Vanman
Two Thousand Club
Riff
I have the background ready, so it's posted here. It's kind of long, as that's kind of how I do backgrounds. There are some details that aren't defined - such as the name of the Megalopolis rock arena - that you will notice when reading it. I also used a canon NPC because it was handy. I realize he is really located in Freedom City, and if you want to change the person, I have no problems with that. I just used the name because it was convenient.
My sheet is now posted.
Background:
I have the background ready, so it's posted here. It's kind of long, as that's kind of how I do backgrounds. There are some details that aren't defined - such as the name of the Megalopolis rock arena - that you will notice when reading it. I also used a canon NPC because it was handy. I realize he is really located in Freedom City, and if you want to change the person, I have no problems with that. I just used the name because it was convenient.
My sheet is now posted.
Background:
Riff’s Riff
The name? Dylan Storm. But you probably know that. Or, if you don’t know the name Dylan Storm, you might recognize my band, Stormfront. Yes, that Stormfront. Thought you might recognize it. I’m willing to bet you recognize the name for all the wrong reasons, though. From my perspective, anyway. I mean, I want the band to be remembered for the music we made. You probably remember the…….well, I’ll get to that.
I was born on August 10th, 1983, in the city of San Francisco. Haight Ashbury, in fact. Yes, my parents, Anson and Juliet, were hippies. They met at a Grateful Dead concert in 1974 and were married in 1975. They would have married sooner, or so they told me, but neither was of legal age. Once they both turned 18, they got married. The whole family thing wasn’t really in their lexicon at the time. No, what was in their lexicon was partying. Hard. Or, again, so I was told. I wasn’t around. At that time. The thing is, they never really gave up the partying habit. Even after I was born. So the fact that they were married for 8 years before I was born, without any familial obligations except each other……well, you do the math.
Needless to say (though I’m feeling the need to say it anyway – go figure), I came along 8 years later. Pops had a job as a freelance reporter and Mom was an artist. This worked out for me because she worked at home, so my upbringing wasn’t really an issue. Hippie habits die hard, so I was subject to all of the stereotypical hippie philosophies. My parents were vegetarians so, by extension, I was a vegetarian. We didn’t go out to eat very much. America is still not very vegetarian friendly today; imagine what it was like 20+ years ago. The folks also didn’t believe in spanking their children. So I didn’t have that to worry about. As it turns out, maybe they should have spanked me. Hard to say.
My childhood was relatively innocuous. Since my mom was an artist, the arts were an important part of our lives. We went to gallery openings, music festivals, plays, ballet, the opera – your basic hippie education. Even at this time, my parents smoked pot. They thought I didn’t notice, because they did it when they thought I was in bed, or I was supposed to be someplace else. But I saw them do it on numerous occasions. Not that I knew what they were doing at that time. That came later. The fact remains that they did smoke pot when I was a kid. I’m quite sure they did harder stuff, too, but that they didn’t do around me. That was usually reserved for when they went to parties or I was staying with the grandparents. All I know is if they did do anything harder, they didn’t do it around me.
The nice thing about having an artist for a mother is that she had lots of artsy friends. This included musicians. From a very early age, music fascinated me. My parents, naturally, always had music on, and I absorbed everything they played. Being hippies, they listened to everything. Even punk. Odd, I know, given their hippie roots, but they did love the energy of the punks. Anyone who “stuck it to the man,†as my old man said, was good in their book. So one day, one of my mom’s music friends, Jack Fiddler, was over and he and my mom were listening to an old Robert Johnson record. I was listening, absorbed in the music, the chops Johnson was famous for taking me away. I guess my fingers were moving in time with the guitar licks, because Jack suddenly asked: “You wanna learn to play, kid?â€
Well, there was never any doubt in my mind. The answer was yes, I most assuredly wanted to learn to play. And so it was that, at age 7, I was given my first guitar lessons. I loved it. Right from the very beginning. It was strange, too, because I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. When I grew up. When I grew old. I wanted to play music. Those early years were probably the happiest of my musical career. I was learning (some would say at a prodigious rate) to play and I was losing myself in the music. Later on, when I achieved some success, I was losing myself in other things. The music was kind of secondary. Not fully. Well, not always. But the pure joy certainly wasn’t there. It was when I was learning.
And I was good. Jack told me that after my first couple of lessons. You have to know Jack Fiddler. First, Jack’s one big mother. 6’6†tall, 280 lbs. Defensive lineman big. Knows how to use that size, too. I’ve seen him take on – and take out – a group of four bouncers. But he’s one of the most down to earth people I know. And one of the most honest. Brutally so. You ask Jack a question, he’ll tell you the truth. Whether you want to hear it or not. I’ve known the man for 19 of my 24 years and I haven’t known him to lie once. He’s not afraid to say shit others don’t want to say, either. That’s gotten him into some trouble – with the law, with other musicians and with husbands and lovers. Thing is, if he says something, you know it’s the truth. At least as Jack knows it.
Anyway. After my third lesson, Jack shook his head and looked me in the eye. “Kid, some folk work at the craft and some folk are born with the gift. You was one a’ them what was born with it. Don’t mean you don’t have to work at the craft. All the great ones do. It’s how they get great. But you got the gift.†Then he looked me straight in the eye, with an intensity and a manic harshness that frightened me. “You waste that gift, kid, I’ll stick my boot so far up your ass you’ll taste leather. You pursue the dream, you pursue it with all the gusto you got. Otherwise, don’t bother.†Then he laughed, mussed my hair and we packed up the gear. Those words stuck with me. So did the threat of the ass kicking. Kind of got me where I am.
I did, of course, go to school. I mean, I was a kid. As a student, I was…..average. Not the brightest bulb in the bunch, but neither was I the class dunce. What I was was the class clown. I was a gregarious kid – hell, I’m a gregarious adult – and this gregariousness manifested itself during class, when I would make jokes that would crack up the class – and would often crack up the teacher. I had lots of charm, and I often used that charm to get me through school. I had a way with people. Call it charisma, call it joie de vive, call it what you will. The simple fact of the matter was that I could use my mouth to get out of trouble. I could use it to avoid trouble. I could also use it to mediate trouble between two other people. I also used my mouth to get me through school. To change that F to a D, or that D to a C. What can I say? I have a talented mouth.
