The Unexpected Truth About Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll (ft. Randy Blythe)

What happens when a rebellious teen from small-town Virginia discovers punk rock, rises to fame and a globally renowned heavy metal band, battles addiction, and then lands in prison halfway around the world? You might think you've heard stories of rock star access before, but Randy Blight's story is on a whole nother level. It's a masterclass in turning chaos into clarity, self-destruction, and the self-transcendence, and once art into a way of life. Randy Blight is an author, photographer, and the lead singer of one of the biggest heavy metal bands in the world. He's toured the world many times over, singing or screaming more accurately, to millions of fans. But Randy isn't just an animal behind the microphone. He's a thoughtful, intelligent, philosophical man, and he has the scar tissue to prove it. Because Randy's life hasn't just been about sex, drugs, and rock and roll. It's been a delicate, bouncing act of creativity, responsibility, and sheer perseverance. So if you've ever felt pole between your own two extremes, whether it's work and rest, ambition and burnout, darkness and light, stick around. Otherwise, you might miss out on some of the principles that can very well help you find a much needed balance. Here are just a few of the lessons that we're going to unpack in today's episode. How to reconnect with a sense of purpose, even when you're sitting in a jail cell for something you didn't do. In a country, you don't know. Also, how to cope with insane amounts of pressure, battling your darkest moments when literally the entire world is watching. Why the best artwork always starts and ends with yourself, an audience of one. The unique team building in leadership lessons from a band dynamic that has lasted for decades through thick and thin. Some real talk about addiction, alcohol, heroin, groupies. You name it. Randy's probably put it up his nose or up his ass. And why the angriest music is made by the nicest people. How artwork acts as a form of catharsis for us all. We'll also talk about how to view life's hardest moments as simply new material to shape your future self as though you are like an existential sculptor. And if you've ever wondered what could possibly shake a man so deeply that it changes his entire approach to living, well, you're about to find out. And the answers might just shift something major in your own life too. Alright, so enough setup. Let's get into it. This is Randy Blife. Randy. Mark. So good to have you, man. Yeah. Thanks for coming out. You guys, I have to say, I mean, you know this, but I need to say it for the audience. Right. Lamb of God is probably on my Mount Rushmore metal bands. Like massive, massive fan for a long time. Very flattering, man. Yeah, so it's been great getting to know you and meeting you, hanging out and everything. My 20-year-old self is like quivering with excitement. I want to talk about band relationships because this is something that I've thought about quite a bit, you know, when it's a very hairy, very unsexy marriage without any of the benefits, the, the, uh, quite tall benefits, at least in our band. Yeah. Yeah. Well, I thought about this quite a bit because, you know, from probably age 15 to 21, 22, like my dream guitar was to be a guitarist and a band like yours. Sure. And I think when you're that young, you kind of have this romantic ideal of what like a rock band, being in a rock band is like, you're hanging, you're just like rocking out with your best friends and like everything's fun and there's just parties and girls and all this stuff. Yeah. And the 80s are over, bro. Yeah. Right. But like as an adult, it's been interesting and as an adult, as I've, I've met a number of musicians and talk to them like you realize like these are business partners. Mm-hmm. They're creative partners. Yeah. Uh, they're roommates for months at a time. Yes. And I imagine if you've been in a band for decades, 30 years, those friendships come and go like, you know, it's, it's, there's probably periods where you're not super close. There's periods where you're like really close. Maybe you like lose touch with people and then kind of come back together like, but you still have to work together. You still have to be professionals and you still have to be creative together and and listen to each other. And like I actually, as an adult, I look at a band like the band relationship. And I imagine it's, it's got to be one of the hardest working relationships. Like I can't think of an analog, right? Right. You know, like if you're on a sports team with somebody, you know, it's only going to last for a few years, somebody's going to get traded or whatever. Right. If you're in a company, everybody's always kind of shifting and moving around. Like when you're in a band, it's like a marriage. Yeah. Like the idea is that you do this forever together. Yeah. Even if the guy pisses you off or farts in his sleep and like, you know, I don't know. Like I'm just curious to hear your thoughts on this. Is it the hardest relationship possible? I mean, I think professional relationship. Professional relationship. I don't know. Submariner's dude to go down underwater. I grew up in a Navy town in Norfolk, Virginia and you'd see him come off the submarine cruises. We call them bubble heads. Yeah. And they're weird. You know, they've been underwater way too long. Playing D&D together, working it out. So, you know, that's a pretty intense relationship. I think that the intensity of probably people