesta and currently gene hoglan, and you also have james murphy who replaced alex after he bailed in 1992. these are all courtesy of wikipedia (yes, professor, i checked all the links and everything is accurate) as well as some other stray sites, talking to alex on instagram, and a few people who knew joey in particular, and just my studying their faces as part of my being an artist.

chuck: half pomo indian, half mexican, and looks the part, too (fun fact! he’s cousins with stephen carpenter of the deftones). the one with the big guns and hordes of tattoos, and this weird like… combover upon his head. not bald but it makes me think of a combover. one of those people who, despite the sun kissed skin, he has very bright eyes. big animal lover and one of those people who can and will spoil you. big on real estate—no, i mean when he’s not frontman of testament or soccer dad, he’s got his fingers in the proverbial real estate pie. a cancer survivor (2001 to 2005) and covid survivor (back when the pandemic started), believe it or not; got really heavy as he got older but in a good way, though, like you can tell he’s healthy and recovered. actually has a solo album in the works as of writing!

alex: student of satriani just like kirk hammett but you won’t hear about him much, for some reason. skinny little jew boy with deep set eyes and rather prominent nose (it’s only gotten more prominent with age). the one who just looks like he’s an old soul; a lot of people think he kind of looks like marty friedman and… yeah, i’d say so? look up “several irons in the fire” and you’ll see a picture of him: left testament on halloween 1992 because he wanted to do something else outside of metal and a while back, he said things were getting dramatic on the personable front. played with savatage for a bit—even tried out for the spin doctors, believe it or not—moved to new york in… 1997, i think? did some small stuff, like a thing with larry lalonde from primus of all people called skol-patrol (and spawned an inside joke with me called skol-man breaks the internet) before he went to school and got his degree in music. started his own eponymous jazz trio sometime in the early 2000s—i LOVE them. i love his trio—and also played a rather significant part in trans-siberian orchestra for the entire 2000s. rejoined testament in 2005 for some time (t.s.o. kept pulling him the other way), and then returned full-time in 2009; did a world music album called planetary coalition in 2012-ish? formed metal allegiance with mark menghi and mike “big daddy” portnoy in late 2014 (all i’m gonna say about that is it’s the thing that saved him). is also a writer (AND HOW!), a photographer, and has a deep, profound love of the arts—just ask me! like chuck, got heavier as he got older (although according to him, it was just from eating too much), and oh! he’s… well, he’s. kind of. just kind of… going gray. he’s had that plume on the right side of his forehead since he was 14 and the only part of his hair that’s gray, too, the rest of it is solid black. very interesting man, like you listen to him talk and you get a sense there’s a lot more going on inside him than we give him credit for. and i shit you the fuck not, is quite literally the easiest person to talk to. to the point it’s almost uncanny, like at some point you kind of forget that he’s one of the fastest guitar players in the world. one of those guys who if he likes you, he won’t leave you alone, like he’ll lurk and sneak up on you. but he’s a really sweet guy, and all because he’s the one who looks the most different.

eric: half mexican, half swedish round and squishy looking cute little boy, with a thick arnold schwarzenegger neck and real rich, rich, rich jet black hair like you could probably extract crude oil from his roots and make a dickload of money out of it. prone to getting heavy as well, but it hit him earlier than chuck and alex. i call him “mr. legacy” on instagram, because he’s the one who started the whole shebang. i think he was the one who fell down some stairs in 2004 and wound up in the hospital? i remember reading about that and just going “damn, son”. started a symphonic black metal band called dragonlord in 2001 with steve di giorgio (who’s with testament now). he does the whole black metal thing (corpse paint and the witchy vocals) and they put out two albums before 2005, where he put them on hiatus because testament itself; they put out an album a few years ago called dominion, which saw the entering of a canadian singer named leah (i was reading about her a while back, she’s oft-described as the “canadian enya”, like she has a similar vibe). was married for a long time to rebecca hammett (yes, THAT rebecca hammett) and they even had a kid together, but they split some time ago. not quite as sweet as alex but definitely up there, like he’ll fanboy with you: he’s another one who’ll lurk and quietly flirt with you, too. despite everything, still has that inky black hair.