There was one class that I didn’t slack off, in, though. Music. I continued the guitar lessons, but those were private affairs. There wasn’t really a guitar band I could join. What they did have, though, was chorus. Singing. I joined it on a lark, thinking it would be an easy “A.†Turns out I loved singing. I did get some shit about singing in the chorus, but I didn’t care. Didn’t really matter to me what people said about me. I loved singing and nothing anyone could say would change that. The main thing is this training would pay off down the road.
Singing also helped me when we moved. Which we did, when I was 10. Pops got a job in Megalopolis, working for a paper with political leaning similar to his own. The move was pretty hard on me, at first. All of my friends were in San Francisco, and this included Jack. So I was leaving all that behind. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find another guitar teacher like Jack. And I was right. I never have found another guitar teacher like Jack. He’s one of a kind, really. But singing in the school chorus did make me friends, and having those friends introduced me to other friends. My gregarious nature took over after that, and I didn’t have much of a problem, once I did make friends. Once I had friends, the move wasn’t so bad. But it was chorus that made me those first friends.
My musical influences were many and varied. Like I said before, my parents listened to all sorts of music, and that sort of rubbed off on me. I was exposed to jazz, classical, classic rock, punk, progressive rock, blues, country, bluegrass, metal, goth, grunge, hip hop, r&b, swing, and world music, and my influences include jazz, classical, classic rock, punk, progressive rock, blues, country, bluegrass, metal, goth, grunge, hip hop, r&b, swing, and world music. All of those influences weren’t immediately apparent when I formed my first band at age 12. The influences most evident then were grunge, goth and punk. That first band, called Amnesia, was….well……forgetful. (Yeah, it’s a bad pun. So sue me.) We got together, got hired to play a school dance at our middle school, played the gig (to fairly good reception, as I recall), and then the drummer – Michael Hart – and I got in a fight because I “stole†his girlfriend. I say “stole†because he wasn’t really going out with her. Michael had a huge crush on the girl and, when he saw me dancing with her, he lost it. Said I stabbed him in the back, I was a bad friend, yada yada yada. I just think he was jealous because I got the girl. And mad because he was an 8th grader and I was just a 6th grader. It didn’t help that the girl was an 8th grader. That may have been the biggest issue. Nevertheless, that was the end of Amnesia.
The one thing that Amnesia did bring about was my introduction to Justin Front. Ironically, it was Michael who brought us both together. Michael and I were in chorus together and we often talked about bands we liked (as most middle schoolers do). We both sang, naturally, but when we discovered we both played instruments, we started kicking around the concept of starting a band. We had the guitar and drums covered. We just needed a bassist. Michael said he knew someone, a son of one of his mom’s friends. That was Justin. At that time, Justin went to a different school than Michael and I, so we made plans to meet at Michael’s house so we could knock around some songs.
The rehearsal was a hit. The three of us meshed quite well, and it’s a shame the band fell through. I think we might have been pretty good. But then, I suppose I usually feel that way. Regardless, Justin and I soon became fast friends. Conversations usually started with music, and played a huge part in most of our communication (it still does, to a large extent), but we could talk about anything. We could laugh about anything, as well. We were always cracking each other up. In fact, it was his ability to make me laugh that made me like him so much. It got so that we only had to look at each other and we would both be off to the races, giggling like schoolgirls for minutes at a time. Calm would just about be restored, one of us would look at the other, and off we’d go again.
All of that was well and good, but it was when we sat down to write songs together that we really clicked. Even back in middle school, we knew we had something special. It wasn’t that one of us would write the music and another would write the lyrics, like most bands do. One of us would have an idea for a tune and he would play it for the other. Then the two of us would knock around ideas, changing things, adding things and removing things as necessary. Sometimes I’d come in with a complete set of lyrics, sometimes it’d just be a chorus, or a verse. Justin would often be able to complete what I was missing, and vice versa.
Granted, it took some time before we discovered this connection. Amnesia was a cover band, pure and simple, and the next band we formed, Wasabi, was, for all intents and purposes, a cover band as well. I will admit that the songs we chose to cover were not your run of the mill cover songs. We played tunes from Helmet, XTC, Nirvana, Fishbone, Faith No More, to name but a few. Of course, it took us some time to find another drummer, so Wasabi wasn’t formed until halfway through 7th grade. Justin and I still got together and practiced, of course, but we had no drummer and, without a drummer, we had no band. Until we met Skip.
Now, we played in a punk band – or, at least, we played punk music – so that meant we had to ride skateboards. And we did. Well, one day, we were skating and shooting the shit with some other skaters. We started trading insults, messing around, as you do, and I started using song lyrics in my insults. This other kid started throwing other song lyrics to counter my own. Soon, we were throwing lyrics back and forth, to the point where the skating stopped and just the lyric quoting was left. That was Skip. When he dropped the fact that he played drums, Wasabi was born.
The problem with Skip is that he wasn’t a very good drummer. I imagine that there’s a lot of middle school drummers who aren’t good, but that didn’t make the fact that Skip was one of them very palatable. Skip was much more interested in the social aspects of being in a band. Quite simply, he got more play. I’m the last person to upbraid someone for his interest in the social aspects of being in a band – hell, I know I’ve used that fact to my advantage. But the thing is, the music always took priority over getting laid. I mean, if the music sucks, then your chances of landing the punani lessen significantly. Because Skip was poor, Wasabi was average. At best. We played some gigs, mainly at school and parties, but that was about it. As time went on, Justin and I became less and less enthralled with Skip’s drumming. We looked for another drummer, but couldn’t find anyone suitable. Then the problem was handled for us. Skip moved away, the summer before we entered high school. His dad got another job in another city and he was gone. Fortuitously, Wasabi was able to play its last gig, the final school dance, before he moved away. Thus ended Wasabi.
High school was an entirely different animal to middle school. First, there were more students in high school. This benefited Justin and I because it gave us more options regarding our band. Second, there were far more social opportunities in high school. This gave us more gigs to play. Third, high school is when Justin and I started writing our own songs. They were rough at first, but the more we did it, the better we got. Finally, high school is where the nucleus of the band that was later to become Stormfront was formed.
