Thank you to Alli and Backwater Books in beautiful downtown Ellicott City, Maryland for hosting us at Wednesday night’s Local Author event. TJ’s and my second co-author book signing event, what a blast! Great people and we killed it on sales.
Speaking for myself, I was finally able to relax some in pitch mode but better yet, went into my old music interviewer mode getting to know my visitors who were so fun to talk with and share. TJ was the commanding presence she always is. The local beers and wines were stellar as well!
It’s the one thing most human beings lack or perhaps forget, considering our species is intrinsically wired for self-preservation.
This can also be self-awareness and self-nurture depending on one’s confidence level or coping capacity. Yet the separation line for most is how hard we cling to our protective measures, our defense mechanisms, our pure wherewithal, while forgetting we are not alone nor utterly unique in our journeys nor experiences. No matter how profound in a positive or negative fashion. There are others going through similar and dissimilar maneuvers, and others begging in silence for a reach out. Or at least passage without scrutiny.
The “me” factor, or rather, “not me” dimension to our decision-making process often leads us to turn a blind eye to others less fortunate, those more impacted by consequences we feel we’ve circumstantially risen above. We often fail to see the elderly, the infirm, the destitute, the less skilled, the addicted, the guilt-wracked, the depressed, the lonely, the suicidal. All because we’re so absorbed by our own microcosms.
Now I’m not here to soapbox by any means. Society has gotten more complicated, more rushed and more inundated, hyper focused upon things carrying gravity as well as all the minutiae making modern life more tedious instead of convenient. We get so bogged down by all which stacks upon our daily dos we often miss those quietly (or outwardly) suffering. It’s called turning the blind eye to others, be it their misfortunes or their good deeds. We’re all guilty of it to some latitude.
It’s when humans condemn that which we see only on the surface without taking into account there’s always another side to the story or there are parts of the story missing, period. Fragments of intimate (private, even) information purposefully untold by the aggrieved or the aggravated. People on the outside looking for a little bit of understanding, maybe a little respect if their actions warrant it. Above all, people looking for nothing more than a sense of common etiquette.
Alternative electro-rockers Depeche Mode released one of the most profound songs of their venerated careers in 1993, “Walking in My Shoes” from their masterwork Songs of Faith and Devotion (my favorite of theirs from an all-time favorite band who have dropped one vital recording after another). For me, no song better illustrates the complexities of human empathy and a barren absence of decorum which “morality would frown upon” and “decency look down upon.”
“You’ll stumble in my footsteps,” David Gahan chants solemnly with the gorgeous archangel piping of Martin Gore behind him. “Keep the same appointments I kept, if you try walking in my shoes.” Gahan goes further to posit he’s not looking for absolution nor forgiveness for a life filled with mistakes and debauchery, turning the tables on those “judge and jurors” coming to conclusions with his heart-wrenching rebuttal “my intentions couldn’t have been purer, my case is easy to see.”
In other words, empathy equates to dignity, which is as pure as can be.
If you’ve read my short story anthology, Coming of Rage, released through Raw Earth Ink, you may have caught a nod to heavy metal icons Iron Maiden (my favorite band of the genre) in the title story, specifically their 1983 epic, “Flight of Icarus.”
The title story of my compendium is a near-verbatim recreation of true events which happened to me between ages 12 and 13. The 1983 album featuring “Icarus” was, of course, Maiden’s masterwork Piece of Mind, but MTV, when it was still a 24-hour all music station, had begun spinning the video for “Flight of Icarus” well before the album’s release in May.
Keeping in mind only months prior, I had been indoctrinated into heavy metal music from a cousin-by-marriage, Andy, who’d sat me down in his room, knowing I was such a music hound. My rites of passage into metal music were Iron Maiden’s Killers and Ozzy Osbourne’s Diary of a Madman. Suffice it to say, a game-changing moment of my life.
I’d also been played the first side of Maiden’s halcyon classic, The Number of the Beast, forgetting down the road when “Flight of Icarus” stormed my ears and ears, Iron Maiden had changed vocalists from Paul DiAnno to Bruce Dickinson. Hence, my first contact with “Icarus” had me thinking, of all things, the 1960s and 70s rock and soul band, Three Dog Night. Laughing out loud here and feel free to join me. Face palm to follow.
