heavy metal – New Orleans Musicians

If you head up the Mississippi River from New Orleans roughly forty miles, you’ll find yourself in Garyville, Louisiana. Here, the soundscape swirling in the waters is what makes them muddy. French influences of La-La and Zydeco meld with traditional country and other roots music. Like many, guitarist Johnny Lagrange holds fast to his origins in these genres. As a child, his first experience was seeing live music at a fair with his older cousins. Where chatter amongst the crowd was spoken in French, and Charles Sonier played the fiddle on stage.

At home were two older sisters and an older brother with tastes of their own to fill his ears. He gravitated toward his sisters’ pop music of the day like Madonna and Tears For Fears more so than the rap music to which his brother listened. Radio delivered his appreciation for musicianship with artists like Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton, and Stevie Ray Vaughn. A six-year-old boy would many times attempt to play these tunes on his little plastic guitar. Though he stood worlds away from creating the music he heard, he loved giving rise to sound. His foundation was already filled with many elements. As Johnny put it, “But then, you get your first blue jean jacket. And you get turned on to Testament and Iron Maiden. These guitarists are amazing!” The flood gates were instantly breached. Any membrane that disjoined traditional genres from the new style of rock had been permeated by the likes of Steve Vai and Yngwie Malmsteen.

Suddenly, the divergent interests of his original footing and heavy metal ruled radically different. Though they seemed to occupy equal parts in his mind at the time, it was the guitar that swayed him. Heavy metal, and thrash music for that matter, explored the possibilities of sound with guitar. Johnny grew fond of doing the same. As we spoke about this time in his life, I asked about his first “real” guitar. He smiled and pointed to one that sat on a stand behind me. He was fourteen years old when it came into his life. It would become his muse for the next few years and lead him to form a band called Seveth. Being underage, his band mates would sneak him in the back door of a bar out in Laplace just so he could perform, exiting the same way he came. Covers of Poison, Whitesnake, and Warrant, and a few of his own originals escorted him into maturity. But in all honesty, he was just a kid having fun. His interests would waver at times and hot rods did steal him away briefly.

Until one night when a friend directed him toward an open mic session at a local bar. Arriving with no set material or plan in place, he simply got up on stage alone and played every scale, every chord, and every shredder piece he knew. He will admit the performance was less than impactful. Being an unknown, the house band didn’t want to back him up. But it did grab the attention of their drummer. The two would go on to form the band Headrush. Johnny, in his twenties by this time, had picked up a drug habit along the way. And this became the fire that fueled a songwriting frenzy between them. In three months’ time, they wrote approximately ten hours-worth of originals. This pace and his lifestyle were both unsustainable though. In time, the consequences began to overshadow the benefits. He became a full-blown alcoholic and drug addict. No one wanted to play with him, and his life became consumed by his vices. He set down the guitar to get his life back in order and checked himself into a rehab facility.

During his path to sobriety, his wife brought him an acoustic guitar once owner by her father. For the longest time, he hadn’t even laid eyes on a guitar. He did still have a Peavy, somewhere, in a closet with no amp. But sobriety created a void, as it does in many, when a life in pursuit of intoxication no longer existed. The arrival of many introspective thoughts and questions filled him with a desire to express himself. The acoustic guitar was preceded by countless pages in a notebook of these questions, of lyrics in their most rudimentary form. Whether he realized it or not, he had been charged with finding himself on paper, in isolation. A time in his life where he felt as though he possessed direction or meaning of any sort had left him long ago. Things began to come together for him as he lifted those thoughts from paper and put them to melody using that that acoustic. The Bald Dog Project was born and a memento from his inner turmoil became known as the Begging for Change album. Johnny recalls, “Probably 95% of all Bald Dog Project songs are personal. All of the lyrics on the first two albums, that one (Begging for Change) and the (following) one with the full band… every one of those lyrics are poems, just pissed off and my healing so to speak, that I was just writing down. And then I took it and formatted it into songs. So, a lot of it is some real personal shit. When I was in rehab, that’s when I was healing, making amends to myself.”

During the early stages of Headrush, before the band had a name, his suggestion was that they call the band Bald Dog. But the other members objected. They resolved to put names in a hat. Guess which name was picked? Bald Dog! Yet they still protested, and the name Bald Dog was thrown out. Now that it was just him, that name would finally come to be. Johnny laughed as he explained, “Ain’t nobody but me. So, I have no fucking arguments. I’m naming this mother fucker Bald Dog! And just to piss them off, it’s going to be The Bald Dog Project. It’s like, how you gonna have a project with just one guy?”