It’s funny how things work out sometimes. Ironic, too. As they say, God is an iron. The skate park is where we met Skip, and it was at the skate park that we met Hammer. Now, this wasn’t a chance meeting. I’d seen Hammer, whose real name was Hank McCormick, around school. We kind of hung around the same people, but we’d never really been introduced. Again, it was a competition that brought us together. This time, though, it wasn’t as adversaries but as teammates. We went to William Howard Taft High School. Our main rival was Theodore Roosevelt High School. Skaters from Roosevelt High also frequented the skatepark we frequented. There was a lot of jawing going on and a challenge was thrown down. A team from Taft and a team from Roosevelt would skate. One skater from each team would face off against one another. The onlookers would judge who won. The team with the most individual “wins†would be the winner of the contest.
Of course, I was one of the big mouths. No surprise there. The only problem was, I was jawing with about 6 of their skaters and I was with two of my own friends (Justin being one of them, of course). I think their leader, who went by the ridiculous name of Phat Boi, saw that and that’s when he made the challenge. Probably thought he could win by forfeit, if nothing else. I accepted, of course, and then realized my mistake. Phat Boi asked if I even had 6 teammates. That’s when Hammer got involved. He had two of his friends with him, and they stepped up behind me. When I turned to look at them, Hammer gave me this insouciant wink. I knew right then that we’d win the skate contest.
And we did. I just want to say that, whilst I’m not an avid skater, I do have some chops. I mean, it’s part of the culture – skate punks and all that. The skating also helped me later on onstage. We don’t put on a sedate show. There’s a lot of acrobatics going on. Where do you think I learned those acrobatics? Or where I developed my dexterity? In the skate parks. Anyway, after the slaughter, the six of us partied. Hard. This was my first introduction to pot. We smoked a lot, but it didn’t really affect me. Talk to most stoners and they’ll tell you the same thing. The first time you smoke, you rarely get high. That turned out to be a good thing, though. Because I didn’t get high, I didn’t smoke again for a couple of years. I did some drinking, when we could get alcohol, but I didn’t smoke until my senior year. Had I started smoking at an earlier age, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up. I doubt it would have been good, though.
After the contest, Hammer, Justin and I became really good friends. Especially when we learned Hammer could drum. And the boy could drum. Like a beast. And so it was that Stormfront was formed. You ever have a situation where you’re with a group and the chemistry is just perfect? Just the right amount of joking, seriousness, interest and talent? Where you’re always looking forward to being with that group of people? That’s how it was with Hammer and Justin. I loved hanging out with them. And the music was phenomenal. Everything just clicked. Again, we started with school gigs. Some dances. And then people started asking us to play their parties. Some college students attended some of those parties. Those college students belonged to fraternities, and they asked us to play their fraternity parties. The more fraternity parties we played, the more exposure we got and the more fraternities we were asked to play.
After we’d been playing together for about a year, it was decided to try and find another member of the band. I was playing guitar and singing, and I often felt confined. I wanted to be running across the stage, interacting with the audience, giving them a show. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that because I was stuck singing in front of the mike. If I’d just been singing, then I could have moved. Likewise with playing guitar. So, in order to free me up a bit, we held auditions for both singers and guitar players. Through those auditions, we found Kyle Granger. Kyle played guitar and he could sing, so we traded off those duties. It allowed me the freedom to roam about the stage and it gave us another good voice, so that harmonies were now possible.
Finding Kyle was a fortuitous event, and well timed, too. Because there was a Battle of the Bands contest being held by a local radio station. The winner would receive $30,000 and a recording contract with New Horizon Media’s new music division. They’d also get time on Freddie “the Banshee†LaManche’s radio program. We rehearsed, bringing Kyle up to speed, and put together a 20 minute set. It was a blistering set, and we won. Tore it up, in fact. Of course.
The celebration that followed was riotous. Naturally. Here’s the thing, though. Kyle’s a great guy, but he’s a stoner. And he had his stash with him. So we all proceeded to get wasted. And I do mean wasted. I got stoned, this time. I had a blast. The thrill of winning the contest – we beat some of the best local bands – combined with being with my band mates just added to the euphoric feeling the pot gave me. I don’t think I need to say that smoking pot became a regular ritual with us. If it’d just been confined to pot, I don’t think it would have been a problem. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just confined to pot. But more on that later.
Winning the Battle of the Bands put us on the map. We started to get regular gigs at a number of local clubs, and even opened for some big acts at the (Enter Name of Megalopolis Music Arena Here). Our appearance on the Banshee’s radio program garnered us a huge audience. Part of that was because I was able to keep up with LeManche’s patter, and even outdid him at his own game. He loved that, and we soon became semi-regulars on the program. He also invited us to play at the South River Rave, which we did. And we tore it up. Again. We were the hit of the rave, and Lemanche invited us back the next year. We played the Rave every year until the band went on hiatus.
Once we graduated from high school, we sort of took off. The cd we made, Storm Warning, was a qualified hit, reaching # 10 on the Billboard Album chart, and the title track reached #7 on the singles chart. As we got more popular, we booked an East Coast tour, and that, too, went smashingly. I started to develop my network of contacts and connections, traveling from city to city, making friends and doing favors for people. I also developed my people skills. Since we were all under age, I had to be able to talk fast and talk convincingly, since some club owners were reluctant to let us perform. I also developed a bullshit meter, which helped me greatly with dodgy club owners.
As our popularity increased, though, so did our consumption of “mood enhancers.†First it was alcohol (which was kind of hard, since we were underage) and weed. Then it was ecstasy and acid. It stayed there for quite a while, with some occasional cocaine use thrown in from time to time. Using drugs necessitated developing the skills to find the drugs, so I became conversant with street culture and acquired the ability to ferret out the dealers. This ability also allowed me to find out other information as well, some of it benign, some of it deadly. That didn’t matter to me, then. For me, it was all about the party.
Our second cd, Black Storm Rising, came out in December of 2002, and it was an unqualified success, going platinum and winning a Grammy (in 2003) for Best Rock Album and the song “Murder by Inches†won a Grammy for Best Metal Performance. We followed this up with a world tour. Unfortunately, the success we garnered….well, quite honestly, it went to my head. I thought I was untouchable and indestructible. While on the road, I got into harder drugs, including heroin. All of the horror stories of past rock stars meant nothing to me, because I was Dylan Storm, of Stormfront. I was now, I was hip and I was happening. I was also a drug addict.