Imagine the look on my face, weeks from turning age 13, to find out “Flight of Icarus” was Iron Maiden! Let me tell you something; only “Icarus” and Devo’s “Whip It” could stir and give voice to my rising anger at having been bullied to a boiling over point. I was an MTV junkie then and I couldn’t wait for “Flight of Icarus” to come again. Heavy metal still being a relative oddity then, the wait for a replay was sometimes long before “Icarus” disappeared from MTV’s regular rotation and we had to wait until such a thing as Headbangers Ball to be created for us metal freaks.
By the time I started fighting back in middle school, the timeline begins in my story “Coming of Rage.” Those sick and sour events served as a linchpin. The way my story ends (and I’ll leave you to read it) closes with my turning on MTV at such a horrible finish to a friendship that never really was, a joyous dishing of “Flight of Icarus” on MTV giving me hope.
I am a man who believes in signs from the divine. I found a christening effect with “Icarus'” emergence right after experiencing betrayal of the highest measure to a persecuted 12-year-old boy in love. “Flight of Icarus” told me I could fly as high as the sun. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I sang the soaring chorus of “Flight of Icarus” inside my head and in the privacy of my bedroom. I soon retaliated against my aggressors, even if it took me many moments of getting my butt kicked before I had any effect against my peers. Middle school is worse than high school, and those little shits back in the day did their damnedest to break me. They almost did.
It took a point of no return moment where five boys surrounded me and said something nasty about my mom. I lost full control. I crushed all five of them, unleashed, finally. I was brutal in my actions. I nearly went too far. All I can say is that it took the assistant principal who was the size and look of Mr. Weatherbee from the Archie comics to stop me and he had to push his weight down against me as I left those five boys bleeding on the floor.
Later at home after the brawl and immediate three-day suspension, I sang “Flight of Icarus” to myself like a mantra. It soothed me, yes, but moreover, it empowered me. I saw the video for the last time in a prime-time slot before we moved away from the area which had given me such terror and comeuppance. I saved my allowance for two months after our move, skipping comic books all that time so I could snag the Piece of Mind album. The day I had enough money, I begged my mom to take me to the mall so I could buy the vinyl LP.
“You don’t know much this means to me,” I told her when she’d obliged and I’d sat in the passenger seat of her raggedy old Chevy Malibu, in awe of Iron Eddie, the band’s mascot, chained up in a padded room of a garish mental asylum. That level of outrage on Eddie’s hellish face spoke as much to who I was at the time, flailing, kicking, ramming those bullies’ heads into lockers. Yeah, Iron Maiden and “Flight of Icarus” and the entire Piece of Mind album meant everything in its time and place.
Later, it would fuel the first story of my eventual published work, Coming of Rage.
Coming of Rage and my new novel, Revolution Calling, are available at Amazon, Wal Mart.com, Barnes and Noble.com, Lulu, Kindle, Nook and Kobo.
It’s been ten years now since I wrote this reflection piece for a different blog I no longer use and it’s amazing to see how much changed in my life since then. However, I will never, ever forget my attempt to blaze my own path while writing in the music and film industry. The time I boldly and I admit naively, tried my hand at launching my own digital ‘zine dedicated to metal, punk, hard rock and horror, Retaliate. Minus a few contributions or press agent-provided photos, I did it all. Interviews, live concert photography, media reviews, layouts. I nearly drove myself into the ground trying to make it happen, but I also felt so alive doing it. I had such tremendous support from the industry and first issue guest list unheard of for a DIY publication. Here is that old piece I wrote about it with a few touch-ups:
Taking on a major project by yourself takes guts. It also takes a lot more from you and out of you, as I learned when I attempted to launch my own digital magazine, Retaliate, in 2010.
I’d spent the previous seven years knocking myself out working my way up through the tiers of music and film journalism and I’d been writing simultaneously for numerous magazines and websites. At one point, I was writing for 13 different publications including two monthly columns. With the transition in media toward the digital age, however, I found myself, along with my colleagues, dropped to the bricks as the trad print mags were sadly folding, one-by-one.
