Just finished posting the Grim Reaper. I think of Awner Ness, and his family often, haven't bothered trying to get ahold of them for several years now, but did call around Christmas time - I got the answering machine so merely hung up.

The Grim Reaper Blues is something that was close to my heart for many years before actually taking it from an acoustice macabre coffee house tune through it's transformation into a "ost Roman Metal" heavy metal death rock song.

It's dark and macabre and I'm very proud of it, as were the rest of the members of Carthage - Oh, Michael Bone never made it all the way to the studio to record it - he punked out on Crack before that. We used Keith Delaney, who grew up with Mark Kendall from Great White, and who incidentally produced the Divine Fools - the band that eventually was responsible for breaking up Carthage, or at least what was left of it.

Carthage started out with Michael Bone from the slums on Drums; Billy Guger and Ross Freely on Guitars; Awner Ness on Bass, and myself on Vocals. Ross realized early on that he needed to move on - he just didn't have the right stuff for the band, as the rest of us were pretty fuckin' post-punked and pre-grunged out, and actually a bit caustic and volitile.

I remember, on one occasion, beating a member of the audience with a chair because he wasn't paying attention to the show - so I made the motherfucker part of it. It went well with our " ost-Roman Metal" image His blood added to the free body-bag and toe-tag giveaways that we often advertised in our fliers.

But I'm moving way too far ahead right now.... going back to the original guitarists.....

We had to replace Ross, and we went through a few posers and pansies before coming across Monster - who was totally elated to be hired on the spot after our first jam-session with him at the old Gypsy mansion in the seediest part of long beach. Whores used to hang outside on the sidewalk and listen to our practices - there was no sound proofing. We just held concerts for the neighborhood about three times a week.

I don't think the cops would have come even if someone did complain, which they never did. Well, there was this one druidic witch we had for a roomate that lived upstairs (Lane was her name), but I think she was jealous that her boyfriend who was a pansie wasn't part of our blood and whiskey based heavy metal death rock band.

Monster had just graduated from MI (GIT in Hollywood) with honors, so it took a while to de-program him. He would always remain a Steve Vai fan though, even though he didn't share Vai's talent for NOT being able to write a song - Monster actually wrote some good stuff, one of the songs I liked the most was "Stormy Meadow".

Awner was always late - always (almost always). And between him and Michael Bone the band took a turn in a new direction when it came down to Michael punking out on crack, and then Awner bowed out shortly thereafter. I don't think he could take the rigors of replacing a drummer. We came across this guy named Greg "The Dick", as we dubbed him, and that was about all he could take.

I moved to studio city after selling my sailboat (I had to, because OMAC got it seized by the Coast Guard for a tiny smear of Marijuana Resin on a plate, coming back from Catalina Island following a wonderful four day weekend and just 200 yards from the slip where I berthed my home.

This prompted my girlfriedn Tammy Messer (Noren) to move back to Florida with her two year old daughter Amanda (Mandy-Pants) and reconcile with her wife beating husband (uh, yah, she told me she was divorced - but she just wanted to live with a musician I think).

When I really think about it though, it was prolly my fault after all - I mean, were it not for the fact that I was flying a confederate battle flag with Iron Maiden's Eddie running accross it carrying yet another confederate battle flag, I doubt the cutter's skipper would have sicked the boarding party on us.

I was most livid because I had made it clear that there wasn't to be any weed aboard my vessel for the weekend anyway - but the passengers conspired otherwise, and I lost my home for a time.

Anyway, when I moved to studio city, we were already working with Keith Delaney, but had replaced Awner with a hit-man Bassist who Monster really liked playing with. You see, Awner just couldn't keep up with Monster's expectations with regards to both showing up on time or at all (for things like sound check before gigs or even rehearsals) and musically. There started this tension growing, and Awner bowed out, against my wishes.

So when we started working with Keith, we also started working with RonRon - a great session bassist, but he sure didn't fit the attitude. I had to demand that he not bother wearing his wig at gigs - that's being a poser! if he's a short-haired geek who plays mean bass then so be it!

Anyway, RonRon was of the mind that he should contribute nothing, and hopefully get paid like a session player, and we were getting ready to find someone good and raunchy when Mark Kendall had to leave Great white with an understudy while on tour due to a bout with pneumonia....

Keith went to see him and hung out with him for a few days while he was recouperating from exhaustion. Keith played some tapes to Mark of some recent projects he had worked in and Mark told him that he wanted to do something for Keith and get him a record deal.

