Memories of Pantera - Lonn Friend Former Editor RIP Magazine
Posted: Tue Sep 14, 2010 2:07 pm
We asked some friends/business associates of Pantera to share their stories with all of you. We will be posting a bunch today. Here's the first:
Lonn Friend, Former Editor RIP Magazine
It's late spring, 1994. I've given my notice at Flynt Publications effecting ending my seven-year tenure as executive editor of RIP Magazine en route to an A&R gig at Arista Records. But on this particular balmy southern California evening, some old friends-- who'd seen their metallic mugs splayed many times across the pages of our bible of bang --are performing in the neighborhood. To be more succinct, the cowboys from Hell are burning down the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. Halfway through their incendiary set, I took five to visit with some friends in the backstage enclave behind the venue when all of a sudden, a roadie comes dashing through the door. "Has anyone seen Lonn Friend?" he shouts. "Phil is onstage asking for Lonn. He's stopped the set." Bodies muddle about and I chime, "What did you say, dude?" No time for chatter, the roadie escorts me back into the venue where I bear instant witness to a band not moving and an audience looking restless. "Where is fucking Lonn Friend? I want his ass up here now to smoke this joint with me!" howls the lead singer who once told me that he had callouses on his tonsils from screaming so hard for so long. A moment later, I'm casually and cautiously creeping onto the same stage where decades before I'd been rocked to Hell by a different foursome called The Clash. As I pass his monstrous kit, Vinnie Paul gives me a warm grin. Brother Dime and Rex came over for separate but distinct warm embraces. Phil whirls around and waves his right arm in a "come hither" motion. As I swagger up to the mic, he says something like, "Okay Mr. RiP Magazine, 5,000 Pantera fans are waiting to see if you're going to smoke this joint with me. Right here, right now." Who was I to argue with a magic moment or the twisted wizard bearing an herbal offering? He lit the spleef, took a hit, handed it to me, I did same, the crowed roared it's approval, and the show went on.
- Lonn Friend, Author, Life on Planet Rock
Lonn Friend, Former Editor RIP Magazine
It's late spring, 1994. I've given my notice at Flynt Publications effecting ending my seven-year tenure as executive editor of RIP Magazine en route to an A&R gig at Arista Records. But on this particular balmy southern California evening, some old friends-- who'd seen their metallic mugs splayed many times across the pages of our bible of bang --are performing in the neighborhood. To be more succinct, the cowboys from Hell are burning down the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. Halfway through their incendiary set, I took five to visit with some friends in the backstage enclave behind the venue when all of a sudden, a roadie comes dashing through the door. "Has anyone seen Lonn Friend?" he shouts. "Phil is onstage asking for Lonn. He's stopped the set." Bodies muddle about and I chime, "What did you say, dude?" No time for chatter, the roadie escorts me back into the venue where I bear instant witness to a band not moving and an audience looking restless. "Where is fucking Lonn Friend? I want his ass up here now to smoke this joint with me!" howls the lead singer who once told me that he had callouses on his tonsils from screaming so hard for so long. A moment later, I'm casually and cautiously creeping onto the same stage where decades before I'd been rocked to Hell by a different foursome called The Clash. As I pass his monstrous kit, Vinnie Paul gives me a warm grin. Brother Dime and Rex came over for separate but distinct warm embraces. Phil whirls around and waves his right arm in a "come hither" motion. As I swagger up to the mic, he says something like, "Okay Mr. RiP Magazine, 5,000 Pantera fans are waiting to see if you're going to smoke this joint with me. Right here, right now." Who was I to argue with a magic moment or the twisted wizard bearing an herbal offering? He lit the spleef, took a hit, handed it to me, I did same, the crowed roared it's approval, and the show went on.
- Lonn Friend, Author, Life on Planet Rock
