Elergy of Chainsaw

“Hi, Celia Ruttelege here from Out About Town Podcast and today we are going to visit with Miles Abbersaul, the lead singer from the legendary hard rock band Chainsaw.  During the 1980 and 1990s this band was on top of the hard rock charts, leading the way for other heavy metal bands such as Metallica and Linkin Park.  Drug addiction and constant feuding among the members of the band ended their days of glory as the All-American heavy metal band.  Last week Colin Reicht passed away from liver cancer.  Condolences for the loss of your friend and bandmate.”

“Thank you Celia, Colin and I were close friends since junior high school in Manhasset Hills.” Pauses and scratches his head. “I came back to Manhasset last year some time to spend time with Colin as he dealt with his chemo and puking for hours afterwards.  Chist, he was under a hundred pounds when he finally stopped breathing.  During his service, I got up and sang one of our ballets…’It Won’t be the Same Without You.’ I could only get through one verse and the chorus before I broke down.”

“Sounds like it was very emotional.” 

“It was.” He bows his head, “I’m still not quite right in the head.  Hard to believe I’m a senior citizen and am eligible for social security.” Laughs. 

Pause as Miles wipes away some tears. 

“What was it like back in 1986 when you had your first number one hit, “Jack T. Ripper?” 

“It was pure magic.  Pure magic.  Screaming fans everywhere.  I would come on stage with a chainsaw in my hands and rev it up a few times before switching it off and stepping up to the microphone.  Colin would be at the keyboards smoking a hand rolled doobie.  Chip Gunnell would be thumping on the base.  Richie Blackburn would be playing a screaming rift as I began singing our first number.  You couldn’t hear me over the fans screaming.  The lights would blind me which was a blessing since I did not want to see a half million people in the stadium.  Our first set would last about seventy minutes.  We would play a couple of our anthems.  It was crazy, I tell you.  Crazy.” 

“A lot of your critics claim that you never varied on your four chord formula.”

“You know what they say, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’” Laughs.

“Weren’t you afraid that some of your tunes would begin to sound the same?”

“People pile into McDonalds because the french fries taste the same in Los Angeles as they do down the street here. Back when we were cranking out tunes, our loyal fans knew what to expect if they bought one of our albums.  Can you imagine if we began to sound like Fleetwood Mac or Bruce Springsteen?  There would be rioting in the streets.”

“Many parents complained that your lyrics were dark and should not be listened to by juveniles.” 

“Sure, sure, that’s how we knew we were hitting the target.” 

“Target?” 

“Celia, rock ‘n’ roll has always been about rebellion.  Always.  When Colin and I were kids and we first heard Elvis or Little Richard we were ready to join the revolution.  When the Beatles sang about it, I was blown away for days.” Laughs and sighs, “We had no idea what we were in for.  We began to play at school dances.  We’d get through a couple of songs before the principal would chase us from the stage.  Afterwards some of the cool kids would see us loading our equipment in my dad’s van and they’d say, ‘Rock on, dudes.’ That was all I needed to fuel my inner fire.”

“You inner fire?”

“Most people are told not to kindle the inner fire.  It’s like farting in church during the sermon.  It is evil.  It is from the devil.  But me and Colin figured that more people needed to stoke their inner fire, because without it, we end up living and dying in the parentheses.”

“Parentheses?”

“Birth and death, man, birth and death.  We are born and then we die without much happening in between.” He holds out his hands.

“But in tending this fire you speak of, doesn’t it sometimes lead to poor outcomes?”

“Such as?” 

“You have been in rehab a few times, right?”

Laughs, “Over a dozen and there are some I probably have forgotten about.”

“How can you justify that?”

“It’s all part of the creative process.” 

“Miles, a lot of creative people did not succumb to addiction.” 

“But I did and so did Colin.  So did the others as a matter of fact. Do you think the Dutch Masters didn’t paint better depictions after a couple of mugs of beer?  Van Gogh ate his paint.”

“But the overdoses?  Richie Blackburn died from an overdose.” 

“Richie was an idiot…a self-centered egotist.  No one had taken the time to tell him, ‘No.’” 

“You seem to hold a grudge against him.” 

“It was a helluva lot more than a grudge, but that was between him and me.” 