Mark told Keith that, "If you put that Vocalist with that Guitarist", I'll produce you. He wasn't talking about Monster either. Mark wasn't into dark macabre gothic satanic sounding shit and didn't care that we had some really kewl love songs and power ballads. I said no way.

One Friday night, while headlining a club called Raji's on Hollywood Blvd., Carthage was ground assunder.

I had become increasingly impatient with both Monster and RonRon. I moved to Studio city to be in the center of the music industry and was rubbing elbows with the best of the best in the business, and had many professional musicians as friends. All this was originally funded from the sale of my boat, and later, record company speculation deals.

One day Monster came to visit me (we were brohams) - but he never went home. he just took up residence on the floor of my office, which was a converted bedroom he never had a bed, and just slept on a bedroll. He never got a job - well he did, but he got fired and it was pretty much too late by then anyway.

People didn't like Monster being around much at parties and get togethers, he would get really drunk and stupid, and his mouth wouldn't stay shut. he leeched off of everyone, but he was still a great guy when he wasn't drinking and stupid.

I had to pay for all of the rehearsal time, RonRon's gas, and sometimes Keith's gas. I had to pay for all of the recording studio time that wasn't covered by the label. I had to provide transportation sometimes too.

Although Monster and RonRon clicked together like Awner and Monter never did, I missed Awner, he and I were always the closest in the band and were fellow sailors to boot. We even lived in the same marina until he had to move with his new wife into his parents place to take care of his mom and besides that he had a newborn daughter, so he had real priorities that I totally respected. The band had to come second to her, and the only (but constant) gripe that his wife had about the band was the irresponsible and adolescent mindset that Monster had (we all used to openly joke about brain damage - we might not have been far off the mark about this wrt monster, and Monster used to almost agree with us - but he was a guitar genius ala satanic Randy Rhodes meets Steve Vai).

Awner was under a lot of pressure from his wife I think to either whip the band into a more responsible shape or bow out - I never faulted her for this and actually respected (and secretly agreed) her viewpoint.

Anyway, here I am with these fucking clowns, headlining all over Hollywood and the rest of Southern California and all of a sudden my drummer says he can no longer work with the band - he's going to work with the other guitarist that Mark Kendall wanted to team us up with - So I told him to fuck off in a not so vindictive way.

A good friend of mine, who is the son of Elvis Presley's band director, Jimmy Guercio, had been my bro for some time now. he was pissed that his guitarist was now on tour with Peter Criss (from Kiss) and used to joke to Mikey (Mike Mclaughlin) that, "Hey Mikey, tell Peter if he needs a good drummer I'm available!"

Jimmy is a phenominal drummer, and spent time working with Gladys night before coming to California to make his mark in rock music. Jimmy even has a picture of Elvis handing his dad a joint backstage during a pre-gig rehearsal, something that Joe Guercio would go ballistic over if he knew about, since everyone (including those who read this) wants to keep Elvis' memory as pure as that of a virgin.

Anyway, I no longer had the mental stamina to keep Carthage going, but we had several headline gigs coming up and I wanted to do them, as well as get paid for them. I had offers from some other bands around the area to work with them, but I needed to finish up the current tour first. Those bands even agreed to do my songs as a condition of working with them - and they had some real money behind them too.

We never finished the tour though. It all came to a crashing halt on a friday night on Hollywood Boulevard at Raji's.

My good friend Vernon LeRoy Medlin had been saddled with the supposed job of guitar tech/roadie for Monster, but everyone knew it was just a facade - Vern's job was really that of babysitter. You see, fucking Monster couldn't even tie his own fucking shoes by himself, and any stress of a responsible nature would send him reeling into a migrane headache - he had some real social issues (it hurts to say that, as much as I still love the guy). Besides that, he was always trying to fuck my girlfriends, and homey don't play dat!

Jimmy (The Gersh, as those who are intimately aquainted with him refer to him) has the god-given ability to walk into a jam session, know where all the freakin' breaks, bridges, and choruses are, and has an almost clairvoyant feel for the correct dynamics to apply at the right time - he had been drumming all of his life, and was raised around the best and most famous musicians of the twentieth centery - but that still doesn't explain his virtuosity.

But Jimmy likes to get shitfaced too, and so does Monster, so it was a disaster waiting to happen. I asked Jimmy if he woud do me a favor and gig with me for the duration of my tour and he said he would play for pitchers of beer and his pick of the groupies. I said whatever floats yer boat bro.

We did two rehearsals and were ready after leaving him with a tape of the playlist.

the night of the Raji's gig, I had told Vern to make sure that Monster went over to Aaron Weiner's apartment and borrowed a couple of Guitars from him or Apache (from Little Caesar). Also, that he made sure that Monster had new strings on his guitar the day before the gig. Vern did his best, but hey, this is Monster we're talking about.

