They were a death metal band that was big around here in the mid 80's. That was way before Nirvana. I'd always liked that sort of music so I was hanging around them a lot. They had your typical heavy metal layout: Dave Duncan on vocals, Rob MacBeth on lead, Steve Banquo on rhythym, Stu Ross on bass, and Mickey Seyton on drums. My God, was it ever fun to stand in the pit and yell "Seyton" during drum solos.

Anyway, Duncan could sing. Man, did he ever have a set of pipes. His lyrics could have carried clear up to Heaven, if Heaven wanted to hear what he had to say. That wasn't likely. Most of their songs had something to do with "slaughtering hordes" and "hanging the traitorous scum". Not exactly Sunday school material, if you get my drift.

They had just won a big battle of the bands on the north shore and were coming back to town. Duncan-they had once considered calling the band Duncan's Donuts, but it just didn't sound very death metally, you know?-was talking about this great solo that MacBeth had played when MacBeth and Steve peeled off from the rest of the group.

They went over and started talking to these weird groupies who called themselves the Headbangin' Sisters, but they were really just kind of weird. They were really sucking up to Rob pretty hard, telling him how he should go solo and how he'd be as famous as Steve Vai or Yngwie one day. So Banquo butts in and asks them what they think about his performance, and they start saying how his next band-not this one, mind you-would be called Deathmatch or Deathmarch something. And he'd be playing lead.

Well, that really set MacBeth off a whole lot, so he started taking it out on Duncan. About how he was holding the band back and only playing in little backwater clubs and stuff. Then he talked to his old lady. She was like the heavy metal version of Yoko Ono or something, because after she jerked his chain a couple of times, he kicked Duncan out of the band right there at their next rehearsal. Even so, he didn't really want to. He and Dave had been playing together in garage bands since high school, but MacBeth's old lady felt like he was destined for something bigger. Maybe she thought he'd get a contract or something from one of the independent labels that were popping up all over the place.

The rest of the guys in the band were wondering who was going to be singing and everything, but Rob said he was going to take over. And he was such a good guitarist and had such an awesome stage presence, who was going to contradict him? Just put some white face paint on him, put him under a strobe light, and the guy looked like the walking dead himself. He was great.

But that's when things started to get really weird. The weird groupies were always flashing the band while they were playing, and MacBeth thought they were paying more attention to Banquo than to him. One night after a show in Westport, an amp fell over on Steve's right arm, causing a multiple compound fracture. One look at that thing said that he'd be lucky to ever be able to use a fork again, let alone play rhythm in MacDeath.

Before anyone knew it, MacDeath was a three-piece: backup guitar, bass, and drums. And remember, three-piece bands didn't become popular until the early 90's. Their sound was too new, too different. It really didn't sit well with the local establishment. The critics let them have it. Especially this one guy who wrote for the local paper, Duff MacDuff. He was absolutely brutal, saying he'd rather go to a Yanni concert than ever hear those guys play again. He called them posers and wannabes. People took that seriously for a while. MacDuff was pretty well respected around town.

Nevertheless, they got signed to a small label and came out with an album. This one right here. They were getting some regional airplay. But then things started getting strange.

First of all, MacBeth started acting all weird. It wasn't drugs; it was insomnia. I mean, I've heard of guys getting stage fright and everything, but insomnia? All those uppers he was taking probably weren't helping very much, but he looked like he was stretched as tight as a drum.

Then he started to imagine that he heard the fans talking about bringing back Steve Banquo. That MacBeth's music had mellowed since he had kicked Banquo out and had to concentrate on vocals instead of solos. There's nothing worse for a metal band than for your fans to start calling you soft. MacBeth didn't listen, though. He kept on playing, although he did have to cut that show in Johnstown short. He didn't look good that night at all. Sort of the way Axl Rose did years later. He yelled something incoherent at the audience, and eventually security just sent everyone home early. It's a wonder that they didn't burn the place down. At this point, MacBeth's Old Lady started to look terrible. They started fighting a lot. I don't know if it was the pressure of the tour, or the stress that he was under, or what. His insomnia may have been wearing off on her. She looked hideous. Things were really falling apart fast, but no one knew it at the time. The only time that I ever saw him smile was when he heard that MacDuff's wife and two kids had been beaten up in their home while MacDuff was out reviewing a symphony concert downtown.

What really broke MacBeth's back is when Ross left. I mean, what good is a heavy metal band without its bass player? I guess Stu just couldn't take the relentless touring, combined with the ups and downs of MacBeth's vicious moods anymore. This was right before the big Deathfest concert, where they were going to play just before Metallica. How do you play a concert that big with studio musicians? It takes a long time for the chemistry between a bass player and a drummer to develop, especially when the bass is as heavy as it used to be at a MacDeath concert.

So there we were at Deathfest. It was a big field that had a stage on it, right on the edge of some woods. It was packed, and people were getting primed to see Ozzy and Metallica. And MacDeath came out and played one hell of a show.

People climbed up into the trees to get a better view of the stage. They light their lighters and bounced up and down to the bass, the branches looking like freakish wooden soldiers playing guitar. I guess their sound engineer decided that if they had to have a bassist that wasn't any good, he could make up for it by being loud. The rest of the band compensated as well. Over thirty thousand people were yelling "Seyton" and Mickey let them have it. It looked like the forest and the stage were moving together. People were passing out in the heat. There were bodies everywhere. It was the best show I'd ever seen.

The next day, I went into work, feeling a little hung over. My ears were still ringing. And there it was on my desk, ripped from the "Lifestyle" section of the newspaper. Whoever put it there should have done it later. It was really untimely: I needed my morning coffee.

It was the review written by MacDuff. And the headline was big and bold: MacBeth SUCKS. It went on to talk about how the highlight of the show was some new "alternative" band called Seaward. Those guys never really made it, and I thought they stank, but MacDuff's word carried a lot of weight around town-and with A & R reps. A few years later, everyone sounded just like them. That review must have done the band in. I thought it was a good show, but the guys broke up later that day and Rob knew better than to try and go solo.

I run into him every now and then. He's working in the music section of the Westside Wal-Mart. I actually go to the one across town so that I don't ever run into him. He's cut his hair and showers a little more often. He broke up with his old lady, and he's on some sort of new medication for the insomnia, but he's not playing out anymore.

It's a tragedy, really. He could have been great.

Copyright Dave Sipley
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