Remembering Dimebag Darrell
I remember the first time I heard Cemetary Gates. It was on WAAF and it was probably about 2:30 in the morning. I used to sleep with a shitty boombox on all night so I could hear the cool shit that came on when the sun went down. The song literally freaked me out. How was this guitarist making those noises on the guitar? It was such an amalgamation of melody and sheer, brute force that just caught me completely off guard. I went to my short-lived jazz guitar instructor and played him the version off the “Demon Knight” soundtrack and asked him what effect pedal this guy used to make those noises. That’s when I learned about pinch harmonics, dive bombs, and the power of the thumb on the pick. In other words, Dimebag Darrell had straight up focused me on the style I wanted to play. I already loved Randy Rhoads and Eddie Van Halen and now this guy was just straight-up taking that shit to the next level. It changed me forever.
In 1997 I saw Pantera at Ozz Fest. They blew my fucking mind. Never had I seen a band with such charisma, swagger, and groove. I saw this dude with a crazy red beard pointing up and down with his right hand as he bent the notes. I saw beer and shots of whiskey being spat into the air and a crowd that collectively wanted to murder and love eachother all at the same time. Once again, it changed me forever.
In 2004 I was lucky enough to see the real Dime. I had met him a few times before, backstage at Ozz Fest, at Tower Records, at a guitar clinic, but this time I got to experience Darrell as a person. It was the WAAF Indoor Beach party and Damageplan were about to play their first arena show. I was so ridiculously psyched because my friend Holly knew Vinnie and scored us a bunch of backstage passes. I got to watch Dime from the side of the stage and feel the sonic ridiculousness directly out of his guitar cab. It was like…on the eighth day God created guitar and his ambassador was one Darrell Abbott. I yelled “RE – SPECT – WALK” within earshot of my hero. Never in a million years did I think someone who I considered a God would ever look at me as a peer and as a part of his family. But that’s what happened.
We waited for about an hour backstage after the show was done. There was supposed to be an afterparty, our stick-on passes said so. Everyone was getting restless. I was sick with anticipation, so excited to slap Dime’s hand and tell him how awesome his new music was. They never came. My friend Holly starts calling Vinnie Paul on her cell. He picks up jovially, clearly wasted. Apparently they were over at the Lowell Brewery judging a bikini contest or something so we had better get our asses over there before the booze was all gone. We ran as a giant group across the street to the Brewery. They weren’t letting anybody else in. So, of course, I just flashed my backstage pass and told them I was with AAF. So were my crew…
I shuffled upstairs to find a crazy scene. There was Vinnie Paul, red-faced and yelling provocations at some poor dude whose ass he was kicking in air hockey. Around the game were a buncha rocker dudes and scantily clad chicks. How fucking rock n’ roll. Before I could even collect my thoughts I hear Vinnie Paul yell “whose next? Who wants their ass handed to them?” I didn’t even realize it but next thing I new I was walking up to the table and talking smack. I hadn’t played air hockey since I was 12 and yet I was challenging one of my heroes. He looked at me and said “time to throw down” as he threw a $20 bill on the table and asked me where my money was at. Next thing I know we’re thrashing back and forth in an onslaught of puck and insults, surrounded by eager on-lookers. Vinnie looks at me and starts yelling about how much the Patriots suck and how the Cowboys are gonna ruin them this season. I start telling him how the Cowboys could mow my lawn and pay me $5.
First game…5-7, ME!!! I couldn’t believe it. Vinnie ordered me a drink and yelled out “double or nothing.” We played again. 7-6 Vinnie. What the fuck. Then I told him not to be a pussy but to rock out best 2-3 for $100. The next game we played so feverishly that we ended up tying at 6-6 as the air shut-off from playing too long. Vinnie looked at me, handed me a wad of cash and said “I play that shit all the time at my place back home and you gave me the best run for the money in forever. Come back and party.”
Holy shit holy shit holy shit. I follow Vinnie and his bodyguard to a back room where apparently all of the shennanigans were going down. I see the guys from Hatebreed, Drowning Pool, and Damageplan, as well as a buncha hangers-on all partying like crazy-people. Even Mike Mangini, future Dream Theater drummer to be was kickin’ around, throwing down. In the back of the room I see Dime sitting down with a girl next to him, drawing Ace Frehley makeup in permanent sharpie on her face. He looks over at me and asks “can you draw Gene?” Could I ever!!!! Next thing I know I’m drawing Gene Simmons war paint on the girl next to Ace.
Dime sat and talked for a while, making jokes, ordering rounds, and just being a goofball. We were all having a blast. Then the cops show up. Apparently there was a $5000 bar tab and no one had paid up. Dime stands up and yells “we were told we drink for free!!!” Then some manager comes in and said that only the band got to drink for free but all the other people who were partying had to pay up or go to jail. Dime is none too pleased. He starts arguing with cop who then asks for his license. I’m thiking to myself, am I seriously watching Dime argue with a cop? Is this dude going to jail? And just before shit got outta hand, Dime pulls out his black card or whatever and pays for the entire tab out of his own pocket. ”Tonights on me, sirrrrrrr.”
Blew my mind. What a great guy, what an awesome experience, what a perfect example of the amazing person he was. The kinda guy who would buy an entire club drinks for the night. So if u have any Dime stories or want to share. Please post!!!! RIP Dimebag Darrell Abbot 1966-2004.
