Doubtfire and Full House was right on the money, although spliced with what I’d assume Seattle
to look like…
At Blag’s we pick up my stuff and though Raul keeps frantically calling me, Blag insists
“the grind band will still be there,” taking time to show some memorabilia. He gives me a copy
of his book NINA for the road, and we exchange some other promo material before I walk off into
uncertainty.
The Fillmore is quiet and dead, the streets are empty, the darkness enveloping. I make a
quick call and Raul is spastic & grumbling because he’s been driving around Haight/Ashbury for
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nearly 2 hours. I apologize even though I told him specifically to wait, and he agrees to pick me
up immediately. Yet he has no idea where I am, and I am totally lost, having to run up and down
multitudinous hills to realize I’m heading the wrong way. Then back down them, then up three
more to a corner where I’m supposed to meet Raul. But now he is lost and can’t find the street…
We collide and he’s scrambled in frustration. I climb into this white minivan out of breath
& aching from that huge duffel bag, and nothing hits off right. Raul’s this short, heavily accented
Mexican guy in his mid-30’s with a slick leather coat and turtleneck. He’s nasty drunk after
killing a twelve pack, is incoherently spazzing, and looks like he’s gonna explode. We swing by a
convenience store and pick up 40’s to kill the tension. We try to figure out somewhere to relax for
the interview, and he suggests the beach. When we start driving he changes the locale to a
friend’s house, then to another’s, and then...
Things are cooling down and he shoves a finely-rolled blunt in my mouth. Soon as the
THC kicks in, the handful of Perkasets I gobbled on the bus swing back up, and I mention how
neat it is that Fidel Castro has a street named after him. Raul immediately changes his mind and
says he wants to do the interview tomorrow when he’s sober. He has to work at 5am and asks
where I need to be dropped off.
I, of course, have nowhere to go. I don’t push any buttons on this one because he’s
begrudgingly helping me in a nervous good cop/bad cop fashion, like talking to himself and
answering his own frustration. He realizes there is nowhere to put me and starts making phone
calls, escorting me to dead apartments & studio spots.
I suggest Severed Savior. They are practicing at 10pm and they’re space is not far from
our current whereabouts. Raul knows exactly where to go, but their rehearsal room is in an
abandoned factory section in the wasteland outskirts -- bad neighborhood with no Bus system and
three miles from any civilization, plus it’s starting to rain.
Since Raul knows Severed Savior personally, I’m having him introduce me. It’s my best
shot against the cold. If there isn’t any after party, I’ll just get ditched near a bus stop and gruel it
out. Find some donut shop and rant at strays until 5am when I can legally sleep in a park.
We pull into this darkened death trap land with barb wire and chain link fences
everywhere behind a semi-truck storage lot. It looks like a military barracks. Inside the compound
is what one would expect – two vast corridors of 25 rooms housing 30+ bands.
But it’s Friday night and the place is silent. Not exactly a rarity, ‘cause weekends are
typically gigs and few ever practice at night. We hear some commotion in the room at the end of
the corridor, guitars being tuned, a few double bass kicks. Raul walks me up and points ahead
saying ‘there they are.’ I clank the door and turn around to say something to Raul, but I realize
he’s bolted out the back door. Poof, vanished…
Guitarist Mike Gilbert leads me in. Bassist Murray Fitzpatrick and drummer Troy
Fullerton are fairly laid back, having smoked a bowl. A few quick words then I step out to the
hallway to make some calls. I can’t get anyone from here on the horn, and the Detroit Refugees in
San Fran are only loose acquaintances at best. Looks like I’ll be sleeping on the torn up couch in
the hallway & just hang around for Saturday afternoon, when 70% of bands practice…
SEVERED SAVIOR IS IRONICALLY MY SAVIOR
Midnight in San Fran, cruising the black highway towards San Jose. Only Severed Savior vocalist
Dusty Boisjolie and myself, rumbling in his pickup truck, blazing towards a late-night after party.
The practice was ear-shattering to say the least: “Severed Savior was formed in ‘99, we recorded
our first 5 song demo ‘Puddle of Gore.’ Shortly after the release of ‘Forced To Bleed,’ our
second guitarist Rob Lumbre passed away on Jan, 5th 2002 due to a car accident shortly after
joining. We were devastated.”