Ray Van “Pinhead” – Promotional Photo for Retaliate Magazine
It was a very difficult and upsetting thing for me to digest since one, a lot of my secondary income was tied into my freelancing work for those rags, especially once I’d become a new father when we adopted my little guy (current editorial, the little guy is now 16!). I’d already learned to fight for work, having been downsized from the mortgage title industry on numerous occasions since the rollercoaster nature of that business dictates employment, naturally. (Still does and I’m still in it, my 27th year now)
Nonetheless, as I found myself being courted by loads of websites who couldn’t afford to pay me, I nearly bowed out of media journalism, since my attempts to coax the editors of the few remaining big dog mags and newspapers were met with frustration. So too was the fate of many of my peers, since those periodicals still hanging on were well-fortified with staffers and freelancers already.
As I turned to beat reporting for a local newspaper and also some field data collection for Patch.com, I got the idea that maybe I should take on the digital realm and begin my own venture. I had all the industry contacts I needed to get launched, so why the hell not?
Wolf Hoffmann, Accept – photo by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
To this day, I still thank every publicist and record label who got on board with me when I proposed to launch Retaliate, a digital magazine focused on heavy metal, punk rock, hard and classic rock and horror films. By now, it’s been proven that horror and heavy music are natural bed partners, which I’ve said since the Eighties. It was a winning concept my industry friends and my guests all believed in and it why I gained so much freelancing work. That, and I was well-versed in other genres and I was routinely complimented for one, knowing when something is off-the-record and two, for creative, outside-the-box questions which almost always got my guests rolling.
Laughing out loud, I deemed myself Editor-in-Chief of Retaliate and recalling my time as Assistant Editor on my college newspaper, Spectrum, I used my old layout techniques and learned to apply them in a digital format. Just this part of the process took a bit of time to refine before I began the months-intensive succession in assembling my debut issue.
Wearing multiple hats, I took on every aspect in making Retaliate a reality. I booked and conducted every interview. I fielded the music reviews. I did the live photography and used supplemental press photos from the labels. I laid it all out and banged my head against my desk when the pages wouldn’t merge in succession, then rejoiced when they finally did. Outside of the cover fonts and logo, which I owe to my dear friend from Denmark, Sheila Eggenberger, everything was done my me. I sometimes bounced my son on my knee while I edited my articles and told him I was going to do something big for our family.
I tried, anyway.
Jacoby Shaddix, Papa Roach – photo by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Desperate for mass release because I knew I had a winner on my hands, I engaged a partner, who was going to handle online production and distribution. By the time I was ready to release Retaliate # 1 with a test price of $2.50 per download (wow, $2.50 back then!), I was already finding hints of gray on my head. Nonetheless, I’d assembled a hell of a guest list for Retaliate #1: Marky Ramone, Dave Lombardo from Slayer, Jacoby Shaddix from Papa Roach, Stevie Benton from Drowning Pool, Richard Patrick of Filter, Chris Adler from Lamb of God, Wolf Hoffmann of Accept, Jim Gustafson of Poobah, former Overkill drummer Rat Skates, Nick Cantanese, formerly of Black Label Society, Steve Von Till of Neurosis, Alexx Calisse and others. I had esteemed horror directors Mick Garris and Adam Green on board for my “Van of the Dead” horror section. It was gold.
Marky Ramone article, Retaliate # 1 – words by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
I took to the pre-launch campaign trail and staged some goofy publicity photos with me pimping Retaliate. One has me standing amidst a flurry of political candidate placards with my own, hyping “RETALIATE FOR READERSHIP.” Another one has me dressed up as Pinhead from Hellraiser hitchhiking along an interstate with a sign stating “RETALIATE OR BUST.” These photos were sent to all of my press contacts, and I was offered PR services from a few firms out there. I wanted to get the first issue running and then take them up on it to implement my marketing plan. Money, yeah, well, that was an issue. DIY stayed DIY in that regard, sadly.
Stevie Benton of Drowning Pool article, Retaliate # 1 – words and photos by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
I’d spent many months hitting concerts to gather my live photos, going backstage for interviews and taking phone calls at ungodly hours to conduct chats with those whom I couldn’t connect with on the road. I was giddy beyond words through the whole thing, though, most especially when Marky Ramone and I kept playing phone tag with bad connections on our cells. I hightailed it back to my work office at the time and begged the use of their phone to get it done with Marky. As a Ramones freak, it was one of the most gratifying interviews I’ve ever done.