The appeal of The Bald Dog Project lied within a unique sound facilitated by a deficit. Johnny couldn’t sing in a tone that was appropriate for acoustic music. It always came out with a definitively heavy metal tone. The mood set by his lyrics dealt with heavy emotions. And he had always been a fan of the metal genre. A friend by the name of John Walden, hearing the merit in this combination, gave words of encouragement. Walden, a drummer and bassist, invited Johnny to come open for his band at a gig. Alone again and having not been on stage in over ten years, a nervous Johnny took the offer. He recalls it as a terrible performance. But Walden still felt as though Johnny had something. He reassured him, and recommended he gather a drummer, a bassist, and a second guitarist. Johnny moved quickly, reaching out to Tommy Cox (Konstricted, Nothing Sacred) to join with an acoustic and he agreed. The two, joined by bassist Glenn “Chookie” Grady, began playing shows without a drummer. Finding their sound and gaining momentum, John Walden soon joined in on drums.

I interviewed Kirk Windstein once and he explained his own version of what he considered to be heavy. As Kirk clarified, “To me heavy is emotion. To me one of the heaviest Black Sabbath songs is Solitude. It’s just a two chord with a flute. Sonically, it’s not heavy at all. It’s a clean guitar, and you know, a flute. To me, heavy is not just volume, distortion, whatever. It’s emotion.” Explorations and reparations to make oneself whole again were the founding sentiments of The Bald Dog Project. In my opinion this would near top the list of weighted thoughts. Deeper into this vein, Johnny has begun pursuing a second concept by the name Blackwall Symphony. The songs currently being recorded enlist heavy metal components and fuse them with orchestral pieces. Choir, violins, horns and flutes all accentuate distorted, thrashing electric guitars. He said they have eight of the planned twelve songs down. And when they’re all complete, he will reveal them in a live performance. I look forward to feeling my pulse quicken as this spectacle thickens into a rich audio experience orchestrated by Louisiana’s own, Johnny Lagrange!

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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Genres have veins that are fed by the lives we live. We gravitate toward these genres just as we are attracted to the lifestyles that come with them. The two are part in parcel. The consequence of this is that, in order to truly represent these genres, you have to live them. Through their band, Pious, Eric Fox (guitar/ vox) and Mike Dawsey (bass) could not better represent this abstraction. A character of youth is that we move toward many things at once. Due to age, we gain and lose focus quickly. But over time we stick with what suits us. Pious’ main objective in the sonic space is to accomplish this in a manner that both draws from and builds upon tried-and-true arrangements in the rock genre. This is what they thrive on. It is a slow, meticulous process that requires a great amount of time and introspection. Not only for the desire to appropriately pay homage to the greats they were raised revering. But to build upon that in a way that expresses their own individuality. There is a sense of permanence that comes with recording a song. And publishing it with your name on it signifies not only that it has been finalized, but that it is your eternal contribution to the artform. It is no wonder that both of them are tattoo artists. The deal is inked. As you walk out that door, just as with music, you are a living, breathing representation of what they are made of.

Mike and Eric met in high school in Slidell, Louisiana. Eric, a freshman and a transplant from New Orleans, stuck out like a sore thumb. There was suddenly a lack of people and an abundance of trees in his view. And I’m sure we can all remember back then the daunting task of finding one’s tribe. Meeting Mike made things a bit easier. The two shared interests in the creative arts and had a mutual friend. Bobby Carney (singer, Mule Skinner, R.I.P.) was a few years older than Eric and Mike and was already a regular in Slidell’s hardcore scene. Mike would play in a band with Bobby in garages and wherever they could find a space to jam. Now, at the time, the caliber of player Mike was, generally speaking, was as a student of the art. And I realize you’re always a student. But Mike’s strategy was to make noise until it made sense. He was especially focused on how bands layered multiple instruments to result in something that congealed. Getting together to jam would suffice through high school. But for Eric, graduating high school became a catalyst of sorts. He knew he wanted to continue to play. And a part of him wanted more for himself as a musician. So, in ’98, he formed Captain Howdy with friends Michael Ball (guitar), Donald Albanese (drums), and Damon Morse (keyboard). This band, by name and line-up, would soon change though. Keyboardist Damon Morse would leave and be replaced by bassist Mike Dawsey. And anticipating copyright repercussions from Hoya Productions and Warner Bros. for the character’s namesake in The Exorcist, the band’s name would change to After Human. Eric’s plan was to try to grasp what other bands were doing and implement those components into his own sound. Wanting to “make it in the industry”, his interests lied with what was new, and how he could get out in front of that curve. The coming years would deliver advancements in their exposure. They were able perform often during this time. The early 2000’s era was their big heyday, so-to-speak. Nu-metal was abundant, and they played a lot on the gulf coast, most notably at CPR Fest.