Ironically, it was the show we were playing in Megalopolis where it all went wrong. I was in town, partying, as was my wont, and someone – I still, to this day, don’t know who it was – gave me a new “super†drug. It was supposed to enhance the experience of playing music, making me more in touch with that music, making us one. I was already hopped up on a cocktail of heroin, cocaine, ecstasy and acid, so another drug didn’t mean much to me. I was about to go onstage (and this had become a regular occurrence the past month or so) so I took ten of the bright blue pills given to me and I headed out onstage.
The show began and I felt great. What they told me was correct – I could feel the music. It was a part of me, and every note resonated throughout my body. It’s like the music actually became part of me. I reveled in the feeling, pouring everything I had into the music. Each chord I played, each lyric I sang, it was like I was playing myself, there for everyone to see and, more importantly, to hear. I was wrapped up in the music, and the music was wrapped up in me. I suddenly felt a detonation within me, as if the music was exploding into my very being. I felt it actually becoming part of me. We were in the last bars of “Murder by Inches,†and I launched into the guitar solo. My eyes were shut, I was laying into the riff, and then I felt something welling up inside me. It built as the solo reached its crescendo and as I hit that last note, I felt something else blast out of me. Again and again and again.
I brought the song to its thunderous close and waited for the roaring cheer of the crowd. It never came. Instead, there was screaming, and moaning. I opened my eyes and was met with a scene of vast carnage. There were bodies all over the floor of the (Enter Name of Megalopolis Music Arena Here). Many of them were not moving. The seats were all destroyed, and most of the remaining audience members were fleeing for the exit. I looked at the rest of Stormfront and they were looking at me in disbelief. And horror. I started to say something to them and they all backed away from me. When I asked them what happened, all they said was “You.â€
Then I heard it. The music. No one was playing. There was no music coming through the house system. I looked around. Where was it coming from? Realization dawned on me slowly. It was coming from me. How was this possible? How was this music being created when no instruments were being played? Then I remembered what happened during “Murder by Inches.†Somehow, the music was, indeed, part of me. Even through the drugs coursing through my body, I could tell this wasn’t a good thing. “No. No! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!â€
As my scream grew, I could feel the music around me coalesce into a solid form and then explode out from me, into the emptying Dome. This devastation, this destruction, it was my fault! I was the cause of this. And why? Because I wanted a new high. Not just a new high. A high of epic proportions. It must have been that new drug. Who could have done this to me? The Maestro? He just has that stupid wand. He doesn’t seem to be the type to develop a drug that could do this. Someone else? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I heard sirens in the distance, and that they were coming for me.
I could’ve tried to run, but that would have meant living on the run, and I had no desire to do that. Besides, this train wreck was my fault. I was responsible. My drug addiction was responsible. It was time to face the music. Get some help. I knew I was going away for a while. I had a huge stash of drugs on the tour bus. I told the rest of the band to clear out. I told them I had a problem, and I was going to face those problems now. They didn’t say much. They didn’t have to. They’d talked to me on several occasions, telling me they thought I had a problem. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like they were innocent. But they didn’t do the hard stuff. They did the occasional roll, or hit, and they smoked pot, but they weren’t hooked on smack like I was. I told them to carry on with the band. When I got out, and they could trust me, then we’d see what would happen.
So it was that I was shipped off to Blackstone, in disgrace. I was a drug addicted rock star gone bad, hiding his powers and then using them to cause destruction and mayhem amongst his own fans. At least that’s how the media spun it. The rest of Stormfront didn’t comment on what happened. They said they wanted to concentrate on going forward, that looking back wouldn’t serve any purpose, and that they hoped I would get the help I needed. They continued to perform, just like I told them to. Meanwhile, I was “rehabilitated.†Meaning, I got clean. It was a long, arduous process, one I am still struggling with today. Like they say, one day at a time. But it was a process where I ultimately succeeded.
As I did my time, I thought long and hard about the events at the Arena. I want to atone for what happened at the (Enter Name of Megalopolis Music Arena Here). What better way than to do good, as it were. I’m also hoping I can be a voice to help others avoid the pitfalls I fell victim to. I have to change the perception that I’m a murderer, that I’m a monster. I can’t tell people I’ve changed. I have to show them, through my actions. That’s the only way I can change their minds. I see this as a second chance. I aim to cash in. Everyone knew me before as Dylan Storm. They’ll still know me as Dylan Storm. But now they’ll also know me as…Riff…
Appearance:
The name? Dylan Storm. But you probably know that. Or, if you don’t know the name Dylan Storm, you might recognize my band, Stormfront. Yes, that Stormfront. Thought you might recognize it. I’m willing to bet you recognize the name for all the wrong reasons, though. From my perspective, anyway. I mean, I want the band to be remembered for the music we made. You probably remember the…….well, I’ll get to that.
I was born on August 10th, 1983, in the city of San Francisco. Haight Ashbury, in fact. Yes, my parents, Anson and Juliet, were hippies. They met at a Grateful Dead concert in 1974 and were married in 1975. They would have married sooner, or so they told me, but neither was of legal age. Once they both turned 18, they got married. The whole family thing wasn’t really in their lexicon at the time. No, what was in their lexicon was partying. Hard. Or, again, so I was told. I wasn’t around. At that time. The thing is, they never really gave up the partying habit. Even after I was born. So the fact that they were married for 8 years before I was born, without any familial obligations except each other……well, you do the math.
Needless to say (though I’m feeling the need to say it anyway – go figure), I came along 8 years later. Pops had a job as a freelance reporter and Mom was an artist. This worked out for me because she worked at home, so my upbringing wasn’t really an issue. Hippie habits die hard, so I was subject to all of the stereotypical hippie philosophies. My parents were vegetarians so, by extension, I was a vegetarian. We didn’t go out to eat very much. America is still not very vegetarian friendly today; imagine what it was like 20+ years ago. The folks also didn’t believe in spanking their children. So I didn’t have that to worry about. As it turns out, maybe they should have spanked me. Hard to say.