who serve in combat together is much more intense than our relationship. And they form these lifelong bonds because they've been through these horrific experiences together. But as you're saying, I mean, hopefully in most places, that sort of relationship has its time and its place and its intensities. R's is long term. It's strange to me because it's sort of the, there's very few bands that last as long as R's. Yeah. And it's strange for me to say that, you know, we're kind of moving into the legacy sort of. Yeah. Yeah. Era. It's very strange for me to say that. But most bands just don't last as long as R's do because of the personality differences and so forth. I think with us, it's because in so many ways we have become better friends that we're still here. You know, I mean, like we've gotten it. This fights together, you know, I, like me and my guitar player, Mark famously got in a drunken brawl in Scotland. I had adopted a Scottish accent. I was wearing a kilt. It was a nightmare, you know, and we videoed it and put it out. And we do signings and people are like, you know, I can't believe you two are sitting next to each other. Yeah. After this fight because it's this frozen in time moment. Sure. You know. It happens in all bands. We were just stupid enough to put it out. We got to platinum DVD out of it. But like Mark and I are extremely close friends. Yeah. Extremely. And we text and talk to each other very often. Not just about band stuff. Yeah. But about life, you know, and I think we're very fortunate in that. You know, would you compare it sounds kind of like almost like a family like it is like a synthetic family. It is. You put together. Yeah. It is. And it comes with all the trappings of a family relationship. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. And, you know, you're talking about this idealistic version you had of being in a band when you're younger, you know, people seem to think to this day. I mean, we've been in, I've been in this band almost 30 years. When I'm at home and I'll go to the grocery store or something, someone will be like, where's Mark? Where's Willie? I'm like at home with their wife. You know, we don't like, we aren't attached at the hip. They're also, you know, even in Richmond, you know, we're from people are like, with the grocery store, what are you doing here? Buying produce man. Yeah. I'm a normal human being. Shouldn't you be on tour? No, I'm allowed to be at home. So somehow, somehow we have learned how to function better. Now, then we ever did when we were younger, very combative with each other. And I think the only reason why we didn't break up is because nobody wanted to be the guy that broke the band up because that would be defeat. Yeah, I quit. It's like, I hate you. And you do spend so much time around these because you're like, I hate the way this guy ties his shoes. But you don't want to be the guy to crack in like, well, the band could have done great, but it went down the tubes because, you know, you went out. Yeah, yeah. What would you say are like the biggest lessons you've taken from those band relationships? Like, what skills have you had to learn and develop to like last for 30 years? That kind of keep on coming back to this same point, I think. It's remember what the most important thing is. Remember what your primary goal is. And for us, it's always been to make good music music that we like. Yeah, we're not writing it. Like, we love our fans. They've provided us a life beyond my wildest dreams. You know, I never thought I'd get to go to Japan or whatever. But we write music. For five dudes, I've said this a million times. And as long as we are happy with it, then it's a success. And I think the fans respect that. But the most important thing, I really think that you're saying that less. And I think this would be applicable to relationships in general, whether working or familial or romantic, is what do you want out of this relationship? - Yeah. - You know, what is the most important thing in this relationship and what started this relationship? If you can remember that, I think you're gonna be successful. - Yeah, that makes sense. - As long as the personalities don't get too divergent. - Yeah, you know. - In your book, you talk a lot about, I guess I would call it like the punk rock ethos. - Yeah. - And how influential it was on you. - Yes. - Like how did you get into that? And what appealed to you about it? - Well, I come from this little tiny paper mill town, originally called Franklin, Virginia. On my dad's side of the family, it's where they were raised. And I was a weirdo sort of outcast nerdy guy. Still I am proud nerd. And I couldn't seem to fit into any sort of regular social group. I wasn't interested in football or cars or whatever. And I didn't understand why people didn't accept me for myself. Why I was more interested in reading Lord of the Rings books or whatever than going to a football game. Because I was like, I'm a good person. That's the most important thing, right? No, but you're young and immature, and so people judge you. And so I felt pretty alienated. But since I lived in this little town, there was no record stores or anything. The only sort of music I heard was on the radio. And so I liked Black Sabbath, you know, 'cause I wound up getting a Black Sabbath cassette. And I liked this song "Shout at the Devil" by Motley Crew. - Yeah. And I went away to a gifted and talented summer camp at the University of Virginia and this skateboard, I was also a skateboarder, you know? This guy was like, what music do you like? And