Vulgar Display of Book Release

If you’re a music junkie like I am, you might follow hundreds of bands, but there are always a few bands attached to your past that stay at the core of your being. For me, one of those is Pantera.

I can still remember the person, place, and conversation from the first time I found out who Pantera was. I was fifteen, in class, and not paying attention to the teacher. This curly haired kid in a denim jacket with no sleeves—who thought he was a badass—told me in a very casual sort of way like he was always a big fan of Pantera, when in reality his older brother just told him about the band’s existence.

I used to sit in my three-toned—green, brown, and blue—‘85 Buick Skylark to get away from all that high school bullshit. I’d smoke and drink coke with Jägermeister while blasting Great Southern Trendkill on my horrible stock speakers before class—and when I was supposed to be in class. Pantera was always a cathartic band for me.

I saw Pantera’s Reinventing The Steel tour at the Denver Coliseum on July 11, 2001 with my friends—and it ended up being Pantera’s last show in Denver. The last show the band ever played was a month and half later on Aug. 26, 2001 in Japan. Eventually, Dimebag’s death three years later prevented them from ever getting back together.

On March 12th, former bassist of Pantera, Rex Brown, came out with a new memoir called Official Truth, 101 Proof: The Inside Story Of Pantera. If I weren’t such a poor bastard I would have already bought it. This memoir is a firsthand look inside Pantera, which succeeded in releasing fiercely uncompromising platinum albums: Vulgar Display Of Power and Far Beyond Driven. Both were number-one albums despite very little airplay. The book ends with Brown’s experiences after the tragic murder of guitarist Darrell “Dimebag” Abbott by a deranged fan.

Whenever I get the chance to read this book, I’m hoping to read about more than just the fights, sex, and road stories that most rock autobiographies divulge. If I had the money I would bribe a custodian at the Denver Coliseum and read this book in the same seat I sat in in 2001.

Either that or buy another ’85 Skylark, a liter bottle of coke spiked with Jägermeister, a pack of Camels, and read it in my old high school parking lot.