My childhood was relatively innocuous. Since my mom was an artist, the arts were an important part of our lives. We went to gallery openings, music festivals, plays, ballet, the opera – your basic hippie education. Even at this time, my parents smoked pot. They thought I didn’t notice, because they did it when they thought I was in bed, or I was supposed to be someplace else. But I saw them do it on numerous occasions. Not that I knew what they were doing at that time. That came later. The fact remains that they did smoke pot when I was a kid. I’m quite sure they did harder stuff, too, but that they didn’t do around me. That was usually reserved for when they went to parties or I was staying with the grandparents. All I know is if they did do anything harder, they didn’t do it around me.
The nice thing about having an artist for a mother is that she had lots of artsy friends. This included musicians. From a very early age, music fascinated me. My parents, naturally, always had music on, and I absorbed everything they played. Being hippies, they listened to everything. Even punk. Odd, I know, given their hippie roots, but they did love the energy of the punks. Anyone who “stuck it to the man,†as my old man said, was good in their book. So one day, one of my mom’s music friends, Jack Fiddler, was over and he and my mom were listening to an old Robert Johnson record. I was listening, absorbed in the music, the chops Johnson was famous for taking me away. I guess my fingers were moving in time with the guitar licks, because Jack suddenly asked: “You wanna learn to play, kid?â€
Well, there was never any doubt in my mind. The answer was yes, I most assuredly wanted to learn to play. And so it was that, at age 7, I was given my first guitar lessons. I loved it. Right from the very beginning. It was strange, too, because I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. When I grew up. When I grew old. I wanted to play music. Those early years were probably the happiest of my musical career. I was learning (some would say at a prodigious rate) to play and I was losing myself in the music. Later on, when I achieved some success, I was losing myself in other things. The music was kind of secondary. Not fully. Well, not always. But the pure joy certainly wasn’t there. It was when I was learning.
And I was good. Jack told me that after my first couple of lessons. You have to know Jack Fiddler. First, Jack’s one big mother. 6’6†tall, 280 lbs. Defensive lineman big. Knows how to use that size, too. I’ve seen him take on – and take out – a group of four bouncers. But he’s one of the most down to earth people I know. And one of the most honest. Brutally so. You ask Jack a question, he’ll tell you the truth. Whether you want to hear it or not. I’ve known the man for 19 of my 24 years and I haven’t known him to lie once. He’s not afraid to say shit others don’t want to say, either. That’s gotten him into some trouble – with the law, with other musicians and with husbands and lovers. Thing is, if he says something, you know it’s the truth. At least as Jack knows it.
Anyway. After my third lesson, Jack shook his head and looked me in the eye. “Kid, some folk work at the craft and some folk are born with the gift. You was one a’ them what was born with it. Don’t mean you don’t have to work at the craft. All the great ones do. It’s how they get great. But you got the gift.†Then he looked me straight in the eye, with an intensity and a manic harshness that frightened me. “You waste that gift, kid, I’ll stick my boot so far up your ass you’ll taste leather. You pursue the dream, you pursue it with all the gusto you got. Otherwise, don’t bother.†Then he laughed, mussed my hair and we packed up the gear. Those words stuck with me. So did the threat of the ass kicking. Kind of got me where I am.
I did, of course, go to school. I mean, I was a kid. As a student, I was…..average. Not the brightest bulb in the bunch, but neither was I the class dunce. What I was was the class clown. I was a gregarious kid – hell, I’m a gregarious adult – and this gregariousness manifested itself during class, when I would make jokes that would crack up the class – and would often crack up the teacher. I had lots of charm, and I often used that charm to get me through school. I had a way with people. Call it charisma, call it joie de vive, call it what you will. The simple fact of the matter was that I could use my mouth to get out of trouble. I could use it to avoid trouble. I could also use it to mediate trouble between two other people. I also used my mouth to get me through school. To change that F to a D, or that D to a C. What can I say? I have a talented mouth.
There was one class that I didn’t slack off, in, though. Music. I continued the guitar lessons, but those were private affairs. There wasn’t really a guitar band I could join. What they did have, though, was chorus. Singing. I joined it on a lark, thinking it would be an easy “A.†Turns out I loved singing. I did get some shit about singing in the chorus, but I didn’t care. Didn’t really matter to me what people said about me. I loved singing and nothing anyone could say would change that. The main thing is this training would pay off down the road.
Singing also helped me when we moved. Which we did, when I was 10. Pops got a job in Megalopolis, working for a paper with political leaning similar to his own. The move was pretty hard on me, at first. All of my friends were in San Francisco, and this included Jack. So I was leaving all that behind. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find another guitar teacher like Jack. And I was right. I never have found another guitar teacher like Jack. He’s one of a kind, really. But singing in the school chorus did make me friends, and having those friends introduced me to other friends. My gregarious nature took over after that, and I didn’t have much of a problem, once I did make friends. Once I had friends, the move wasn’t so bad. But it was chorus that made me those first friends.
My musical influences were many and varied. Like I said before, my parents listened to all sorts of music, and that sort of rubbed off on me. I was exposed to jazz, classical, classic rock, punk, progressive rock, blues, country, bluegrass, metal, goth, grunge, hip hop, r&b, swing, and world music, and my influences include jazz, classical, classic rock, punk, progressive rock, blues, country, bluegrass, metal, goth, grunge, hip hop, r&b, swing, and world music. All of those influences weren’t immediately apparent when I formed my first band at age 12. The influences most evident then were grunge, goth and punk. That first band, called Amnesia, was….well……forgetful. (Yeah, it’s a bad pun. So sue me.) We got together, got hired to play a school dance at our middle school, played the gig (to fairly good reception, as I recall), and then the drummer – Michael Hart – and I got in a fight because I “stole†his girlfriend. I say “stole†because he wasn’t really going out with her. Michael had a huge crush on the girl and, when he saw me dancing with her, he lost it. Said I stabbed him in the back, I was a bad friend, yada yada yada. I just think he was jealous because I got the girl. And mad because he was an 8th grader and I was just a 6th grader. It didn’t help that the girl was an 8th grader. That may have been the biggest issue. Nevertheless, that was the end of Amnesia.