this guy Jason Smith shout out to you if you're ever here this. I'm like, wow, then listen to this man Motley Crew. They're pretty aggressive. He's like, oh no, dude, you need to check this out and hands me this cassette tape. He made me would never mind the bollocks. Here's his sex pistols on it. And I listened to it. And from the first note of the first song, "Holidays and the Sun," it's like this marching, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch. It was just aggressive and I was like, oh. And then John Leiden came on and started singing and I could tell he was pissed off, you know? Right from the beginning and I immediately felt this connection. And it took me years to understand a lot of what he was singing about because it was very specific to British culture during Thatcher's England. Yeah. But there were definitely parallels to American culture at the time being Reagan's America and all this other stuff. So I learned, I just heard this. I'm like, what is his music? This is punk rock. This is what you need to listen to. And I'm like, you're right. It is because it felt real. It wasn't a guy with perfect pitch singing and it wasn't over produced. It was just raw and gut feeling. From there, you know, I became, once again, through skateboarding, I became more involved in like the American punk scene. And I would go see bands at these small clubs. Unlike when I, my first concert I ever went to a big one was Easy Top, right? Yeah. I didn't get to meet the dudes in Easy Top. I stood in the audience amongst everybody and watched them do their thing and that'll light show. It was great at a place called the Hampton Coliseum. But when I went to go see corrosion of conformity or the bad brains or age and orange or the vandals from out here in Southern California, they were the guys at the merch table afterwards selling stuff. And so I could just talk to these dudes. They had to meet them and it was sort of a community. And it wasn't just the music that was speaking to my sort of teenage angst or discontent with the way the world was running. It was also a feeling of community. And that a self-sustaining community, which was extremely appealing to me and still is to this day. So that's how I became involved with it. - Punk Rock's like, it's very interesting to me culturally looking back because it was, I mean you mentioned the '80s. Like it was clearly very subversive of everything, right? It's just kind of fucked a man, fucked the system. - Absolutely, you know, put everybody on the same level. Intentionally jarring like at times just ugly sounding not playing their instruments correctly. Like that's part of the point, right? - Right, anyone can do it. - Yeah, yeah. And it's interesting to me that that ironically, like it influenced culture in the '90s and 2000s and kind of the, like the subversion became almost mainstream. - Oh yes. - And like the self-destructive aspect of it became cool. - Right. - And I just find it so interesting to think about that these days because today if you think about what is subversive, it's the opposite of self-destruction. Like the punk rock of today is like quitting drugs in alcohol and waking up at 4 a.m. and like not dating and you know, like being a monk basically, right? - Right, right. (laughs) - And I don't know, I look at like what Gen Z is doing today to kind of quote unquote stick it to the man. And then I just think back to like our youth, right? You know, where I'm just like drinking and smoking and doing drugs at an absurdly young age. And it just makes me wonder like how we, how the pendulum is swung completely in the other direction and where it will end up eventually. - Yeah, I mean, part of me thinks that it just, it probably oscillates back and forth across the generations. Like the, I'm sure the young people today look at our generation and they're just like, man, get it together. Like you guys are a fucking mess. (laughs) - Just like when we were kids we looked at our parents and grandparents and we were like, wow, you guys are a bunch of fucking yuppy, uptight square, squares, bullshitters, you know, it's just really, it's really interesting to me. - It is very interesting to me. I think that these sort of, there's been a paradigm shift I think in what it's cool as it were. - Yeah. - And, you know, I try not to be the old man shaking his fist at this guy. (laughs) So I think the fact that beyond the obvious problems of like the opioid epidemic that, you know, was fed by the Sackler family, I think that the youth today are much more cognizant of the fact that it's not cool to be an alcoholic. - Yeah. - You know, you hear the term heroin shake, you used to hear that a lot more. And, you know, I knew a guy who became a junkie on purpose. He's just like, I'm gonna be a junkie, it's cool. - Yeah. - No, it's not, you know, luckily he got out of it eventually, but he had a rough ride through it. And for me, drinking, and then particularly once I got in a band, and eventually that was my paying gig, drinking was expected. - Yeah. - And I was like, of course you're gonna drink your face off. You're in a metal band, you know? - Yeah. - Haven't you ever seen the Pantera home DVDs? Don't you know about Ozzy? - Yeah. - You know, I think kids today are cognizant of the fact that all that is bullshit, it's an illusion. And they don't seem to be as substance driven, I guess. - Yeah. - Or recreationally substance driven. - What do you think addiction is so prevalent among musicians and artists in general? I mean, even going back to like Charlie Bird in the '40s and you