Every chant of his last name sent a biblical flood of
adrenaline through Ryan Warrior’s veins. He stood backstage with his fists
clenched tightly by his sides, his painted up face a shield of rage, and his
leather jacket a suit of armor for this musical war. The dimly lit stage
splashed purple and red on the violent faces of the heavy metal crowd. All that
could be heard aside from the crowd’s excitement was the ethereal music created
by fast-paced war drums and the haunting wooden flute. As the war drum pounded
louder in the ears of all, the shouts and screams became more deafening and
more motivating to Ryan Warrior.
With the grinding, heavy sounds of an electric guitar, bass
guitar, and drum kit to guide his way, Ryan marched out to the stage and was met
with a thunderous ovation. They gave him a battle, he would return with a war.
He snatched the microphone off of its stand and shouted, “What’s up, Ghost
River Amphitheater?! You want some heavy ass metal?! One! Two! Chainsaw
Samurai!”
The drum kit and war drums players dueled with each other.
The guitar and bass players banged their long locks and bounced around the
stage. The flute player calmly let out another wave of ghost music. And Ryan?
He jumped up and down along with his audience, rowdy as they were.
With a throaty, demonic scream, he shouted, “Forget about
your fucking dishonor / And focus on your eventual slaughter / Which one of
your limbs must go first? / Your arms, legs, or German bratwurst? / Slice off
your head, a mummified trophy / He opens your mouth and says, “Blow me!” / A
bloodbath is coming from the Rising Sun / Violence and gore became a shit-load
of fun!”
The raw passion of the outdoor crowd could be seen with
every shove, every throw, every drop of blood, and every bruise. To get out of
this mosh pit alive and well would be a miracle rivaling Jesus Christ himself.
It was all fun and games until Ryan Warrior stopped bouncing and head banging.
He looked out into certain areas of the crowd with disgust on his face, like he
had just smelled raw sewage. “Stop the music! Stop the goddamn music! Guys,
enough! I got something to say!”
Once the band discontinued their music, the crowd erupted
into a fiery roar with volcanic passion and their bruised fists in the skies.
Ryan’s disgusted face turned to a deathly scowl as he shouted into the
microphone, “Are you guys fucking stupid or what?!” Like the bunch of idiots
they were, the audience cheered at that rhetorical question.
“I look around at this crowd and I don’t see metal heads. I
see grown ass men groping teenaged girls. I see little kids getting their heads
smashed in. Hell, I just caught one of you assholes shooting off a rocket at my
guitarist! You nearly hit him in the fucking face! What is wrong with you
people?!” No more fiery passion from the crowd, only boos. Whether those boos
were directed at the sociopathic audience members or Ryan Warrior was unknown,
but the oratory continued.
“You know what? I’m starting to understand why Roger Waters
built the wall! I trust you all know who the hell he is! He was the driving
force behind a band called Pink Floyd, a band I have a lot of respect for! And
right now, I feel like building a wall between you guys and my band! Boo all
you want, but it ain’t wrong if that’s how I feel! Go ahead! Boo! Boo like a
bunch of babies!” Ask and ye shall receive. The flying beer bottle that pinged
off of Ryan’s shoulder was a bonus that sent the Native American into a
nightmarish frenzy.
“Where the hell are the goddamn bouncers?!” he screamed.
“How come nobody is trying to remove these guys?! I see neo-Nazis over here
doing their thing! I see a teenaged girl trying to get away from you morons!
Seriously, where the hell is security?! Where the hell is alcohol enforcement?!
Why are the goddamn cops just sitting around munching on donuts?! I’ll tell you
what, dip shits! If you keep this crap up, you’re not getting a show tonight!
You haven’t shown me that you deserved one! You know what? To hell with it! I’m
going backstage and I’m going to have a banana daiquiri! Screw you bastards!
Screw this show! I don’t need this crap! I’m out of here!”
Ryan dropped his microphone with a resounding thud and
walked backstage with his brethren, flipping off the booing crowd as he exited.
The tour bus was in the back parking lot ready to roll on to the next town,
which was hopefully less criminal-minded than this one at the Ghost River
Amphitheater. The boos and reckless behavior out in the crowd caused Ryan to
clutch his head in pain as he took a seat next to the mini-fridge. While his
band mates disappeared behind the dressing room door, Mr. Warrior pulled a
banana daiquiri out of the fridge and formed a small smile on his face knowing
his night would at least end on a high note.
“Ryan! What the hell are you doing?! You’ve got a show to
play, damn it! Don’t do this to me!” shouted his manager, a pudgy, balding,
olive-skinned fellow in a gray suit who was flailing his arms as he shouted.
