Rock On (57 page)

As far as producers go, Michael Mallory had received every award a knob-turner could achieve including several Grammys. Not every project he touched turned to platinum but it sure seemed that way. Mallory had been turning out hit record after hit record since the end of vinyl, all the way through CDs, and now in the digital download era. While the majority of the music industry fell upon the hardest of times, Mallory seemed unaffected by all of the changes and kept on doing what he did best; making smash records.

Mallory believed that The Arbitrators had potential but needed a better guitarist. Donnie and Duane told him about the most talented player on their radar. Someone they both attended high school with.

Once the producer started courting the young guitarist, taking him to expensive dinners and dangling the proverbial golden coke spoon of success under his nose, The Arbitrators suddenly didn’t seem so poseurish. If Wrath listened to and trusted Mallory, it would only be a matter of time before Robert “Wrath” Kincaid became a talent to be reckoned with.

It sounded sweet but he still wasn’t sold on The Arbitrators.

Wrath could handle all of the madness surrounding Mourningstar. The violence and narcotics and STDs and the occult and criminal activities bonded them into a feral brotherhood, but when the singer asked his kid sister to be part of their live show, Rhain crossed a line that could never be undone.

At the pool party barbeque for Ann Marie Kincaid’s sweet sixteen-birthday party, Rhain asked Ann if she would like to be a part of Mourningstar’s next show. Of course she jumped at the opportunity to be onstage with her big brother. With Ann and all of her friends pleading to allow her to do it, there was no way Wrath could say no without ruining her birthday. Rhain could pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing and that it was an innocent faux pas but that didn’t change matters or fix the goddamn problem. What Mourningstar did onstage was not something that Ann Marie should participate in.

Usually Revile’s stripper girlfriend, Andrea, played the role of the victim during the song
Bloodletting.
Dressed as a nun, or more often barely dressed, Andrea would be tied to a cross. With a real dagger in one hand, Rhain introduced the song and cut himself. The real knife and real blood is what sold the illusion of the singer stabbing the victim with a gimmick dagger. Simple Showmanship 101 where Rhain played his role with plenty of malevolent conviction and the audience usually ate it up.

During a heated argument in which the two almost came to blows, the singer claimed that Mourningstar needed Ann Marie for her “virginal purity.” It was their biggest show to date and with Black Light Records attending, Mourningstar needed as much magic symbolism as they can summon. A virgin dressed in white getting slaughtered would certainly hit deeper within the audience’s collective psyche than if they simply used a hot stripper.

Wrath could have made this all go away by letting Rhain know that Ann was not a virgin. What she did and with whom was nobody’s business and the last thing Wrath needed was for a poon hound like Revile thinking his sister was fair game.

Wrath’s personal business was nobody else’s business and in all likelihood, the Whiskey A Go-Go gig would be his final performance before he moved on to the better things.

In almost every storefront window along the Sunset Strip a Mourningstar poster had been taped in place. Mourningstar flyers had been stapled to every telephone pole in Hollywood. The striking image featured the band standing menacingly in front of tombstones and statues of remembrance with Wrath in the center blowing a giant fireball into the air.

The overkill of promotion inspired curiosity, especially among metalheads.

On the night of the concert the boulevard buzzed with rock ’n’ roll excitement. Many bands associated with Los Angeles—from The Doors and Van Halen to Mötley Crüe and Guns N’ Roses—paid their dues onstage at the Whiskey A Go-Go. Strange electricity in the air, something was happening that lured heavy metal fans the same way the Pied Piper summoned rats.

Metalheads, mostly Satanic Hispanics, packed the murky club. Drunk and unattractive, they sported band T-shirts and denim vests covered in patches. They guzzled plenty of beer in anticipation.

Inside the dressing room, Rhain, Wrath, Revile, and Ruin were made up and waiting to hit the stage. Modifications had been made to each member’s outfit. More spikes, more belts, more everything. Each member wore a new necklace—a skeletal finger dangling like a pendant.

Resembling a pair of rock ’n’ roll demons, Rhain and Wrath chatted between themselves. They tried their best to pretend that everything was cool between them.

Like a gunslinger, Rhain sported a leather belt with two daggers inside two sheaths. One was a real dagger with a very sharp edge. The other, a stage prop with a retractable blade.