know, like, I mean, it's just Coltrane. - Yeah, I mean, it's just an addicts all over the place. - Yes. I think it's because musicians, artists in general, when we're creating, I've sort of come to this conclusion at least for my own self, and I certainly see parallels in many, many people. I know we're trying to process these out of control feelings, I think. We're trying to express very strong feelings, particularly I know in my case about whatever and sometimes those feelings can become overwhelming, particularly if they're rooted in anger. And for me, alcohol and drugs, We're a way to numb those feelings. You know, it's also, there's, once you get a little success, it's a pressure cooker. I think if you allow people's views of you, if you allow external, how people think and view you to affect yourself, it gets more and more and more pressurized. So for me, I think, and for a lot of artists and musicians and writers and actors, or whatever, numbing those feelings is a way to function in the world. And it works for a while, for a while. It does. And depending on how far down the road you go, it becomes very counterproductive. I know it did, in my case. But I certainly bought into the cultural myth of the hard-drinking musician, writer, even partying like photographer, it's where it is it is. And all the, when I was younger and I went to write, I read Bukowski in Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson, the supremely male canon of authors, all of whom were lunatics. And so I wanted to be a writer. So I did a lot of the things the great writers did. I was drinking my face off. I did a fair amount of womanizing, got in a few fist fights, like a writer. I was doing everything that all those writers I liked so much did, except for the writing. Yeah, yeah. That's the key thing. A lot of these sort of people that are held up as these brilliant artists that died so soon, too soon, or killed themselves eventually, such as Hunter S. Thompson in Hemingway. Like, they're trying to deal with pain, they're trying to deal with emotion and they're using these substances to do so, and then eventually it stops working, carcobain, you know. He's frozen, this frozen genius in time to a certain generation. The dude was obviously any man's pain. You don't blow your brains out with a shotgun because you have a stubbed toe. Yeah, yeah. This is an existential pain of a massive scale. I saw, I don't remember what or where, but I saw a small documentary or short documentary about him a year or two ago, maybe. And it was interesting because, you know, as a 90s kid, Kurt was like God, everything, you know. Growing up in the mid 90s and Nirvana was everything and, you know, you kind of revered. There was, again, a romanticism about his pain and his suffering and his addiction and the suicide and everything. And it was interesting watching this documentary and they had a bunch of old footage and interviews with his old friends and I think maybe even Dave Grohl was in it. And it was just, it was interesting watching it as a 40 year old. How sad and pathetic it was. Like it was just, it was heartbreaking, honestly, like how weak and fragile and completely dysfunctional he was not to mention a lot of the people around him. And I, I don't know, I just had this moment of like, I can't believe this guy was like a cultural icon, you know, like it's what a strange time. It was very strange to me at the time that it was occurring because I'm a little bit older than you. You know, I'll be 54 next month. When Nirvana broke, I didn't quite understand the whole major label system yet. It was just like a dirty word to me, major label coming from the punk rock world. So I didn't pay any attention to it. But I remember I loved their first record bleach. Yeah. It's like, they recorded it for $600 in a case of beer, supposedly. And they're like these dirt bags from up above Seattle, somewhere like Aberdeen, I think. And I loved that record. And it was, they're cool band, like, oh, another sub pop band, like, you know, Sound Garden was at the time. But then before never mind came out, I remember going to the record store and seeing posters everywhere and free Nirvana stickers and Nirvana mobiles hanging from the ceiling above the cash register. Like, like the dudes from Seattle, like the guys who wear a flannel, why are they, you know, what is going on? Why did all of a sudden they care about them because they're t-shirts that they wore, they sold on the first like the bleach towards head smoke crack and worship Satan or something on the back. It's like, it did not compute, you know? And then they had that cultural moment when smells like teen spirit came out and I was just baffled by it. But then years later, when Green Day happened, I was like, oh, this is what's happening. Yeah. You know, because I knew their first two records, they were on a small label called Look Out. And I was like, oh, this is happening to Nirvana thing is happening again. Yeah. You know? Yeah. Coming back to your experience with addiction, when you got clean, did that change your relationship with your creativity, did it change the process? Yes. How so? It made it overwhelming at first because it was, I used to love to take pills and to write. You know? I'm like, I need, I would tell my ex, like, because I wouldn't be drinking at home for a while because she had had enough of my drunken nonsense, but I'd be like, I need to take some pills because this will put me in the right mind state. Really, all I was doing was sitting in my shed, listening to Black Sabbath and nodding out. I'm