“We had Jared record the guitar parts for ‘Brutality Is Law,’ which was released on
Unique Leader in 2003. It made us more noticeable in the U.S. and worldwide. After playing a
ton of shows and establishing our sound, Unique Leader set up ‘Bloodletting North America IV
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Tour,’ and Severed Savior was asked to join the bill along with Spawn of Possession, Pyaemia,
and Gorgasm. Later we toured with Black Dahlia Murder and Cannibal Corpse -- the ‘Tour of
the Wretched’ -- but we had nothing. No van, no RV, no bus, so we put all of our money together
and this lead us to an Airport shuttle bus in Arizona.”
“Was it a real piece of shit?”
Dusty Boisjolie: “The bus was in pretty bad shape. We had to gut the inside, take all the
little trinkets out, like a wheel chair lift that weighed a ton. We made it a comfortable living
environment for 7 or more people. We built the whole thing... in about 2 and a half weeks. We
were rushed, but we had bunks, a bathroom, storage for the equipment, and a pretty nice lounge
setup in the front… The day before the last day of the tour we had two major blowouts and were
stuck in Texas looking for tire shops. We get through a grueling day of being hung over and
exhausted with sunstroke only to wake up to no brakes and us barreling down the road. The bus
fills with smoke and we rush to get our shit out. The fire was too big and watched it burn away
our hopes of playing the last show and getting home. Everything else was completely ruined from
water damage as well. We had to cancel the last show and get a U-Haul to transport all of our
equipment alongside a rental car to get us home.”
“What was the fallout?”
“Shon left and we continued as a four piece. We found a guitar player from Pennsylvania
named Joe Kort. We did two mini tours -- one with Decrepit Birth and one with Vile. We’re
currently recording our new album "Servile Insurrection" for Unique Leader Records. It will
hopefully be out before 2008.”
“Tell me all about the scene in Frisco.”
“It really varies from show to show. One night there will be a small show with a huge
turnout and then the next night there's a huge show with a small turnout, or visa/versa. Overall it's
a great place to establish your name and the same can be said to all the bands that come out of not
just San Fran, but California in general.”
“What’s the best tour you’ve done?”
“By far Cannibal Corpse. I don't want to say boosted our ego's or anything, but it made us
feel more wanted. It gave us a more professional look as compared to the Bloodletting 4 tour.”
“How is the album you’re working on differ from past works?”
“In the beginning we were all dead set on one style which was to try to make the music as
brutal as we possibly could. It to be a crunchy, grindy, raw sort of feeling while still very intricate
and technical. I think the overall approach of the new stuff is a lot more presentable to someone
that hasn't necessarily ever heard death metal before. The lyrics aren’t as gory and satanic as they
once were. I want to break out of that realm and write songs with more meaning, comparing it to
our everyday lives and the stuff that people deal with day to day. As for the actual music we don't
stay inside the box as much as we did and try a lot of stuff we probably wouldn't have done
before. More clean guitar breaks and drum dynamics, as well as making our own bass lines more
than just following what the other person is playing. I think steps up our sound and approach a
lot.”
“The Church of Satan is in San Fran. Ever actually go to one of their sermons for the
hell of it? Or is the C.O.S. the laughing stock of the scene?”
“I personally haven't been to the C.O.S. A lot of people ask that question, but to tell you
the truth, being in a band and having to work every day takes up enough of my time. But I have
been curious as to go one day just to check it out. I wouldn't say it's the laughing stock of
anything; they have some very strong beliefs and opinions that I think everyone, as arrogant as
we are, can agree with.”
“Are there still tons of old hippies wandering the streets like acid-freak bums that still
think it’s 1969?”
“I wouldn't say that there are tons of them, but occasionally you'll have a run in with
some kind of crazy human. There's a homeless guy that scares people while hiding behind a bush.
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It's pretty hilarious but at the same time sad to see that people actually want to live that way. San
Francisco is kind of a magnet for bizarre, unusual shit which keeps it exciting and you on your
feet.”
“What do you think are the best bands in the SF scene?”