The one thing that Amnesia did bring about was my introduction to Justin Front. Ironically, it was Michael who brought us both together. Michael and I were in chorus together and we often talked about bands we liked (as most middle schoolers do). We both sang, naturally, but when we discovered we both played instruments, we started kicking around the concept of starting a band. We had the guitar and drums covered. We just needed a bassist. Michael said he knew someone, a son of one of his mom’s friends. That was Justin. At that time, Justin went to a different school than Michael and I, so we made plans to meet at Michael’s house so we could knock around some songs.
The rehearsal was a hit. The three of us meshed quite well, and it’s a shame the band fell through. I think we might have been pretty good. But then, I suppose I usually feel that way. Regardless, Justin and I soon became fast friends. Conversations usually started with music, and played a huge part in most of our communication (it still does, to a large extent), but we could talk about anything. We could laugh about anything, as well. We were always cracking each other up. In fact, it was his ability to make me laugh that made me like him so much. It got so that we only had to look at each other and we would both be off to the races, giggling like schoolgirls for minutes at a time. Calm would just about be restored, one of us would look at the other, and off we’d go again.
All of that was well and good, but it was when we sat down to write songs together that we really clicked. Even back in middle school, we knew we had something special. It wasn’t that one of us would write the music and another would write the lyrics, like most bands do. One of us would have an idea for a tune and he would play it for the other. Then the two of us would knock around ideas, changing things, adding things and removing things as necessary. Sometimes I’d come in with a complete set of lyrics, sometimes it’d just be a chorus, or a verse. Justin would often be able to complete what I was missing, and vice versa.
Granted, it took some time before we discovered this connection. Amnesia was a cover band, pure and simple, and the next band we formed, Wasabi, was, for all intents and purposes, a cover band as well. I will admit that the songs we chose to cover were not your run of the mill cover songs. We played tunes from Helmet, XTC, Nirvana, Fishbone, Faith No More, to name but a few. Of course, it took us some time to find another drummer, so Wasabi wasn’t formed until halfway through 7th grade. Justin and I still got together and practiced, of course, but we had no drummer and, without a drummer, we had no band. Until we met Skip.
Now, we played in a punk band – or, at least, we played punk music – so that meant we had to ride skateboards. And we did. Well, one day, we were skating and shooting the shit with some other skaters. We started trading insults, messing around, as you do, and I started using song lyrics in my insults. This other kid started throwing other song lyrics to counter my own. Soon, we were throwing lyrics back and forth, to the point where the skating stopped and just the lyric quoting was left. That was Skip. When he dropped the fact that he played drums, Wasabi was born.
The problem with Skip is that he wasn’t a very good drummer. I imagine that there’s a lot of middle school drummers who aren’t good, but that didn’t make the fact that Skip was one of them very palatable. Skip was much more interested in the social aspects of being in a band. Quite simply, he got more play. I’m the last person to upbraid someone for his interest in the social aspects of being in a band – hell, I know I’ve used that fact to my advantage. But the thing is, the music always took priority over getting laid. I mean, if the music sucks, then your chances of landing the punani lessen significantly. Because Skip was poor, Wasabi was average. At best. We played some gigs, mainly at school and parties, but that was about it. As time went on, Justin and I became less and less enthralled with Skip’s drumming. We looked for another drummer, but couldn’t find anyone suitable. Then the problem was handled for us. Skip moved away, the summer before we entered high school. His dad got another job in another city and he was gone. Fortuitously, Wasabi was able to play its last gig, the final school dance, before he moved away. Thus ended Wasabi.
High school was an entirely different animal to middle school. First, there were more students in high school. This benefited Justin and I because it gave us more options regarding our band. Second, there were far more social opportunities in high school. This gave us more gigs to play. Third, high school is when Justin and I started writing our own songs. They were rough at first, but the more we did it, the better we got. Finally, high school is where the nucleus of the band that was later to become Stormfront was formed.
It’s funny how things work out sometimes. Ironic, too. As they say, God is an iron. The skate park is where we met Skip, and it was at the skate park that we met Hammer. Now, this wasn’t a chance meeting. I’d seen Hammer, whose real name was Hank McCormick, around school. We kind of hung around the same people, but we’d never really been introduced. Again, it was a competition that brought us together. This time, though, it wasn’t as adversaries but as teammates. We went to William Howard Taft High School. Our main rival was Theodore Roosevelt High School. Skaters from Roosevelt High also frequented the skatepark we frequented. There was a lot of jawing going on and a challenge was thrown down. A team from Taft and a team from Roosevelt would skate. One skater from each team would face off against one another. The onlookers would judge who won. The team with the most individual “wins†would be the winner of the contest.
Of course, I was one of the big mouths. No surprise there. The only problem was, I was jawing with about 6 of their skaters and I was with two of my own friends (Justin being one of them, of course). I think their leader, who went by the ridiculous name of Phat Boi, saw that and that’s when he made the challenge. Probably thought he could win by forfeit, if nothing else. I accepted, of course, and then realized my mistake. Phat Boi asked if I even had 6 teammates. That’s when Hammer got involved. He had two of his friends with him, and they stepped up behind me. When I turned to look at them, Hammer gave me this insouciant wink. I knew right then that we’d win the skate contest.
And we did. I just want to say that, whilst I’m not an avid skater, I do have some chops. I mean, it’s part of the culture – skate punks and all that. The skating also helped me later on onstage. We don’t put on a sedate show. There’s a lot of acrobatics going on. Where do you think I learned those acrobatics? Or where I developed my dexterity? In the skate parks. Anyway, after the slaughter, the six of us partied. Hard. This was my first introduction to pot. We smoked a lot, but it didn’t really affect me. Talk to most stoners and they’ll tell you the same thing. The first time you smoke, you rarely get high. That turned out to be a good thing, though. Because I didn’t get high, I didn’t smoke again for a couple of years. I did some drinking, when we could get alcohol, but I didn’t smoke until my senior year. Had I started smoking at an earlier age, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up. I doubt it would have been good, though.