just kidding. I'm just kidding. And I'd look at some lines. I wrote the next day and just like, what is, why can't you even read this shit, right? And so I felt like when I, when I got sober, when I removed all the substances, it was like I'd been in a hole with a, with a cover over it for years. And then all of a sudden, the cover was removed and I came out and there's sunlight. And if you've been in the dark for 20 years, it hurts your eyes. So I'm like, oh my God, what is going on? Everything is bright, bright, bright. But after that leveled out, the, the sort of like dampening filter that alcohol and drugs had been, had it placed over my, my creative side of my brain was removed and it's just constant ideas. And it's something that is the biggest problem with me today with my creativity is not, is not looking for something. It's trying to decide what I have so many different things I want to do. Yeah. Constantly. It's like, okay, I, now I have to focus, I'm working on this book, but I want to go do this killer photo shoot. These people ask me, yeah, or, or this guy asked me to be on his record and I've listened to him since high school. I got time to squeeze that in. It's a matter of figuring out how to focus. I think the idea is flow much faster, much stronger and with more clarity now, but there was like an adjustment period very much so and I was definitely afraid a bit that once I got so over the creativity would abandon me. It's the opposite. It's, it's funny. You mentioned the, the ideas thing, I've, I've actually found that I think the most common question I get from people who don't work in a creative industry to me or to other creatives is, where do you get your idea? Where do you get that? Like, I get asked that so many times at it and I always thought I'm like, the ideas are never the problem. Right. Like, it's never, there's never, I never worry about ideas, never, it's, it's always what are the good ideas exactly and how do you get the most out of them? How do you actually execute on them? I think that's a misperception. People who do not work in creative field have, it's that we have this idea. I have this idea. I'm going to write a short story about the time. I did Mark Manson's podcast and I sit down at 2 p.m. and I tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap for two hours and chuck, jing, there it is. It's perfect. You know, that happens every now and then in most of the time, it's like chucking out garbage until you find, you know, the diamond ring that you accidentally threw in the carpet. Are you start writing that short story and that reminds you of the diamond 2013 where you like did this interview in London and this crazy thing so then you start writing that and then that reminds, that gives you two ideas for fiction stories and you start writing those and it's like, it's like this tree, these like, like a decision tree that you follow up. Absolutely. Until you get to the end. The important thing I think for anyone struggling who's like, I don't know what to do. I don't need to do is to start. Yeah. That's the hardest thing for me as a writer putting ass in chair. Yeah. That's the hardest thing for me as a writer. I don't know what to do. I don't know. you know, we all think all the time. I forget how many thoughts we have a day, bazillions of them, but like, like thinking about all that you're going to do is never going to get things done. - Yeah, sometimes they didn't. It actually inhibits and it's getting done. Coming back to the alcoholism, I just kind of want to get that full story. - Was there a specific moment that you decided to stop or was it like-- - Oh yes, okay, yeah, what was that? - I just want me to tell you about my last day drinking. - Sure. - Let's go, let's go there. - October 17th, 2010. - Okay. - The hem of God was on tour with a band called Metallica in Australia. - Yeah, you've heard of them, I think. Most people have, and I went out with some, we were in Brisbane, Australia, and I started out the evening with some friends. We had a day off at a pub in, on this street in Brisbane, an Irish pub. I went and saw it a few months ago when it's down there. I'm seeing their drinking with two of my friends, and then this fan walks in, and he just sits down at the table and just stares at me. And I'm like, "This is really weird." I'm like, "How are you doing, dude?" He's like, "I'm drinking with you tonight." And I'm like, "Oh, God." (laughing) So I'm like, "It's nice to meet you. I get up to go take a leak." And I look at my friends, I'm like, "Get rid of this guy." He's just staring at me, and I come back, and he's sitting there, and my friends are like, he won't leave. So I'm like, "Well, all right, if you're gonna hang out, you're buying." So I'm like, "Order some shots, bro." And he brings some shots and pints, and I'm like, "Again, again, again." And I am trying, we went to three or four different bars. It was not fun, dude. I tried to, I've burned up every single Australian dollar in that dude's wallet, trying to get him to leave. And at the end of the night, we drank, I remember, and I was mean to him. I feel bad about it to this day. He was weird, right? But I was just an asshole to this guy. I'm like, "Come on, shot boy, get another one." And he would, and it was horrifying, man. And at the end of the night, we had been, I drank, started in the early afternoon, drank until midnight or something. So all day, just drinking on this guy's tab. The end of the night, we walked out of the final bar, my friends left, and this drunk guy is like, "He can barely