Photos: Adam Wallcavage zoom
"You know that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where they open the ark of the covenant and everybody's face
melts off? That's what's our shows are like," says Wastoid guitarist
Jimmy Satan. Satan might be exaggerating a bit, but everything about Wastoid
is over the top. Their big riffs, leather duds and gratuitous
leads will bring you back to those days in auto shop when nothing
was more important than cranking Judas Priest and turbo-charging
your Trans Am. These ministers of metal mayhem dare to ride the fine line between
reverence and tongue-in-cheek cliché. Songs like "Creature of
Rock" and "The Sign of the Devil" are packed with double-guitar
leads and deadpan humor. "Divebomber" is a song based on the '70s
war flick Midway. Much like that classic bit of cheese, Wastoid's tune shakes
the rafters as if it's coming at ya in Sensurround. Old Hickory, a now defunct men's lounge, was the breeding ground
for this testosterone-packed combo. One night Chris DiPinto was
finishing up practice with his bluegrass band Slobber Mountain
Boys while Satan was hanging out, pounding shots of Jack Daniels.
Eventually, the whiskey brought out Satan's love for devil music.
He stumbled into Old Hickory's recording studio, picked up a six-string
and started playing Black Sabbath tunes. "I was amazed," recalls DiPinto. "Jimmy was only 20 at the time
yet he knew all of the old songs." DiPinto, 28, had been hankering
to play metal since his teenage years in Bucks County, when he
was spending too many nights hanging out in the woods beside a
keg of beer and a boombox. The two played through all of the old
tunes they could think of and then started writing a few new ones.
"We blew out the PA amplifier that night because we were playing
so loud," boasts DiPinto. Now the two recognize that powerful summit by making the sign
of the iron cross with their guitar necks at shows. A year and
a half after that fateful evening, Wastoid is a cavalcade of triplets,
hammer-ons and headbanging tunage. Drummer Jon Kois lays down
rhythms that erupt like a volcano. Sophie Grushow may be new to
playing bass, but she's got the stage presence of an old pro.
The band's engrossing show comes complete with lasers, sacrificial
offerings and a billowing smoke machine. "If Jimmy doesn't end up in a stretcher by the end of the night,
we truly haven't given our all," vows DiPinto. He's alluding to the time Wastoid warmed up for legendary offspring
Jason Bonham at the Trocadero last March. After getting offstage,
Satan partied like a modern-day Keith Moon, redecorating the dressing
rooms without permission. "Then I saw Jimmy walking by me and his hand was covered in blood,"
remembers DiPinto. "I asked him what happened and he said 'I don't
know.'" Luckily for music fans, the proper authorities were called
and Satan's hand was saved. A few months ago the band warmed up for Ronnie James Dio at the
T.L.A. and got a private lesson in heavy metal performance from
the grand master himself. "He told me not to grab the microphone stand or you'll freeze,
you've got to keep moving your hands," says DiPinto. "It was like meeting God," foams Satan. Music is an all-day passion for DiPinto, Grushow and Satan who
work in DiPinto's guitar shop on Market Street. The three rockophiles, relaxing in the showroom after work, seem
at home surrounded by axes and amplifiers. Onstage, DiPinto's all studs and Spandex, but right now he is
wearing a wildlife refuge T-shirt with an endangered seal on it.
Satan is a little too pickled at the moment to do damage to anything
but the 16-ounce can of Budweiser he's drinking. Grushow occasionally
rolls her eyes when the other two go overboard with their evil
tales. Sure, Wastoid worships the devil. They're so down with Lucifer they say Halloween is "just for amateurs."
Jimmy likes to go to a bar every night and drink all he can and
then drink some more. "I've seen this guy walk into a bar, throw up, and then start
drinking," remarks DiPinto. So exactly where does Wastoid draw the line between being a serious
band and a joke band? That's for you to decide. They won't say.
Many listeners quickly assume they're Philadelphia's answer to
Spinal Tap. When asked about the comparison, DiPinto responds diplomatically,
saying: "They have some really great songs." Satan chimes in: "They're just not as good as us." Would Wastoid write and practice all of those intricate guitar
leads as a goofy lark? Grushow says the band is way too much work
to be just for laughs. Then the three start talking about how they love to go up to the
Northeast and see '70s tribute bands like Sabracadabra and Dressed
to Kill. Today's metal just doesn't have the same kind of musicianship
or warmth, they say. "Most of it is just watered down, third-rate
hardcore," notes Satan. But the new metal bands have the hardest
time accepting Wastoid. They don't understand why any self-respecting
band would want to play music that was popular 15 years ago. You only have to see Wastoid live to appreciate how seriously
they take their shtick. Not only do they synchronize their headbanging,
they also love gratuitous solos. At smaller clubs, DiPinto likes
to jump on top of the bar and churn out of few licks, recalling
Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher" video. "I guess any band that tries to bring back an older style has
it tough in the beginning," reasons DiPinto. "I'm sure when Brian
Setzer of the Stray Cats first walked onstage with that pompadour,
people must have thought 'What the hell is that?'" "I still think that," interjects Satan. For now the band is on a mission to return old-school metal to
its proper place of respect in pop culture. Is America ready for it? "No," admits Satan, "but it's up to us to make sure that they
are."
Wastoid