After the contest, Hammer, Justin and I became really good friends. Especially when we learned Hammer could drum. And the boy could drum. Like a beast. And so it was that Stormfront was formed. You ever have a situation where you’re with a group and the chemistry is just perfect? Just the right amount of joking, seriousness, interest and talent? Where you’re always looking forward to being with that group of people? That’s how it was with Hammer and Justin. I loved hanging out with them. And the music was phenomenal. Everything just clicked. Again, we started with school gigs. Some dances. And then people started asking us to play their parties. Some college students attended some of those parties. Those college students belonged to fraternities, and they asked us to play their fraternity parties. The more fraternity parties we played, the more exposure we got and the more fraternities we were asked to play.
After we’d been playing together for about a year, it was decided to try and find another member of the band. I was playing guitar and singing, and I often felt confined. I wanted to be running across the stage, interacting with the audience, giving them a show. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that because I was stuck singing in front of the mike. If I’d just been singing, then I could have moved. Likewise with playing guitar. So, in order to free me up a bit, we held auditions for both singers and guitar players. Through those auditions, we found Kyle Granger. Kyle played guitar and he could sing, so we traded off those duties. It allowed me the freedom to roam about the stage and it gave us another good voice, so that harmonies were now possible.
Finding Kyle was a fortuitous event, and well timed, too. Because there was a Battle of the Bands contest being held by a local radio station. The winner would receive $30,000 and a recording contract with New Horizon Media’s new music division. They’d also get time on Freddie “the Banshee†LaManche’s radio program. We rehearsed, bringing Kyle up to speed, and put together a 20 minute set. It was a blistering set, and we won. Tore it up, in fact. Of course.
The celebration that followed was riotous. Naturally. Here’s the thing, though. Kyle’s a great guy, but he’s a stoner. And he had his stash with him. So we all proceeded to get wasted. And I do mean wasted. I got stoned, this time. I had a blast. The thrill of winning the contest – we beat some of the best local bands – combined with being with my band mates just added to the euphoric feeling the pot gave me. I don’t think I need to say that smoking pot became a regular ritual with us. If it’d just been confined to pot, I don’t think it would have been a problem. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just confined to pot. But more on that later.
Winning the Battle of the Bands put us on the map. We started to get regular gigs at a number of local clubs, and even opened for some big acts at the (Enter Name of Megalopolis Music Arena Here). Our appearance on the Banshee’s radio program garnered us a huge audience. Part of that was because I was able to keep up with LeManche’s patter, and even outdid him at his own game. He loved that, and we soon became semi-regulars on the program. He also invited us to play at the South River Rave, which we did. And we tore it up. Again. We were the hit of the rave, and Lemanche invited us back the next year. We played the Rave every year until the band went on hiatus.
Once we graduated from high school, we sort of took off. The cd we made, Storm Warning, was a qualified hit, reaching # 10 on the Billboard Album chart, and the title track reached #7 on the singles chart. As we got more popular, we booked an East Coast tour, and that, too, went smashingly. I started to develop my network of contacts and connections, traveling from city to city, making friends and doing favors for people. I also developed my people skills. Since we were all under age, I had to be able to talk fast and talk convincingly, since some club owners were reluctant to let us perform. I also developed a bullshit meter, which helped me greatly with dodgy club owners.
As our popularity increased, though, so did our consumption of “mood enhancers.†First it was alcohol (which was kind of hard, since we were underage) and weed. Then it was ecstasy and acid. It stayed there for quite a while, with some occasional cocaine use thrown in from time to time. Using drugs necessitated developing the skills to find the drugs, so I became conversant with street culture and acquired the ability to ferret out the dealers. This ability also allowed me to find out other information as well, some of it benign, some of it deadly. That didn’t matter to me, then. For me, it was all about the party.
Our second cd, Black Storm Rising, came out in December of 2002, and it was an unqualified success, going platinum and winning a Grammy (in 2003) for Best Rock Album and the song “Murder by Inches†won a Grammy for Best Metal Performance. We followed this up with a world tour. Unfortunately, the success we garnered….well, quite honestly, it went to my head. I thought I was untouchable and indestructible. While on the road, I got into harder drugs, including heroin. All of the horror stories of past rock stars meant nothing to me, because I was Dylan Storm, of Stormfront. I was now, I was hip and I was happening. I was also a drug addict.
Ironically, it was the show we were playing in Megalopolis where it all went wrong. I was in town, partying, as was my wont, and someone – I still, to this day, don’t know who it was – gave me a new “super†drug. It was supposed to enhance the experience of playing music, making me more in touch with that music, making us one. I was already hopped up on a cocktail of heroin, cocaine, ecstasy and acid, so another drug didn’t mean much to me. I was about to go onstage (and this had become a regular occurrence the past month or so) so I took ten of the bright blue pills given to me and I headed out onstage.
The show began and I felt great. What they told me was correct – I could feel the music. It was a part of me, and every note resonated throughout my body. It’s like the music actually became part of me. I reveled in the feeling, pouring everything I had into the music. Each chord I played, each lyric I sang, it was like I was playing myself, there for everyone to see and, more importantly, to hear. I was wrapped up in the music, and the music was wrapped up in me. I suddenly felt a detonation within me, as if the music was exploding into my very being. I felt it actually becoming part of me. We were in the last bars of “Murder by Inches,†and I launched into the guitar solo. My eyes were shut, I was laying into the riff, and then I felt something welling up inside me. It built as the solo reached its crescendo and as I hit that last note, I felt something else blast out of me. Again and again and again.
I brought the song to its thunderous close and waited for the roaring cheer of the crowd. It never came. Instead, there was screaming, and moaning. I opened my eyes and was met with a scene of vast carnage. There were bodies all over the floor of the (Enter Name of Megalopolis Music Arena Here). Many of them were not moving. The seats were all destroyed, and most of the remaining audience members were fleeing for the exit. I looked at the rest of Stormfront and they were looking at me in disbelief. And horror. I started to say something to them and they all backed away from me. When I asked them what happened, all they said was “You.â€
Then I heard it. The music. No one was playing. There was no music coming through the house system. I looked around. Where was it coming from? Realization dawned on me slowly. It was coming from me. How was this possible? How was this music being created when no instruments were being played? Then I remembered what happened during “Murder by Inches.†Somehow, the music was, indeed, part of me. Even through the drugs coursing through my body, I could tell this wasn’t a good thing. “No. No! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!â€
As my scream grew, I could feel the music around me coalesce into a solid form and then explode out from me, into the emptying Dome. This devastation, this destruction, it was my fault! I was the cause of this. And why? Because I wanted a new high. Not just a new high. A high of epic proportions. It must have been that new drug. Who could have done this to me? The Maestro? He just has that stupid wand. He doesn’t seem to be the type to develop a drug that could do this. Someone else? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I heard sirens in the distance, and that they were coming for me.