The other “Frozen” by horror director Adam Green
I could spend the rest of this post gabbing about the wonderful interviews I had for Retaliate # 1. I won’t forget Adam Green getting on a roll about the production of his brutal horror film, Frozen (this being well before Disney’s more famous and kid-friendly film of the same name), and him generously asking me if he could call back because he had plenty more to talk about. He kept his word and he told me some terrifying things about the handling of the wolves in his film.
On the nuttier side of things, my interview with Dave Lombardo was completely insane as I waited for my liaison to come get me, which was pretty danged long. I was scheduled to photograph Slayer and Anthrax’s sets at the Baltimore Arena and by the time I was finally brought back to Lombardo on Slayer’s bus, I was given five minutes. We did a lightning round that I think left both us dizzy afterwards. Dave’s a gentleman, and I’m sorry to see what’s happened in the Slayer camp, since I’ve also had an amazing chat with Tom Araya in the past.
Horror director Mick Garris at the time of the Masters of Horror anthology series for Showtime
I’ll never forget seeing the late Jeff Hanneman lounging on Slayer’s bus and jamming to Zeppelin with a hundred lit candles around him. We said hello to each other in passing and that still strikes me today well after Jeff passed. Afterwards, I had to blitz and navigate my way from the loading docks to the rear of the stage in the arena and bolt into the photo pit as Anthrax began their set. It’s something you can’t necessarily put into words, but it was a huge rush, disorganized as that night ended up being, but that’s rock ‘n roll for you.
Running into Stevie Benton of Drowning Pool a week after we’d interviewed in the photo pit of Godsmack was a kick and Stevie was cool enough to selfie with me in the pit before Godsmack’s tour manager tossed us both out, of all things. My pass was missing the band’s mark for photos, okay, my bad, fair’s fair. Treating the opening band like that, however? Breh.
I’d done phoners with Benton, Jacoby Shaddix of Papa Roach and Adam Green back-to-back in one shot, another chaotic but wonderful night of the Retaliate cycle.
Angela Gossow, former vocalist of Arch Enemy – photo by Ray Van Horn, Jr.
And then reality struck.
As I was ready to hand over my work to my partner upon execution of a formal business agreement, the guy flaked out on me. No response, no further communication. I had to find out from a mutual friend he’d blown our little enterprise off despite his enthusiasm by my progress. In scrambling mode, I found another party who expressed interest but once again, those overtures fizzled out. I attempted to pitch on Kickstarter and was shot down. I then opened ties with one of my guests and we nearly got it off the ground together, but his prior commitments took precedence and by that time, my material was in danger of being too old to be marketable. Besides, the true reality of things is that nobody wants to pay for what they get for free everywhere else on the web, regardless of product quality.
With gnashed teeth and a heavy heart, I decided to throw the pages of Retaliate onto my site, The Metal Minute for free. I’d won an award from Metal Hammer at that blog, so it made sense, particularly as a commitment to everyone who participated in my endeavor.
To be honest, the entire experience ragged me out and I was in the throes of fatherhood anyway. Thus I pulled the plug on Retaliate, even as I received a nice outpouring of support from the industry. I’d had high hopes, as the song goes, but it takes more than a mere man these days to accomplish anything of significance. Retaliate was and still is my baby and I look at those pages with tremendous pride and gratitude toward the musicians, directors, publicists and labels who gave me their time. I thank them all for the crazy adventure that was Retaliate.
At least it was an indirect path through publicist friends who’d helped me here, then threw my name in the hat leading to my six-year stint writing for Blabbermouth. Boom.
I often think about the many musicians I interviewed through 16 years in the industry since many obliged me insight into their creative process. In particular the beginning of a new long-term project and all the swimming ideas shoving out, wanting to be expressed. It all seems like manna, instant classic stuff until you have more ideas cramming their way.
Or you get a preview of what your peers are doing and it becomes a red alert to make sure you’re not mimicking them in your original concept that seems alarmingly similar. Then you spend a good part of a weekend watching films and videos relative to your genre (Midsommar, Hereditary and Shin Godzilla) and you read books a couple hours each day.
Your first draft chapter becomes a second, then a third. In my case, a sixth rewrite of the first chapter of my newest project that finally seems to serve the purpose of the story’s grand design. This knowing the grand design is likewise subject to change.
