By Melissa Fossum
By Lauren Wise
By New Times
By Amanda Savage
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Troy Farah
By New Times
We had great seats, 13th-row center, surrounded by legions of the faithful. Then, before I could say "shag haircut," Rush came on and the juggernaut began. The light show was, like, pretty cool, and Geddy Lee resembled John Lennon with a bigger nose. I really enjoyed Geddy's classic, high-cheese rock patter--How ya doing, Phoenix? I said, 'How ya doing, Phoenix?'"--but by the fifth song, I'd heard enough. Now here's the righteous part: Tim and I walked to the back of the Coliseum (getting incredulous, "How could you leave?" looks of scorn), and hiked up to the very worst nosebleed seats in the place. There were two teenage Rushites literally sitting with their backs against the wall, and we gave them our tickets.
At first they thought it was some kind of a setup, but when we convinced them it was for real, you should have seen these guys. A mixture of disbelief and holy gratitude; the looks on their faces you could have poured on a waffle.
So the good deed was done, the guys packed up their air guitars and moved ever closer to Rush, and we rushed out and ended up at the 307 Club in hopes of catching a late-night drag show. But that's another story.
The Boys From Brazil: The official bio describes Sepultura as "heavy rock's darkest chroniclers of inhumanity and injustice." It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it. The band has a new CD out, Chaos A.D., which the bio says is "their boldest, angriest, and most terrifying work yet"--God, I love quoting bios--and if you're the kind of person who can get scared by a CD, then it speaks the truth. This is metal for the thinking man; Sepultura combines strong, wicked music with social commentary drawn from experiences in its native Brazil (though the members now call Phoenix home).
For example: The acoustic tune "Kaiowas" was inspired by a tribe of Brazilian Indians that opted for suicide rather than let the government move it from its rain-forest home. "Manifest" offers a spoken-word recitation of a massacre at a South American penitentiary.
The band is coming to Club Rio--ironically--on Sunday, February 13. So now, calling from a hotel room in London, where you can here his baby yelling and a Skinyard album playing in the background, here is Max Cavalera (Sep's singer and rhythm guitarist) to share a few thoughts with you.
Screed: Ex-Dead Kennedy Jello Biafra wrote some lyrics on the new album. How did that come about?
Max: I always loved the Dead Kennedys; that's why Sepultura started getting political, partly because of them. We became friends with Jello about three years ago, then, when I was writing this album, I had a song with no lyrics and I wanted some political ones. I called him up, and he was so excited, he faxed me the lyrics the same night.
S: Were they any good?
Max: Yeah! The name surprised me. I was like, "Biotech Is Godzilla"? But it's great.
S: Your bio says you're "a heartbeat away from massive success." Do you feel like that?
Max: Uh, what does it say again?
S: That you're a heartbeat away from massive success.
Max: Oh. I don't know what "massive success" really means. If it means put on a flannel shirt, change your music, that's not what we want. If it means expanding to the masses the way we are, then that's what we want. We're not about to change to get bigger; it's been ten years already, man, and to be quite honest, I can take 20 more. The main passion has to be just for playing, and I'm not desperate. S: Is it hard artistically to keep your metal pure as you get bigger?
Max: If you let it go to your head, it can destroy you. You don't want to see anybody, you're just crabby and pissed off.
S: Relocating from Brazil to Phoenix seems like quite a move.
Max: Phoenix is home, man. I've been here two years and I really like it. A lot of people are moving to Phoenix, like Dave Mustaine from Megadeth. And we have the same tour manager as Ozzy [Osbourne]; he's from L.A. and he's like, "Man, I'm moving to Phoenix after that earthquake shit." It's a good place to relax.
S: And you can shoot guns in the desert.
Max: Yeah. It's perfect.
Earl C. Whitehead and the Grevious Angels are Austin-bound on New Times' nickel. Earl C. and the boys are the lucky band chosen by yours truly to attend the South by Southwest music conference, and if you haven't gone to see em, you should. And if you haven't guessed by the name, the band does a country thing that falls somewhere between Gram Parsons and early Johnny Cash. And the band members wear boots and cowboy hats. At Balboa Cafe last weekend, the Grieving Ones packed the joint, and more than made up for a rocky start courtesy of a temperamental PA. For those of you keeping score, the guy playing bass (Dan Henzerling) is the same guy who plays drums in the almost-too-good-to-exist Toad the Wet David Swafford. Another local band called the Gin Blossoms seems to be doing quite well these days; in fact, it's sold more than a million copies of New Miserable Experience, and that means the thing is platinum. A guy from the soms' record label called me and said they'd be receiving the award at the Suns-Lakers game on March 18, and that Robin Wilson would sing the national anthem. I called Mr. Wilson, and he begged to differ. "I am singing the national anthem, but we will not be receiving our platinum record there. I simply will not allow that to happen. I'm sure the Suns have got other things on their minds." And though waves of patriotism will no doubt be coursing through Robin's veins as he takes on the anthem, "It's more exciting because you're thinking, 'Fucking James Worthy is sitting over there listening to me sing,'" he says. Hey, and Vlade, too.