This unshaven and confused looking person is my younger brother, Charlie. In this photo he’s at the Flushing stop on the J line. This summer, the sagging economy had led to my father selling popcorn at a movie theater and my mom renting her house to vacationers. My brother and sister spent a few weeks in my basement apartment, sleeping on my floor and eating my mac n’ cheese. Since I wasn’t entertaining them or letting them leave they resorted to marching around in circles and making up irritating songs. I fantasized about a giant concrete mixer backing it’s spout up to the basement stairs and encasing them in a hard grey silence from which no irritating songs or embarrassing childhood secrets could escape.

My dude, Karim, tour manages the Black Dahlia Murder, who were on a tour sponsored by an energy drink. They were throwing a karaoke party after their show at the Tweeter Center and Karim was nice enough to invite my brother and me. He even covered our bus fare. I decided to photograph my brother at every joint in our jaunt to the outdoor music haunt.

Here’s my brother outside the Chinatown bus. Whilst we waited for a smelly bus to show up, a scary young Korean man came over and bought some cigarettes from me and then proceeded telling me about his experiences fighting in the Middle East. He got in trouble and was given the option of prison or the army. He chose the army and claimed to love it. He showed me the four circular scars in his hand and said they were from screws they inserted into his hand after he got shrapnelled. Without asking he said that he didn’t know if the war was justified and didn’t care either. He said he just wanted to get back there and kill people. He also mentioned that he wouldn’t care if he died in combat. He also said that he’d found New York City to be a rude and cold place during his visit.

Here’s Charlie at the train station in Boston.

If you’re wondering about his shirt, it’s a memorial shirt he made for Kenneth Kieth Kallenbach, a member of Howard Stern’s Wack Pack who died in prison due to guards denying him his medication.

My little brother doesn’t own any pants with pockets. He says that he thinks blue jeans are corny. It seems like his interests are confined to Hockey, Lacrosse, Metal, Howard Stern and Comedy.

Here’s Charlie in Mansfield waiting for someone to pick us up.

Here are some fans in matching shirts rigidly flipping off Marilyn Manson.

It took us longer to get to the Tweeter Center than anticipated and we missed seeing Black Dahlia Murder, Slayer and Cannibal Corpse. Marilyn Manson was the only thing left so we took what we could get. When I was fourteen my brother got into Marilyn Manson first and I followed. Marilyn Manson came out in a big, big and also floppy witch hat. He’s forty and looks like the coke finally caught up with him. His performance was as phoned in as could be. Charlie and I spent much of his performance inspecting the goons who were seated all around us. Marilyn’s stage banter was the only part we enjoyed since he would just rip into Boston between a lot of the songs. He referred to the state as “Assachusetts” and said that he liked Boston about as much as he liked AIDs.

Here’s Charlie enjoying pizza with friends.

I got to hear some great stories about Marilyn Manson’s tour behavior. He’s taken to wearing a body stocking that redistributes his chub and he has a make-up artist draw his jawline on before the shows. I talked to someone who saw his dressing room. It’s all covered in black velvet and he gets steak and a lobster ordered from specified restaurants which he researches before the tour. He also has a litter box which he may or may not make other people use in front of him but probably isn’t using himself. Also he’s got one tour bus which transports his crew, band members and technicians and then another one which is just for him. What a sensitive fucking artist.

Here’s my brother leering at his new friends from an uncomfortable distance.

Each band on the tour took a turn hosting a party for the other bands and crew personel. Black Dahlia pulled out all the stops with the pizza and booze and flying out a karaoke host from Chicago. I stepped up first and sang Punk Rock Girl by the Dead Milkmen. All the metalheads looked pre-occupied with their beers and conversations except the Black Dahlia Murderers who enthusiastically joined in. Finding metallers with senses of humor who like Dead Milkmen is a special thing. You might say “Yeah, so what?” How dare you.

This is Rory Lake, the host of the evening’s sing-a-long. Everybody was putting on the same stuff as anywyhere. Neil Diamond and Milli Vanilli and stuff like that.

Here’s my brother with another of his little friends. I think this guy lived nearby the Tweeter Center.

Bart from Black Dollah Murdah introduced me to George from Cannibal Corpse. I told him that i liked his albums and album covers and he said “thanks.” I also gave him props for his rant against the elves in WoW and being the basis for Nathan Explosion and stuff. He said thanks to all of those things and then I walked away.

When this guy did Ace of Spades everybody was good and drunk so shit got rough and tumble as well as grim and gritty.

The reason that he’s wearing that mask and robe is because he was singing Holy Diver. People were getting way more into it than they would have if they were sober. Like ten times more into it.

Here’s Charlie with a woman who just wandered up and did this.

I waxed this guy’s moustache for him. Once I started doing it I realized it was a really gross activity choice. He was wearing a baseball hat and T-shirt that advertised his band, Vega. The logo on his basball cap was in the Sega font. My brother loomed by silently while this guy and I talked about his life and aspirations. Charlie didn’t verbally acknowledge the man wearing multiple pieces of his own band’s merch until this guy mentioned that he had three kids, one of which he didn’t think was his, at which point Charlie started to laugh his head off.

This is Bart from BDM and me hanging out in the parking lot.

Here’s Trevor, the singer, with Charlie, who finally looks like he’s having a good time. Trevor was passing us Coors Lights two at a time.

It was time to head out so they let us sleep on the bus while they drove to Philadelphia.

What’s in this gay lunchbox?

Oh, it’s a huge bag of pot.

Here’s Charlie with Brian, Blarg Darla Martyr’s guitarist.

This is one of Karim’s best tattoos.

Charlie and I slept in the back of the bus on some futons while we rattled our way towards Philadelphia. Much like a rollercoaster, the back is where the action is. We were being bounced around in our sleep. I would wake up six inches off my bunk. I had nightmares that Karim was waking me up by pouring tequila down my throat.

Here’s Charlie wearing a gift from Karim and drinking water that is packaged to look like an energy drink so that people see bands knocking back can after can of the swill on stage.

The band wandered over to a hotel in order to shower. Charlie and I walked for two miles along the highway until we got to the train station, went to the Philadelphia Greyhound station and then home. Thanks to Blank Dogs Murmurs for the gooooood tiiiiiime! Also check out their video for their new song, Necropolis.

- Toilet Cobra