Dressed in an antique white wedding dress, Ann Marie made her way over to Wrath and Rhain but she didn’t look like herself. In fact, the usually bubbly teenager seemed uncomfortable.

“We need to go over a few things,” Rhain declared, oblivious that anything might be wrong with her. Then he stopped speaking, expecting Wrath to pick up the conversation.

“Okay so at the start of the second number, Rhain’s gonna introduce the song while the roadies bring you out on the cross. Try to make it look good. Resist a little and look scared but don’t pull too much or else it’ll fall over.”

Ann Marie nodded that she understood.

Rhain pulled out his two daggers and pressed the gimmick dagger against Wrath’s arm. It appeared the blade went in, but the guitarist was not cut.

“I’m gonna be holding the real one, talking to the crowd, and then I‘ll blade.”

“Blade?”

“He cuts himself a little so the crowd gets into it even more,” Wrath awkwardly explained.

Ann Marie seemed even more nervous.

“Don’t worry,” Wrath said, wanting to hug Ann but afraid to dirty her white dress. “You’ve seen him do it before.”

“Then the song starts,” Rhain added. “Between the lights and the smoke, I’ll swap the real dagger for the gimmick. You know the rest.”

“You stab me,” she said quietly, “and make the blood bag in my dress rip open while I bite the blood capsule in my mouth.”

“Exactly. And when the song ends the roadies carry you off.”

Rhain eyeballed Ann Marie before gently stroking her hair.

“You look perfect.”

Oblivious to the fact his guitarist was starting to fume, Rhain walked over to a mirror to tinker with his makeup and spray even more Aqua Net hair spray on his perfectly straight hair. The image in the mirror reflected the sin of Pride and why not? Tonight was the night he’d been waiting for all of his adult life—
his band was going to get signed to a record deal.

Wrath stayed with his sister.

“It looks like so much fun from the audience,” she softly stated.

“Hey, if you don’t want to do this, we can always get Andrea to do it. She’s around here somewhere.”

“No, no. I’m just a little nervous and don’t want to mess up, “ she confessed and carefully touched one of the long nails protruding from his forearm band.

“Ahh, you’ll be fine.”

Ann Marie smiled.

“I’d give you a hug, but with all of these spikes—”

Ann Marie’s smile became even wider.

At that moment, Danny the roadie made an announcement.

“Alrighty people, if anyone has to piss do it now!”

Eyes darted around the room but no one moved.

“Everybody ready?”

Psyched up and itching to get started, everyone was indeed ready to hit the stage. Hands balled into fists, Revile and Ruin tapped each other five. Bouncing around and raring to go, Revile could hardly contain himself. Of the four members, he was the one who craved the rock star lifestyle more than anyone.

Danny looked to Rhain for any final instructions. Gleaming majestically, the singer nodded his approval.

Outside the club, hellish sounds could be heard halfway up the block. Screams and droning bass and a gong were all part of Mourningstar’s gloomy intro music.

A beefy, longhaired rocker walked up to the front door as if expecting to walk in but a brawny bouncer blocked his path and pointed at a sign on the ticket booth window. It was a Mourningstar flyer and, in black Sharpie, SOLD OUT had been written across it.

Without warning, the rocker sucker-punched the bouncer as hard as he could.

Lip split open, the thick-necked bouncer staggered but did not fall. He lunged at the rocker and wrestled him down to the ground. While the two men rolled around trying to pound one another, about fifteen fans that couldn’t get in to the sold-out show rushed inside.

With the intro music still rolling, bodies surged toward the front of the stage. Derek Spencer, the president of Black Light Records, regretted not having reserved a table. His righthand man, Raul Ortega, hoped that if Derek signed Mourningstar to a record contract, a promotion would come his way. After all, he was the person who brought the group to Derek’s attention.

Satanic royalty personified, the four musicians stomped through a dimly lit hall and down a flight of darkened steps to the side of the stage. A mixture of pride and determination adorned all of their eerily painted faces.

First was Revile. Next came Ruin. Then Rhain and Wrath, who had his Flying V guitar strapped on.