walk." And I remember very clearly him standing under a street light, just like weaving. And I did not feel drunk at all. I was mad and I looked at him like, "Go home, dude. "Go home. "It's over." And I went back to my hotel room and left him, weaving and standing on the street. It was just awful. And I did not feel drunk. And I'd done a bunch of drugs too that night too, by the way, some sort of molly or something. And I didn't feel anything. It finally stopped. Like those intense feelings I had in my head, the alcohol drugs no longer numb them. I woke up the next morning, October 18th, 2010, and walked out on my balcony, 'cause we had like a hotel suite. It was nice with the balcony. And you've been to Australia. It's awesome. - Beautiful. - So I'm in Brisbane and we're one block away, down to the left is the Brisbane Botanical Gardens, which are beautiful, and they have weird plants and Australian animals, whatever undetermined nature with things in the trees across the street was one of my favorite bookstores of all time. And then all down the street to the right, were all these great restaurants. And I just woke up and walked out on this sunny balcony, and I was like, "I do not want to exist anymore." And I didn't feel suicidal. I didn't want to kill myself. I just wanted to vanish from existence, poof. And I was like, "Oh my God, dude, I'm in Australia," which is awesome. I'm opening up for Metallica. I have money in the bank. I had a wife still, I got a house back at home, I have a career, we got fans, and I feel utterly empty. And I looked over, there was a table on the balcony, and I saw all these beer bottles that I had carefully lined up the night before, 'cause I get a little OCD with things. And all the labels were pointing the same way, and they were lined perfectly up, very neat, all empty. And I looked at the beer bottles, and I was like, "That is a metaphor for my life. I am just an empty container to pour alcohol into." And on the outside, everything looks well ordered. But all I would take is just a push, and they would fall, "Totish and break," you know? So I was like, "That's my life. I don't want to exist anymore." So I thought, "Maybe, just maybe, if I don't drink in two drugs, (laughs) like a maniac, I'll feel a little better." And so I went to the gig that night, and Hetfield was sober, and there's three or four other guys on their crew that were sober, 'cause they had talked to me, 'cause we had been on tour with them for about two years, often on, and it was obvious I was in rough shape. - Yeah. - You know? I had many different continents, completely shit-based. They had kind of mentioned it to me. So I went to these dudes, and I was like, "Help!" (laughs) "How do you do this?" And they calmed me down, you know? But they're like, "You just have to worry about today, man. You don't have to worry about tomorrow. You can get through this." And so they calmed me down a bit, and then I went on stage in front of 14,000 people, and weeping profusely. - Wow. - And my hair was long at the time. So nobody could see, but I'm like, I have my hair down in my eyes, and the band is chum chum chum chum. Say who counts off, fuck. Oh my God. - In between the three. - Oh my life, I know what is happening. - It's weeping. It run up 14,000 people uncontrollably for 45 minutes. - Oh my God. - But somehow I got through it, and that was my last day drinking and my first day sober. And so since then, you know, the next day, I just didn't drink again. I was like, I'm just not gonna drink today. I'm gonna try, man. I'm gonna try. And day after day after day, 14 years later, here I am with you. - How hard was it that initial stretch? Like when did it start getting easier? Or were you like less raw in emotion? - It was very strange. Like I was in Australia for the whole first month of my sobriety. So we had 17 days off, and everybody else flew home, but I stayed there with some friends on a sea island south of Melbourne called Phillip Island. And I had my own car, and it was just magic. I just drove around and went to the Koala Sanctuary or went to the ocean. We went camping in the rainforest. It was amazing. And I had this, some people refer to it as the paint cloud. When you get sober, everything has been so horrific. Now that you're sober, everything's, oh wow, you wake up. You don't feel like killing yourself. Isn't that great? I was annoyingly happy to be sober through the first month or so. I was like, "I'm sober." I said, "This is great." And some guys are like, "Maybe you ought to have, "I'd like you better when you're drunk." At least you weren't up my butt so much about how awesome everything is. And that level of stoke is not sustainable. - Right. - So of course I come home. And then about two months into it, all of a sudden I fall into an immense depression. And intellectually I knew my life was way better. I knew that everything was getting better, that I was fine. But emotionally I remember going into my backyard and just weeping and like being in the morning, being unable to tie my shoes. I'm just like, "I can't do it. "I just can't look at my shoes." Like I can't do this. So I talked to a friend who was sober and he's like, "Look dude, ride it out. "If you see if you can make it like six months." At one point I went to my family. I was like, "Y'all are gonna have to lock me up. "Something's wrong with me. "I'm not gonna drink, but I feel crazy." And a friend of mine told me he's like, "Look dude, "you drank and did drugs." And I, a lot of drugs, a lot of alcohol for 22 years. That changes the neural path when