i should also mention that these three men are completely, capital “o” obsessed with

coffee. on that aforementioned defunct site, there was a point that said every testament album was written on peet’s coffee. and if you’ve followed alex for any length of time, you’ll see him mention it, either in passing or front and center.

like i think of elaine benes asking, “what—is with—the gum”, but swap out “gum” with “coffee”.

greg: very tall and lanky and very thin. very tall—alex is pretty big himself, but greg is like a radio tower, though. where the other three have put on a few either with time or on a regular basis, i can see right away that he’s managed to stay thin all these years. so thin, he’s almost gaunt, like it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he’s been approached because he could pass off as a creature or a slasher out of a horror movie of some sort, or a villain. one of those people with “perma-stubble” like every time i see him, he’s got a little mustache over his upper lip. i saw a recent pic of him on instagram about a month ago when i was doing my inktober drawings and he’s got this snidely whiplash thing going on with his mustache. after alex left testament, louie left a few months later and then greg left in 1996. there’s not a lot about him to speak of after that, but he did come back in 2001 for a benefit concert for the treatment of chuck’s cancer and then again in 2005 when alex came back; he left again in 2014 because he wasn’t getting paid? idk, that’s according to him (and i mention this a few times in his chapters in xenon dreams and even make this a running joke in souls of black). a while back, alex said on ig live that he last saw him like three years ago and he was doing great: playing with a band called trauma and some other people. actually auditioned for the bass position after cliff was killed but lost to jason (just think about it, though).

louie: short and spry, like a horse jockey (”i whipped the horse and it ran!”). like eric, is soft in appearance but has more of an edge, like he’s got bit of a permanent scowl on his face. i’m pretty sure he has a glove fetish: most pix i’ve seen of him, he’s got on a pair of either white or black leather gloves. like greg, there’s not really a lot about him (like his page is sparse compared to that of alex), but the most i could gather is when he left testament, he kinda stopped playing music altogether until the benefit concert. became a father real young, like he left testament back when they were legacy for about a year because of the birth of his daughter; became a grandpa real young, too!

—

birthdays:

chuck billy: june 23, 1962 in los angeles alexander nathan skolnick: the baby september 29, 1968 in berkeley, california eric stanley peterson: may 14, 1964 in berkeley, california gregory christian: april 29, 1966 in pleasanton, california luciano clemente: january 25, 1965 somewhere in california

albums:

the legacy (1987), the one that started it all and with credits to steve “zetro” souza who went off to give his vocals to exodus the new order (1988), the one that messes with your mind practice what you preach (1989), the political one and the one that made everyone go, “holy shit, these dudes are awesome! too bad thrash is kind of on its way out-” souls of black (1990), (my personal fave) the occultist one and the one that eric sorta disowned because he thought it was too rushed (but i told him it really helped me through the passing of my stepdad earlier this year) live at eindhoven (1990), the live album the ritual (1992), “alex in chains” i call this one because there’s a lot of spooky vibes here a la aic low (1994), the groove metal album demonic (1997), the death metal album the gathering (1999), the one everyone forgets for some reason first strike still deadly (2001), the one everyone hates just because it’s all re-recorded stuff the formation of damnation (2008), the one that hits you with a shovel *edit: i just want to see someone five minutes after they listen to this era of testament (”whoooooooaaaaaaaa, dude. now i need cigarette... i deserve a cigarette after that.”) dark roots of earth (2012), the one that makes you realize your time is limited on this planet (chuck apparently wanted the song “cold embrace”, which is also the name of my vampire!testament fic, to appear on the breaking dawn soundtrack) brotherhood of the snake (2016), the one that wanders and bends and makes you wonder what the hell alex and eric aren’t telling you titans of creation (2020), the one that came and went because of the goddamn pandemic but it’s merciless, though

and they’re currently writing new material!

it’s a long way out of berkeley, boys.