At least Chapter 2 is nearly done in the company of John Carpenter and Dario Argento scores plus the hits of soul legends The Fifth Dimension (I’m just wired this way) and so far, it feeds off the new material in the way I see it logically flowing.
Like take after take of a song, subject to revision and new arrangements, maybe a bridge that sparkles better and ushers the next verse in champion form.
I was interviewed by Holley Perry from Chasing Destino a few weeks ago to promote “Revolution Calling” and to talk about my time writing in the music and horror industries.
She also dropped some very kind words to accompany it.
Thank you so much, Holley, for giving me the platform!
While I continue to promote Revolution Calling, I am finishing my 17th horror story since last September and we’ll see what fate has in store for all of them. I have also been working in and out on my next novel, which TJ and I brainstormed together on our honeymoon in the Deep Creek mountains.
The plot has had to change three times already, but the core is there to build from. Inspired by the spectacular autumn colors we were surrounded by on our honeymoon and also the Type O Negative album of the same name, my next book will be titled October Rust.
I’m seeing that “10 Things About Me” or another number prompt out there, so I revisited one with 25 things I did about a decade ago. I had to shake my head at some of my answers, since life has changed greatly, but here are 10 that should still make the cut today with some modifications, lol.
1. My favorite concert in memory has to be the Red Hot Chili Peppers, 1989, Mother’s Milk tour. They were still a funk-punk band, nothing like the laidback group they became after Blood Sugar Sex Magik. To this day, I’ve never seen more raw energy and outrageous execution. While I’m sure substances had something to do with it, this was the most amazing live performance I’ve ever been witness to. Plus it was great locking up with my buddies and pogoing all around Painters Mill Theatre to “Me and My Friends.” Dead close behind this one is Voivod-Soundgarden-Faith No More, the latter two legends as OPENERS and Voivod still won the day.
2. I have many great memories in my childhood but being there in 1977 at the movies when Star Wars came out for the first time is the holy grail moment of my young life. Nothing compares to that sense of wonderment I felt at age 7. I wish my son could know it like I know it, since, being a teenager, he mocks the original trilogy as “weak” compared to Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, the SW film which rocked his world.
3. I was on the old school kid shows, Romper Room and Professor Kool’s Fun School when I was a kid. These were locally broadcasted children’s shows during the seventies and early eighties. If you’re a Baltimore Gen X’er, you’ll well remember “Romper Bomper Stomper Boo…tell me, tell me, tell me true…”
4. I was pissed I didn’t win “Most Outrageous” in the high school yearbook. I even lobbied for it!
5. My worst fear in life is never achieving my dreams. If you know me, you what that entails. If I could be anywhere right now, I wish I was on a book signing tour. It’ll happen. Bank.
6. My favorite thing to do after a big workout is kiss my wife. Like Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ “Margo” said to “Todd” in Christmas Vacation, after I shower of course, lol…
7. People often add an “e” to my last name or mash the words together to make “Vanhorn.” Annoying. Some address me as “Ryan” or “Roy” instead of “Ray.” Double annoying. Happens more than you’d think.
8. I live vicariously through a John Carpenter/Alan Howarth synth score.
9. PG Tips rules all teas. I was the pinhead in the theater who hollered out “It’s a tea, man!” during Rob Zombie’s Halloween II when Malcolm McDowell asked his onscreen assistant for one and she was clueless about it.
10. If I had a choice of being a pirate or a ninja, I would have to go with being a pirate so I can shamelessly chase after booty and blame the rum every time. As long as both lead to the treasure trove that is TJ.
Even with the end of a literal switchblade propped beneath my chin, I couldn’t tell you the name of the live streamer pawning wholesale killing.
Problem is, the pitchman not only looks like me, he is me. Hacked into a garmented avatar of death.
I’ve become an e-merchant of slaughter. The robocall doesn’t match the moving lips, yet it’s my voice, synthetically created, out of progression.
Scatters of pinyin scatter camouflage an auction counter beneath me-not-me, selling murder rights to a sobbing girl offscreen. The bid pushes into seven figure territory.
Helpless, the laptop camera transmutes my dread into virtuality.
Roads Lesser Traveled 