he's in your brain. Shit gets fucked up. So the synapses were no longer connecting without alcohol. And he's like, "It may take a little while "for you to level out, but see if you can make it six months "without going on drugs because a psychiatrist "is going to have a hard time accurately assessing "what's wrong with you because you scrambled your brain "for 22 years." you know, sometimes it's just tough and you got to ride it out. So I waited. I made it to six months and I was still just overwhelmingly depressed. So then I went to a shrink and they prescribed me, you they explained to me like, look, you may need a little your brain need a little kick start producing serotonin again. You've abused it so long that the synapses will no longer connect. And you might not have to be on it forever, but you might just need a little kick start. So they put me on this drug called Prostique at first, which I it just sounds so posh, it sounds like a Louis Vuitton. Yeah, exactly. Yeah, exactly. It's the Louis Vuitton bag of antidepressants. Yeah, yeah. And I wasn't depressed, but I felt like I was coming down from cocaine all the time. And I was like, this sucks. So then he put me on this other drug called Lexipro. And I was on that for about a year and a half and I leveled out. And I haven't had to take it at all. It just like, I you know, that that was the thing you don't think about when you're partying so much. It's like you are doing very real. You're altering your brain chemistry. Right. And when you do it for that long, it can have permanent new permanent pathways get burned. Yeah. I've read that if you if you're a chronic drinker for a long period of time, from the time you quit, it can take upwards of a year to even just for your brain to kind of get back to like default. Yes. Yeah. Yeah, bro. You know, I believe it. I was also an acid dealer when I was there. So like there's a lot of there's a lot going on. And when I stopped doing that stuff because I did that, you know, I there's a good gear to where I was taking acid all the time. It took me about a year to come down for like the, I mean, I was functional. I didn't think I was, you know, on a different planet or anything, but the floor was still moving. You know, walls are still breathing. It took a while for things to get back to normal. So if, you know, you put stuff in your psychoactive substances and you it's going to mess with your brain. Yeah. In your book, you talk about how you kind of have these two sides of yourself, like this, this, this eternally optimistic side. And it is kind of bleak, nihilistic side. Yes. And how much of how much of the drug use and abuse was like an attempt to manage balancing those two sides. And then like, how have you managed those two sides in your self sense? Well, I think the drug and alcohol fed both sides, particularly in the beginning, if fed the optimistic side. You know, it's like, sure, you don't have any money, but you have a great buzz. And it's a beautiful day. And, you know, you'll figure out how to pay rent later. It's not that big of a deal. But as it progressed, it more and more and more fed the depressant side. So for me, being an active addiction to alcohol, I don't think I ever got strung out on drugs. I don't know how I avoided that. It wasn't for lack of trying. But alcohol was was my baby. For me being in that, it was a constant roller coaster. It was up and down, up and down, up and down. And you know, Buddha talked about the middle path. That sounded dreadfully boring to me. Who in the hell wants to walk down the street, the straight narrow down the middle of the road. But for me, it's something I have strived, I've tried to strive for ever since. Because the the alcoholic or drug induced highs are wonderful. The lows are crushing. And you don't, you can't live your life on a roller coaster. So now that I've been sober for 14 years, it's a matter of me self-managing those two extremes to the best of my ability. And it's very much a process for me to this day. If I get angry or depressed about things, I really used to kick my own ass severely. I still do. But I'd be like, why are you depressed? What's wrong with you, dude? You know, like your life is great in your piece of shit, which makes you even more depressed. Now I've tried to come to the conclusion that, hey, dude, this is, this is a temporary state. And of course, you're going to feel depressed because like the fires out here, I was talking to you before we started this. Obviously, it was nothing I was experiencing directly. But the whole time those are going on for about a week, there's this constant low level home of anxiety going on. And the optimistic guy will be like, what are you worried about? You're in Virginia and nothing's on fire. And that's not cool either, right? That's not cool either. But the sort of depressed guy is just like the world is ending. And that was constantly, I texted you to make sure you're okay, like constantly contacting all my friends out here. Because that was so like anxious to me, at first I started kicking my butt a little bit. You know, I'm like, dude, that you're being counterproductive now. But then I came to the conclusion like, yes, you're going to have some anxiety. You have a lot of people you care about out there. And you shouldn't be yourself up because you feel this. That in fact, the fact that you feel anxious shows shows your humanity that you have some compassion that you are not an entirely self-centered asshole. Right. Entirely. You're not entirely, but you're not entirely. So I've tried to learn to