“It seems there are some unresolved conflicts?” 

“He’s dead.  He died almost twenty years ago.” Stands up and walks to a window that overlooks his swimming pool. “He signed a contract with Sam Elwood on three solo albums.  We had a meeting before our show in Cleveland.  Packed house.  The fans had already begun to chant.  And he…that son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to let us know he was leaving the band.  He had to catch a flight to LA within the hour.  Within the hour.  He left us before a sold out show.  I couldn’t believe it.  After that things did not go well for him or for Chainsaw.  By the end of that year…1993…we had all gone our separate ways.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright…” He wipes the tears off his cheek. “We found out that we needed Chainsaw more than we thought.” 

“Chainsaw?  Where did you come up with that name?”

“It was me and Colin.  We snuck into the movie Chainsaw Massacre.  We were just fifteen. You know that Leaterhface was a real person?”

“He was?” 

“Sure enough, sure enough.  His name was Ed Gein and he would kill his victims and make decorations out of their remains.  Lived in La Crosse, Wisconsin before he got caught. Saw his picture in some magazine.  His psychopathic stare put Charlie Manson to shame.  He was a real ghoul.  Colin and I figured what a great moniker for a band.  We had plenty of material to write about.  It was the Reagan years.  Lots of scary stuff going on.  Then came Bush and the Iraq invasion known as Desert Storm I.  Hold on tight, this is gonna be one heck of a bumpy ride.” Laughs and shakes his head, “ I wrote the lyrics and Colin put the music notes on the page, “Plane Falling from the Sky.”  Iran-Contra.  Like opening a can of worms.”

“What about “News from the New Generation?’”

“Did you like that one, Celia?”

“Played it every chance I got. Drove my Republican father nuts.” 

“Heh-heh. I often wonder how deep our influence went.  Some bands spend their haydays sowing crap and wonder why it never yields any harvest.  I can play it for you if you’d like.”

“Oh Miles, I’d love to hear it.”

Takes a guitar off his wall, tunes a couple of strings before playing the first three chords. “I’m a bit rusty and it will be acoustic, but it still has a certain ring to it.” 

“You go right ahead.” 

News for the new generation, 

News for the new generation, 

Tired of the same old story, 

Always the same, so boring

We won’t be put down

Because you say we’re too young, 

We won’t believe the lies you tell us

As the words roll so casually off your tongue

News for the new generation

News for the new generation

“Miles that sounds just like the record.” 

“Record?  You are really dating yourself.” Laughs, “Art Bennington, our manager tried to talk us into putting our stuff on compact discs.”

“I don’t remember any of your stuff on a CD.”

“We didn’t do it.  We told Art to stuff it. I sometimes wonder if we did the right thing. When I sing “News for the New Generation” I sometimes feel like a hypocrite.  We were once trend setters, but in the rush for the almighty dollar, we seemed to have lost some of our conviction.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When most bands put out their first album, there is so much raw emotion and passion, but by the second or third album all of that emotion and passion has faded away as they begin to sound like all of the other bands trying to make as much money as they can.”

“But Chainsaw was always cutting edge, right?” 

“I’d like to think so, but when I listen to some of the stuff we put out in late 80s and early 90s, I can’t help thinking we lost our emotion.  We lost our vision. Before he got sick, Colin talked about a reunion album entitled “Elegy for Chainsaw” in which we’d write a dozen or so songs about the demise of a hard core rock band who had lost their edge and passion.  I got one of the songs here.  Wanna hear it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s been a while and it was never recorded.” 

“Good then I will have nothing to compare it to.” 

Sad are the songs without teeth,

Songs that have lost their bite, 

And when the tune goes flat,

I’ll have no one there to put it right. 

We’d raise our fists in the air

We used to have voices raised high

It is hard to believe we were there,

It was hard to believe we soared in the sky

We were young,

We were raw, 

Now we stand at the graveside

In an elegy for Chainsaw. 

“Rather heavy.” 

“I agree, but it has a ring of truth. I look at all of these singers who put their stuff on social media.  Look at me!  Look at me!  But I will be confused as to what is the difference between all of them.  They all sound the same to me. After a while it all begins to sound like one big badly sung chorus.”