The singer tossed aside his bottle and stood up to look his
manager square in the eyes. “Do you not see what’s going on out there? They’re
acting like animals! I’ve played rowdy crowds before, but these guys are
turning this concert into a goddamn prison riot! Where the hell are the
bouncers? Do they not give a damn what’s going on out there?!”
Pointing a sausage finger at him, the manager said, “So
that’s it? You’re going to give up on your dream because you don’t like what’s
going on out there? Yes, you’ve played wild crowds before, but this ain’t no
small piss-ant nightclub! This is the big time! You can’t back down from a
crowd that size just because the security detail doesn’t swoop in right away!
They’re not the Justice League, for Christ’s sake! Hell, they’re probably busy
with parts of the crowd you can’t even see from the front stage!”
“Is that really what being a rock star is all about? Hanging
around with a bunch of criminals? Having people shoot fireworks at you? What a
bunch of crap!” said Ryan.
“You’re right! It is crap! But it also comes with the
territory! Yes, there are a bunch of wild and crazy idiots right now who are
probably being dragged away in handcuffs! But there are even more people out
there who paid good money to see you perform! By walking off stage, you’re not
only spiting the drunken jerks, but you’re also slapping the faces of the true
fans! Do you want your true fans to remember you as the guy who quit in the
face of criticism? If they think you’re getting soft for one minute, that’s the
end of your career, buddy! And it’s a career that barely got off the ground!
It’ll be over before it begins! Welcome to heavy metal, Ryan! Or I could
welcome you to the unemployment line, how about that? It’s up to you, big guy.
What’s it going to be?”
Breathing deeply and shakily, the seething Ryan Warrior
glared into the eyes of his manager and said, “If that’s your way of psyching
me up and getting me to earn my paycheck…” Mid-speech, he pulled a feathered
hatchet out of his leather jacket and grinned at it like a psychopath. “I’m
going to collect interest from these motherfuckers!”
In a calm and collected manner, the manager asked in a
semi-whiny voice, “Ryan? What are you doing with that thing?”
Leaning his slasher villain face into the manager’s, Ryan
said, “You’ll see. You think I’m soft? You think I’m cowardly enough to run
away from the biggest dream I’ve ever had?” He shouted, “Do you think I’m
stupid enough to walk away from a big payday?! Do you?! You can put all the
stipulations in the contract you want, but no matter who the record label is,
this is my show and I’m going to burn it to the ground!”
The manager backpedaled in pants-wetting fear as he shakily
sat next to the mini-fridge. Ryan grinned and shouted at the dressing room in a
feral voice, “Guys! We’re going to give the audience our…special treat!” The
band mates exited the dressing room laughing viciously and sending the manager
into even more violent shivers. The entire band walked passed him with
villainous grins on their faces while the manager weakly asked, “What’s the
hatchet for?”
The audience cheered and roared like bloodthirsty lions at
the reappearance of Ryan Warrior and his band. As the lead singer slowly picked
up his microphone and breathed in a raspy voice into the device, he swirled his
tongue around his lips as he saw the undesirables being dragged away by
security and law enforcement. Neo-Nazis were being pulled out of the arena by
their legs. Child molesters were being dragged by their thick hairy arms.
Drunkards staggered and fell on their way to the bus stop. While there may be
some cretins left behind, the unmistakable chants of Ryan’s last name were
music to his ears.
Ryan glared at the hatchet in his hand and said in a
monstrous voice, “You see this? I carry this into battle with me every damn day
of the week. It brings me more than just good luck. It brings me pleasure. It
brings me pain. It brings me…bloodlust!” On that last line, he licked the flat
end of his blade like it was his lover. “But if you think I’m so pissed off
that I’m going to carve up a bunch of drunken idiots and join them in prison,
you’re dead wrong. I’m not throwing away anything for those assholes, certainly
not my dream, certainly not my life. Instead…I have a message from a little
band from Iowa
called Slipknot.”
The “true fans” shouted their approval at the name drop and
raised their bloodied fists to the skies. Ryan continued his demonic speech
with, “Mr. Corey Taylor couldn’t make it tonight. He sends his apologies. He
also sends a very poignant message to everybody here who ruined your evenings
by acting like mindless thugs. Nah, I take that back. Your evenings are far
from ruined by those jerks. Our night of heavy metal is just getting started.
It’s going to continue with a little Slipknot song that everybody here can
relate to. It’s called…People = Shit!” With the fans riled up and ready to
rock, the stage pyrotechnics burst into flames and the music was far from dead.
Heavy metal will never die.