“There are so many… Possessed, Exodus, Metallica, Testament, Sadus, Primus,
Neurosis, Exhumed, Impaled, Odious Mortem, Decrepit Birth, Vile, Thanatopsis, Animosity, All
Shall Perish, Brain Drill, Osmium, Motherfuckin’ Ragweed, Sons of Chaos, Poverty, Insanity,
Ludicra…”
“Any musical side-projects going on with any of the members?”
“I recently did some backing vocals on the new Spawn of Possession but that’s about it.
Mike played guitar and did vocals on a Vulgar Pigeon album, Troy did drums for Carnivorous.
Murray toured Europe with Gorgasm.”
“What is the core message of the band itself?”
“The main message is in the name of the band itself. It pretty much says it all, you can
just think of it in different aspects. What I see when I hear the name Severed Savior, I see it more
as a cutting off of religion in a whole and not letting it become a part of your life. You can look at
it another way which is a little more stereotypical and that is Jesus’ head getting decapitated or
being completely chopped in half, kind of like in the song ‘Puddle of Gore…’
Dusty’s house is a split two-level with drunken metal guys drinking 40’s on the porch. Inside
there is a Pink Floyd banner hoisted on the wall, a nicely furnished living arrangement, and a
well-to-do selection of hard liquor. We tap into the Citron and the atmosphere continues, ten
alcoholics colliding arguments. Dusty leads me outside. He chuckles and points towards the roof:
“You see that? That’s where the macabre pigeon house was.”
“I cleaned that shit out a few months ago and discovered this bird nest of death. The
mama pigeon got in there somehow and laid eggs, but there was no way to get out. So these baby
pigeons cannibalized her. The nest was made of bones and decomposing feathers. It was fucking
Texas Chainsaw Massacre dude, fucking blood splattered everywhere and shit.”
We get on the subject of Robert Deathrage from The Meatshits and Dusty relates a
bizarre tale of a show that Deathrage threw: “We played in Ceres, CA, this town near Modesto,
and a super-fan rushes up to us as we’re pulling into the place. He’s going on and on about how
he doesn’t have any money but really wants a shirt. He’s going on about how he will let me watch
his friend punch him in the face or eat a piece of dog shit, or anything, while I declined every
offer.”
“Out of nowhere this guy gets this bright idea -- like a frikkin’ light bulb appeared over
his head -- to jump in the Port-O-Potty. He didn’t even tell me what he was going to do then
BOOM! All I hear is a splash and this bluish, glossy, Papa Smurf figure comes running toward
me with his hands raised to the sky, screaming bloody murder. I say Papa Smurf because he had
chunks of toilet paper on his head, everywhere, and he was completely blue. Chunks all over his
head, ears, mouth -- I mean everywhere. He must have jumped in head first to about his waist…”
“So did you give him the t-shirt?”
“Yes, but I made him stay five feet from the merch booth. He was in the pit the whole
time, rubbing up against people that were totally oblivious. I dedicated ‘Fecalpheliac’ to him...”
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HASHBURY
Saturday morning, April 7th. I wake up covered in pillows and cat hair. The house is empty, the
golden sun is pouring in, and Raul has left 7 messages on my phone. I take a drag from the half-
smoked water bong, cough my lungs out, and delve into Raul land.
He starts professional, but as the messages keep coming with 30 minute intervals, he
keeps getting more frantic, apologizing relentlessly, until the last message where he says he’s
booked us dinner at an upscale restaurant and he will be paying for everything, including a taxi to
pick me up wherever I might be.
By the time I’m showered and ready, Dusty says he has work to accomplish, and offers a
ride back into town. But first he rolls a blunt and hands me this gigantic Christmas tree of a bud
as a souvenir. I buy him breakfast en route and we rummage through my list of SF bands. He
doesn’t know many of them but gives me Ross Sewage’s number from Impaled ‘cause he’s “one
of the coolest guys in Oakland.”
I finally call back Raul who is still freaking out trying to appease me. We make
arrangements to meet later tonight and Dusty just looks at me like I need my head checked. By
the time we reach Haight/Ashbury, we are cotton-mouthed beyond repair, and I tell him that
“Severed Savior is ironically my savior.”
I’m in the parking lot of a McDonalds across the street from Golden Gate Park. It’s nice
outside, about 60 degrees, and there is plenty of commotion going down on the strip. There are