I confronted Monster the day of the gig about going over to Aaron's and picking up a couple of extra guitars, but he started that quaking thang that he did and started squeezing his head between the palms of his hands like a garlic press. I knew that meant to back off because he was close to having a nervous breakdown or something, or worse, another fucking migrane.

He just kept on telling me, Bradley.... don't worry about it. Bradley, don't worry about it.

I like to be alone before gigs to warm up and get ready, and besides that, my friend Sean's girlfriend had kind of taken on the responsibility of "doing me up" I didn't like it much but the chicks did. Instead of holy levis she insisted on black tights that were basically geared to show off my 'package', as she put it - but I just think she liked fondling me before going onstage really.

I didn't really care for the get up, I preferred Levis, and since I had already gone through the mabeline man years long ago I didn't feel comfortable kicking someone's ass with my basket flopping around saying, "kick me here".

But Maggie was relentless, and so I sometimes let her talk me into the black tights under my boots and some kind of tunic type thingy with a belt. I felt like a cross between Pat Benatar and Warrant or Queen.

This night, however, I sensed something was amiss, so I changed back into my holy Levis so I could do some shit-kicking if I needed to.

The Gig:

Here we are, Monster Smith, RonRon Johnson, James Guercio, and myself, and I notice that monster only has one guitar. I look at Vern and he just shakes his head and looks away. I look at Monster and start to open my mouth but he just says something like, "It's okay, don't worry about it" (Monster had a bad habit of breaking used G strings on his strat about half way through the set).

I look to RonRon for support - it's ten fucking o-clock and there isn't anywhere to get a guitar or strings. Monster had daydreamed all fucking day until going over to Aaron's apartment to find a note saying he had waited for him, left, and wtf chuck, etc....

RonRon just silently and telepathically told me not to push it or say anything or Monster would crumble - I could see that Monster was shaking as a result of the topic.

I looked to Jimmy - who is never NOT catch as catch-can and happy go-lucky. He gave me his famous grin, took a swill of beer, shot another look to me to head to the bar with him before we were up, and I did - first, I gave Monster a hug - I could tell he almost started crying because of my dissapointment, and I said something like, don't worry bro we're gonna have a great show (I could see a couple of reps from Virgin and Geffin had already showed up and didn't believe my words even as I spoke them).

We got to the Bar and Jimmy got a refill on his pitcher gratis from the chick behind the bar and told her to have one of the cocktail waitresses place another by his kit. I ordered my typical pitcher of warm water (To this day, it pisses me off when I go on stage and they've served me ice water!).

Jimmy consoled me, saying that no matter what happens he and I were going to burn down the fucking place tonight - I agreed, but he made me promise we would burn down the place with attitude. I promised, and I was in my mindset. I had put my stage hat on and replaced my sane hat, and was ready for a fucking victim.

We hit the stage and everything was absolutely perfect! The sound, the lights, the smoke, the chicks, and most of all, our sound. I was in top form. I can't remember the actual order of the playlist, but I think it was something like YDBC, BNU, Mr. Speedy (the harshest punked out song we did as far as a guitar is concerned), The Grim Reaper Blues, and Stormy Meadow, which is an acoustic like baroque ballad and one of my favs as well as the chicks.

The first glitch came during our opening song. I noticed people looking beyond me and giggling from the audience. I coyly turned and saw that RonRon, who had insisted on wearing his Tina Turner wig had gotten it caught somehow on the head of his Bass - prolly from the strings of something.

Jimmy was pissed, and just looking at me like, what the fuck is this poser doing on stage with us rock gods? I casually snatched his wig from the head of his bass and did a spin, loosing the wig deep into the audience where it disappeared forever.

Then, one of my favorites of all Carthaginian time, The Raven. This song is fucking dark like something out of a Lord Byron Estate party, and loosely based on Edgar Allen Poes poem of the same name. Vocally, it probably required the most vocal gymnastics of any of our songs, and was certainly the most penetrating.

I could feel the vibe of The Raven in rebounding from the Audience. If this went well then I was sure that the A&R reps from the labels in the audience tonight would at least seed us with the money to replace RonRon, and get a full time drummer - but by now I had begun shopping for a whole new band anyway, sensing that I could no longer play mommy to Monster - I had to have a life of my own.

Then it happened. Right into the transistion into the demonic lead solo part of The Raven, where there are sustained vocal notes fading after four measures at the beginning of the guitar solo, I heard something.