I could’ve tried to run, but that would have meant living on the run, and I had no desire to do that. Besides, this train wreck was my fault. I was responsible. My drug addiction was responsible. It was time to face the music. Get some help. I knew I was going away for a while. I had a huge stash of drugs on the tour bus. I told the rest of the band to clear out. I told them I had a problem, and I was going to face those problems now. They didn’t say much. They didn’t have to. They’d talked to me on several occasions, telling me they thought I had a problem. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like they were innocent. But they didn’t do the hard stuff. They did the occasional roll, or hit, and they smoked pot, but they weren’t hooked on smack like I was. I told them to carry on with the band. When I got out, and they could trust me, then we’d see what would happen.
So it was that I was shipped off to Blackstone, in disgrace. I was a drug addicted rock star gone bad, hiding his powers and then using them to cause destruction and mayhem amongst his own fans. At least that’s how the media spun it. The rest of Stormfront didn’t comment on what happened. They said they wanted to concentrate on going forward, that looking back wouldn’t serve any purpose, and that they hoped I would get the help I needed. They continued to perform, just like I told them to. Meanwhile, I was “rehabilitated.†Meaning, I got clean. It was a long, arduous process, one I am still struggling with today. Like they say, one day at a time. But it was a process where I ultimately succeeded.
As I did my time, I thought long and hard about the events at the Arena. I want to atone for what happened at the (Enter Name of Megalopolis Music Arena Here). What better way than to do good, as it were. I’m also hoping I can be a voice to help others avoid the pitfalls I fell victim to. I have to change the perception that I’m a murderer, that I’m a monster. I can’t tell people I’ve changed. I have to show them, through my actions. That’s the only way I can change their minds. I see this as a second chance. I aim to cash in. Everyone knew me before as Dylan Storm. They’ll still know me as Dylan Storm. But now they’ll also know me as…Riff…
Appearance:
Riff is six feet tall, 180 pounds, with shoulder length auburn hair, green eyes and a lithe build. He is very good looking and very charismatic - much like a lot of rock band front men.
Sheet:
Sheet:
PL 10; 150 Power Points
Attributes - Str:10 Dex: 20 (+5) Con: 16 (+3) Int: 12 (+1) Wis: 14 (+2) Cha: 20 (+5)
Cost: 32
Saves - Fortitude: 6 (3 + Con mod) Reflex: 8 (3 + Dex mod) Will: 6 (2 + Wis mod) Toughness: 10 (Force Field 7 + Con mod)
Cost: 10
Combat - Defense: +10 Base Attack: +6
Cost: 32
Skills: Acrobatics +4, Bluff +14, Diplomacy +14, Drive +3, Gather Info +3, Knowledge: Popular Culture +4, Knowledge: Streetwise +4, Notice +6, Perform: Sing +10, Perform: Guitar +10, Profession: Song Writing, Sense Motive +4
Cost: 20
Feats: Attractive, Attack Focus (Ranged) +4, Benefit (Wealth) +1, Connected, Distract, Fascinate (Perform and Diplomacy) +2, Equipment +2, Luck +1, Power Attack, Precise Shot +1, Skill Mastery (Bluff, Diplomacy, Singing, Guitar), Taunt, Improved Trick
Cost: 18
Powers
[b[sonic Control (Array)10[/b]: 24
Dazzle (Auditory) 10
Alt Power - Blast 10
Alt Power - Blast 10 (Extra - Penetrating, Flaw - Tiring, Flaw - Full Power)
Alt Power - Blast 5 (Extra - Area Burst 50' radius, Extra - Selective)
Alt Power - Nauseate 6 (Extra - Ranged)
Environmental Control - Sound 2 (Flaw - Uncontrolled): 2
Sensory Shield (Hearing) 6: 6
Force Field 7 (Extra - Continuous, Flaw - Permanent, Feat - Selective) 8
Cost: 39
Complications: Fame, Reputation
Attributes - Str:10 Dex: 20 (+5) Con: 16 (+3) Int: 12 (+1) Wis: 14 (+2) Cha: 20 (+5)
Cost: 32
Saves - Fortitude: 6 (3 + Con mod) Reflex: 8 (3 + Dex mod) Will: 6 (2 + Wis mod) Toughness: 10 (Force Field 7 + Con mod)
Cost: 10
Combat - Defense: +10 Base Attack: +6
Cost: 32
Skills: Acrobatics +4, Bluff +14, Diplomacy +14, Drive +3, Gather Info +3, Knowledge: Popular Culture +4, Knowledge: Streetwise +4, Notice +6, Perform: Sing +10, Perform: Guitar +10, Profession: Song Writing, Sense Motive +4
Cost: 20
Feats: Attractive, Attack Focus (Ranged) +4, Benefit (Wealth) +1, Connected, Distract, Fascinate (Perform and Diplomacy) +2, Equipment +2, Luck +1, Power Attack, Precise Shot +1, Skill Mastery (Bluff, Diplomacy, Singing, Guitar), Taunt, Improved Trick
Cost: 18
Powers
[b[sonic Control (Array)10[/b]: 24
Dazzle (Auditory) 10
Alt Power - Blast 10
Alt Power - Blast 10 (Extra - Penetrating, Flaw - Tiring, Flaw - Full Power)
Alt Power - Blast 5 (Extra - Area Burst 50' radius, Extra - Selective)
Alt Power - Nauseate 6 (Extra - Ranged)
Environmental Control - Sound 2 (Flaw - Uncontrolled): 2
Sensory Shield (Hearing) 6: 6
Force Field 7 (Extra - Continuous, Flaw - Permanent, Feat - Selective) 8
Cost: 39
Complications: Fame, Reputation
!
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