A large black curtain had been drawn across the front of the stage. Ruin walked behind the amps to his double bass drum kit. He cracked his knuckles, twirled drumsticks, and waited. Revile went to his amp and flipped switches. He nodded to Ruin, who then took his position behind the large black drum kit.

Wrath and Rhain were still standing on the side of the stage. They could hear cheers and whistles coming from the audience.

“Ready to kill?” Rhain asked Wrath.

“Yeah . . . but there’s something I gotta tell you.”

Rhain stared at Wrath, suspecting he knew what was coming.

“I think you should know that my sister ain’t nearly as pure as you think and if you ever bring her into any band business again I will fuck you up!”

Chastised, Rhain couldn’t believe it. But there was more.

“And if you want me to stay in this fucking band, things have got to change around here! You need me a lot more than I need you. Understand?”

Rhain did not and never would.

Beaming with confidence, Wrath strutted across the stage and took his position stage left. He started jamming a monster riff and then stomped on one of his foot pedals causing his tone to become even heavier.

At the exact moment he stepped on the pedal, the stage curtain dropped.

Underneath an elevated drum riser, a large flaming pentagram resembled a portal into Hell. Three Marshall stacks stood uniformly on each side of the drum kit. Flashing police lights rested on top of the amp heads. All of the microphone stands had been customized with human and animal bones. The monitor wedges were dressed with razor wire. In front of each monitor stood sharpened steel poles. Impaled upon these poles were severed pig heads.

A large inverted crucifix hung down from the ceiling. It twirled slightly, slowly spinning an upside-down Jesus Christ. On each side of the crucifix was a red Nazi flag, but where the swastika would normally be, a black pentagram adorned the inside of the white circle. As the first song kicked in, awe registered on many of the audience members’ faces. This sinister stage show was already unlike any they had ever seen inside of a nightclub.

KABOOM!

Flash pots went off at the front of the stage—that was Rhain’s cue to join them.

While Wrath and Revile thrashed around looking possessed, Rhain stalked the stage. He never did anything that resembled dancing nor did he ever seem to enjoy himself. Instead he banged his head furiously, whipping his long black hair in time with the heavy beats.

The first song blasted out a powerful track full of crushing riffs that fans of Pantera or Metallica would enjoy just as much as the most ardent fans of grindcore or black metal.

Ruin attacked the drums like a wild banshee. Quick fills and hitting hard in overdrive, he embodied a whirlwind of perfectly timed precision and energy.

What Revile lacked in technical proficiency he made up by being the flashiest performer of the group. While he never smiled or got too carried away, he banged on his low-slung bass with a certain aggressiveness that many females saw as “hot.”

Wielding his instrument as it if were a weapon, Wrath possessed the talent and technique that would be a welcome addition to any rock band. Gritting his teeth and giving it his all, he frantically worked the stage. No matter how intensely he thrashed around, he never hit a sour note.

Rhain’s vocals were not particularly offensive in tone. They sounded gruff and manly but were not horrendous screeches or “Cookie Monster” vocals. Veins bulging out from his neck, every word sung was delivered with intense conviction.

The voracious crowd loved what they saw and heard. A mosh pit started swirling around violently. Audience members slammed into each other in heavy metal celebration. Wrath and Revile egged them on to go even wilder.

During Wrath’s guitar solo, Rhain walked over to Danny the roadie.

“MAKE SURE YOU STRAP THAT BITCH IN GOOD AND TIGHT!”

Danny seemed a little confused.

“I DON’T WANT ANN MARIE GETTING NERVOUS AND PULLING FREE, UNDERSTAND?”

A sinister look crossed Rhain’s face. Danny noticed it but didn’t say anything.

Seemingly a little less pissed off, Rhain slithered back and finished the rest of the opening number.

After the song ended, the crowd cheered loudly.

“This next song . . . ”

Rhain whipped out a real dagger and made the inverted sign of the cross. Because of the way he was lit, a brief motion trail appeared.

“This next song calls for BLOOD!”

The crowd roared with approval. Fingers forming Devil horns were raised as a sign of appreciation.

The singer stepped to the edge of the stage and slowly ran the jagged blade across his left hand. Blood spilled out from his slit palm. With a crazed look upon his horrifically painted face, Rhain was totally caught up in the psychodrama of his performance.