As I began to turn, I noticed that Vern, on the side of the stage in the dark, had this horrified look on his face, and still I dared to complete the turn and see Monster trying to adapt the solo to a five string guitar - well, this is a catastrophe for sure, because it means some kind of lull before the next song at the very least, and that will not only lose the interest of the audience, but the label reps too, and for anyone out there reading this who is also a musician, you know that the momentum of the show is over at this point - there is no backup guitar.

As it turns out, in the brief moment that I was staring at Monster's guitar, I watched not one more string pop, but two - now he's fumbling around with a three stringed guitar, and it's just my vocal melody line, the drums, and the bass providing for the wall of music. Monster drops to his knees and wheels towards vern, and both are now frantically engaged in attempting to restring the guitar before the end of the fucking song.

Looking back, I would like to point out that Monster didn't have a replacement D string anyway, but that's of no consequence. I played if off just the way that Jimmy had made me promise - We were going to burn down the place.

I locked eyes with Jimmy, and to this day I don't think I ever made eye contact with RonRon or spoke to him ever again - he was never a friend anyway, I always looked at him as some sort of extortionist - leeching me for money instead of contributing anything other than excellent bass playing.

Anyway, Jimmy looked at me and shouted to me over the top of his tom-toms and crash cimballs, and laughing, said that I was fired, all the while continuing to play on with The Raven with RonRon, who had no fucking idea what to do other than play on as long as Jimmy did.

I looked at Jimmy and said something like, "I'm firing me too!", genuinely returned the laugh, walked around between RonRon and Jimmy's high hat, and stole Jimmies pitcher of beer.

I toasted the audience as I took a big swill from the pitcher, raised to them in a toast, and stepped off the riser into the crowd and disappeared. I made it to the bar over in the upper club where everyone there was wondering what happened - they could hear that there was no guitar in the guitar solo, and see on the video that there was no guitarist on stage, and I had ordered a beer right about the time the guitar solo would have ended when Jimmy gave permission for RonRon and he to end the song.

Jimmy and I had a great time at the bar being nasty to chicks, Vern took the blunt of the embarrassment from the stage manager and the audience trying to get Monster dealt with (who litterally walked back on stage and stood there with his hands down at his sides not knowing what to do except stand there while Jimmy ridiculed him in a miming fashion to all of the audience, and record labels. I watched it on the video monitor while waiting for my Budwieser.

I left that night without helping the drummer break down his kit - which is something I usually liked to do, but I didn't want to say goodbye or anything to monster, and hadn't had anything to say to RonRon for a long time anyway, and this just made the burden so easy to shed.

I ddn't feel bad, I just partied, and knew that Carthage had finally gone down in flames. Rome had defeated it - this was the third punic war, and the industry was now sowing salt on the name Carthage - it would never get a major deal now, and I didn't have the resources to reassemble the band from scratch either.

When the landscape changed, and I had time to reflect, Keith Kept calling my bro OMAC and asking for me. I kept declining, as I had heard the guitar work by the guy that Mark Kendall had wanted to hook me up with. Mark liked swamp guitar, as he calls it.

Eventually, I relented, when both Sean Conroy (the phenomenally and naturally gifted guitarist) and Keith Delaney promised me that all we were gonna do was get together and jam - no pressure on me, no promises, just have a jam session and have fun. I agreed, after several months of Keith calling me up and asking.

In fact, this time, he said that if I still didn't want to get together, he wouldn't ask me again. So I drove on down to Huntington Beach and we jammed. it was great, even though it was hardcore heavy metal blues/rock mixed with a bit of old stones open "richards" style tuning, and a dash of Black Crowes too. Sean laid out several guitars each tuned differently and each for different kinds of styles of music - he was a natural, and although I really couldn't wait to jam with him again, they lied and the pressure was on from the beginning to call ourselves a band and get into the studio for Mark.

We had some decent success during our short-lived existance. The reason I bowed out was because I couldn't really deal with the seans Drug habit. We had very few gigs, but got got airplay on KLOS, and did some MTV sponsored things and won a couple of battle of the band thingies too. I kept a tape of one song we were working on when I bowed out.

Sean later went to jail for a while on Meth related charges, or was it a probation violation on meth related charges. doesn't matter anyway. Sean wasn't even allowed to hang on to his own guitars without his father's supervision, for fear that he would sell them for drugs. that's how bad he had it at that time, but I really enjoyed jamming with him.

The name of that project was "Divine Fools".

Well, that's about enough for now I suppose I'll put more stuff in my journal when I'm so inspired - if I am

I will add some more songs though