“Maybe it all has been done before?”

“Or maybe we have forgotten the anger and outrage we had in the past until all of this bullshit begins to start making sense to us or we begin to accept what we have not accepted in the past.” 

“Like what?” 

“I dunno. We spent a lot of time and energy writing laws against hate and after all of the sweat and tears, we still have hate and it seems to be getting stronger.  Or has our resolve become weaker.  What’s the use?  We will always hate those people.  We will always scapegoat those people.  Colin always told me, ‘Miles, we must protest evil even if we are considered ambassadors of that evil.’ Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“It’s the juxtaposition of life.  What do I know, though?  I have been in rehab a dozen or so times. I wanted my mom and dad to quit fighting.  I played my music loud to drown out the bad vibrations caused by their fighting.  Tiger, my kid brother, told me that he had bad dreams when they got into a bad fight.  How the Hell are we supposed to snuff out hate when we can’t even have simple harmony in our own households?  I’ve been married five times.  Five and I loved each of them at the time, but I could not resolve the conflict I had inside myself and in the end that conflict spilled over and ruined my intimate and professional relationships.  At least when I was high, I could push out the anchor that was tied around my heart.  They say true art comes from pain.  I certainly won’t disagree with that.” He sits in a chair and puts his chin in his hand as if in deep contemplation. “I’m sorry, Celia.  I don’t mean to be such a drag on your podcast.  I like your podcast especially when I’m making dinner.” 

“You cook?” 

“I do it in order to protect myself from all of that crap that life-long bachelors are supposed to eat that is loaded with bad stuff that’s not good for you.” 

Laughs.

“Do you ever miss performing?” 

“Not after Colin passed away.  Now I just want to tuck myself in my place and stay awake to watch the sunset.  Sometimes I drive myself to the shore to watch the sunset reflected in the ocean.”

“A true romantic.” 

“I am indeed.  I come from a long tradition of romantics, I’m afraid.”  Plays with his necklace, “My second wife, Lanore gave me this.  It’s an ancient talisman to remind me of who I am and where I come from.”

“Lanore?” 

“Lanore Goldman.” Smiles as he puts it back under his shirt, “She tried to bring out the Jew in me, but I was not interested in starting a relationship with a God I had turned my back on years ago due to insubordination.  My brother Theadore, whom we called Tiger, was killed in an automobile accident when he was just nineteen.  He was coming to see one of my concerts. Art Bennington didn’t want to tell me about it until after the concert.  Can you imagine that?  Art was willing to do that to me?  I don’t think I ever forgave him for that.  But I don’t want to fill this podcast with bitterness.  Sometimes I get carried away with all of my gripes and rants and I forget that others have their own anchors.” 

“It’s alright, Miles, I came to find out about your life as a rock n roll star.”

“Star?  Funny how perspective can change the focus of the picture, eh?  I never saw myself as a star, just some guy who had the guts to get up on stage and sing about the crap that bugged him.  And there was plenty, believe me.  But I did quite get off on seeing so many shadows on the stage in front of me.  And then they would take out their Bic lighters and raise them up like stars in the night sky overhead.  All as one.  In unity.  That was when the whole thing seemed worthwhile. All that bickering and savagery was soothed into something that meant something.  Isn’t that what it’s all about finding meaning in the chaos.  Finding even a modicum of justice?  We sang about some pretty horrible things, but in the end it all fit together.”  

Pauses, his eyes are glossy again with tears that are forming.  

“We talked about a reunion so we could bid our farewells to our fans and those who understood what we were trying to say. Elegy for Chainsaw.  A farewell tour that so few bands have a chance to take.  That’s why I was enthusiastic to do this podcast, so I could say farewell…something I did not have a chance to do with the others in the band.  Richie…Colin…Theodore.”

“Miles Abbersaul, I cannot thank you enough for this wonderful opportunity.”  Kisses him on the forehead as he sits like a statue in his easy chair.

“The pleasure is all mine.  Be so kind as to shut the light when you leave, dear.” 

“Of course.” 

Miles Abbersaul, the once flamboyant lead singer of Chainsaw watches her leave and when she shuts off the lights, he sits there in the darkness with the ghosts of his former life.