"Dimebag" Darrell former Pantera,
current Damageplan guitarist
I recognized the guitar playing right away - lightning fast, razor blade sharp, and full of what Steve Morse once referred to as "whistlers" (guitar players, this = pinch harmonics and severe Whammy pedal abuse). I knew within about 3 seconds that it was former Pantera guitar player "Dimebag" Darrell - a man who I worshipped for quite some time in the early 90's Cowboys From Hell heyday. Quite possibly one of the best "metal" (for lack of better term) guitar players out there.
I stepped over into the main room area and sure enough, there he was in all his brutal, hairy glory completely annihilating his guitar to the delight of a packed room. I made it just in time to hear them start up the classic Pantera tour de force "Walk", a song I still love to this day. It's actually sort of autobiographical for recent events in my life... hehe.
After the 15 minute crowd-pleasing version of "Walk", I went back to hang out with my band in the upstairs backstage area. About 20 feet away by a very scary looking sectional couch that I'm sure has a few stories and diseases of its own, up came Darrell and his band to freshen themselves up after a good, long set.
I said to VomitGod "I never would have thought at noon today that I'd be standing 20 feet away from Dimebag Darrell right now!" I've always thought he was an amazing guitar player, and this was the chance of a lifetime to go over and tell him, give him my band's CD, and show him my Ace Frehley tattoo (he is an Ace nut and has one as well - what better way to break the ice?!)
My bandmates and I were getting ready to head out to Pizza Luce to kill some time. The only way out involved walking past Dimebag and his band - ah, the perfect opportunity to introduce myself.
Buzzkill in 5...4...3...2.......1:
At that moment, Dimebag, shirtless, looking 8 months pregnant with a towel wrapped on his head turbine-style, began to take his pants off, exposing his bare, pale white-pink, puffy, lumpy ass for the whole world to see. It looked like his ass had downed an entire pack of Big League Chew and was puckered up getting ready to blow a bubble. And then he turned around and let little Mr. Happy dangle around for a bit before finally finding the clean pants and putting them on.
The image in my head of Dime and myself chatting and laughing quickly turned into an image of a big hole in the wall of the club in the shape of my scared, running body like a scene out of an old Warner Bros. cartoon.
After seeing Dimebag in his comfort zone like that, wearing only a towel on his head and that frizzy red beard, I just couldn't do it. The buns - fine, I can deal with that, but the frank and beans were just too much for me to handle. We walked right past them, to the elevators, and off to Luce for pizza and the most delicious chocolate cake $4.17 can buy.
Do I regret not saying anything? I probably will. What was I supposed to do, though? "Darrell, I'm such a big fan of your ugly lumpy ass- er- NO! NO! I mean, guitar playing!" I was in shock and helpless. And I will probably never have that chance again.
I'm going to see Leo Kottke next week. In the unlikely event that we end up backstage, let's hope against hope that dude keeps his pants on.