As the dust settled, maturity began to take hold and Eric would embrace a shift in priorities. “Making it” no longer held top appointment in his eyes. And the glimmer of what was new had begun to pale. The friends he played with had remained with him all this time. And his influences well before the Nu-metal phase had done the same. Conjecture leads me to believe these things had an influence on his line of thought. He started to concentrate on what stood the test of time in music. Never mind fads. What bands had made an indelible mark on the world of rock? Who were the ones that everyone’s sound seemed to be rooted in? I could pause here. And we could split hairs on who were “the greats”, and who was a predecessor of whom. But I’d prefer to zoom out a bit. Because what was happening then, and what is happening now within Eric, was a negotiation of sorts with himself. When you’re young, you get involved however you can and delve into the existence of the scene around you. These are the times when a musician is recognizing his or her capabilities. But one of the many markers of a departure from adolescence is both the realization and movement toward an explicit set of characteristics; ones that aptly represent one as an individual. Assimilation to the environment is second best at that point. Ironically, integrating oneself and one’s desire then becomes easier because it is the very act of being genuine. Sonically, and socially for that matter, the manifestation of self becomes less contrived, more natural. And suddenly both you and your music seem to make sense to those around you. This is a testament to individuality. And in music, it is spoken of as “bringing something new to the table”. It’s how one adds lasting value to their contributions. Eric wanted timelessness. For that, he poured over decades of music, filtering out everything he’d pursued in the recent past. Going back in time would be the study of a universal language everyone spoke, both then and now, positioning him closer to the source.

The embodiment of these ideals would become Pious. Being there since day one, this is what makes the most sense for Mike. As he explained, “I quit school really early. And I told my parents I was going to be either an artist or a musician. I set out not to give myself another choice. It’s a lot like what he (Eric) is saying. You reach a certain point where it’s like, it would still be nice to be able to consistently make a living playing music. But it really doesn’t matter. The only thing that really matters is trying to make something that is solid. You can follow trends. You can do all this other stuff. But what are you really doing? This is just my opinion. But it really needs to be more natural. It needs to be more you as an individual.” It’s an overused concept but, everything functions in cycles. Back in 2015, this band was formed on the grounds that it would bring value to the world of music by offering something as eternal as music itself. At the time, for both Eric and Mike, this meant a deviation from the previous aspiration of wanting to become what was present. Fast forward to 2021, I am of the opinion that it’s been happening all over again. There has always been a respected element of diversity within the band. Mike and Eric have always shared interest in heavier music like Suffocation, Deicide, and Terrorizer. But their drummer, Donald, had an affinity for bands like Beck and Modest Mouse. Michael Ball, on the other hand, preferred alternative rock bands like Jesus Lizard. The absence of egos not only permitted this, it capitalized on it. And now, those sentiments are being amplified as history repeats itself. They have sharpened their skillset all these years in their ode to the masters of the past. But they have reached further outside even their genres of choice, pushing the envelope of continuity. The result has been a highlight of commonalities through the lense of something heavier. And it works. Case in point, their choice of covering Tom Waits’ Going Out West on their album, Crawling Head. The original, although dark and experimental, was never seen as hardcore. And it probably never would have been. But for guys like Eric, Mike, Donald, and Michael, the acceptance they shared amongst their own tastes enabled them to see past what was merely present and into what could be permanent.

Their current project, on the cusp of completion, addresses a meeting of the minds on so many fronts. The EP will be a collection of just three songs at eight to ten minutes a piece. In a world where singles are king and full albums are losing ground, this is a perfect fusion in format. And as for its sound, the phonic qualities deepen the connection between what has been solid in the past and what can possibly be of the future. As Eric explains, “We really delved hard into, I guess, more of our influences than just the Sabbath, Zeppelin aspect of things, to pulling out from everything we know…. and just letting anything fly. And we created, as far as I’m concerned, three of the best songs we’ve ever written. And to just compile that, it’s going to be more of a themed album. It’s changed themes over the past; since 2020. It’s gonna be a stable of everything we’re able to do. We wanted to lay the smorgasbord down.” Mike backed this by saying, “You could say it’s more melodic, but it’s dirtier. It’s got more atmosphere to it. But it’s heavier. Like he said, it’s more of everything.” The heavy parts are heavier. And the softer parts are softer. Auditory elements presented in contrast only serve to expand upon what makes them different. If all you listen to is soft, you never realize just how soft it is until you hear something hard. So, to present them both in the same body of work really drives home the amount of expansion Pious has conducted. The music has always come first. In the periphery are the possible ways in which it will physically manifest. There have been talks of vinyl pressings. And the idea of assembling these few songs with others to form more than an EP is still a possibility. Though Mike has always done graphic art for the band, Eric is contemplating a foray into acrylic for this album’s art. Both are resident tattoo artists at Eric’s shop, Turning Point Tattoos, located in Mandeville. And don’t quote me on this, but it is rumored that the album’s name could potentially be Black Magic and Robots. You can find Pious’ present works on Neworleansmusicians.com and all streaming platforms.

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.