accept both aspects of my nature because they can both be useful. I think being too negative when happy moments come, it's, I don't want to embrace them to the point that I ignore anything around me, but I should allow myself to have those happy moments. And knowing just like the sort of negative moments, this too shall pass. And that's why the middle path is much more appealing to me now. It's constant work though, constant, constant. You get pulled off in both directions all the time. It was interesting reading that chapter of your book because it actually made me think about metal and metalheads because as a lifelong metalhead, my observation, and I think this is true about myself as well, is that metalheads are actually, I think most non-metalheads would be surprised at how nice and friendly metalheads are. If you go to a metal show and hang out around a mosh pit, people are actually much more polite than if you go, I don't know, to like a Taylor Swift concert or something like that. Like people are incredibly conscientious and aware and caring in a way. And my observation over the years is that I think what draws a lot of people to metal is that they are very nice, friendly, caring people, but they have this darkness in them, but because they're so nice and friendly, they don't really let themselves access that darkness. And it's like metals like a socially appropriate format to like access the darkness. Like that definitely recognizes reality. Yeah, like what that definitely feels true for myself. Like I definitely like it's I've thought for a long time like for me, the appeal of metal music or just heavy aggressive music in general is like it is it's a context where it's okay for like my inner nihilistic asshole, shithead demon face person to like come out briefly in a very specific venue and format and then like, okay, now I'm back to like being nice, friendly Mark. Yeah, you know, absolutely. And you're 100% correct. Like, I mean, the satanic panic of the 80s, you know, everybody like Judas Priest is getting sued and all this crazy shit, you know, and they're like these people are evil. Yeah, evil. I think there's still a bit of a cultural hangover from that. But my mom has met a lot of, you know, really well-known metal musicians and people from the hardcore scene as well that some of them look pretty freaking scary. You know, and she's like, honey, your friends are so nice. And I'm like, yes. Yeah, they're great dudes. Yeah. You know, because I think it's a matter of not having to walk around with this sort of front that everything is okay all the time. Right. Yeah. Because everything isn't okay all the time. - Yeah. - You know, that doesn't mean we have to spiral down into this pit of despair, but we should recognize it. - Yeah, I love a lot of different types of music, but there's something cathartic or like almost therapeutic about metal, at least for me personally. - For many people, I'm sure people feel this way about other types of music as well. But it's like, I think it's, there's a certain kind of aggression or anger that is relieved from you after a good metal show. - Yeah, absolutely. Everybody walks away, you may walk away with a black guy. You'll be smiling, you know, and that's just the way it is. I think people look at it from the outside and it looks like this violent, chaotic thing. And it's, there's physical expression, you know, of those emotions, but, and there are jerks and whatever so should be, you know. - But for the great part, man, people are so cool. - Yeah. - And everybody walks out stoked. - Yeah. - It's I guess, I mean, if you think about the role of music in human culture in general, like it's probably to help people process and express emotions that they normally aren't able to like process and express like that is the fundamental purpose. - You went through a fucking nightmare situation about 12 years ago, I believe? - Yeah, yeah, in 13 years. - Check Republic, yeah. If you're open to, I'd be curious to like, dive into that story and hear a little bit about those experiences of what you went through. - Well, basically what happened is we played a show in Prague in 2010, it was our first show. And it was in a small club, it was a nightmare. There was, they had a barricade, but it was pushed flush to the stage. So it's basically a bicycle rack pushed, pushed flush to the stage, which became a ladder. It was a small club. 'Cause we have a security agreement with every club that we play even the smaller clubs and our tour manager will go through what we expect and there's a meeting, he did all that security showed up and just stood on the side of the stage and did nothing. So for the whole show, there are all these kids on the entire show coming off, on and off the stage. It was just a nightmare, dangerous situation. - Climbing up and then stage diving. - Yeah, within, there's video of most of the show within 15 seconds, like there's kids running on stage. And we have equipment everywhere. And you can't do your job. So there's just lots of, I should've stopped the show, right? In retrospect, should've stopped the show, but then if you stopped the show, they get mad. And so we got through it. It was not fun. And so we split and then everybody's like, that sucked. And then two years later, we come back to play our next show. We flew from I believe Norway to Prague and landed at the airport in Prague and I got off the plane. And my band did and I was very excited 'cause Prague is a beautiful city. And I'd walked around it the day before and I wanted to go and go get a coffee and go to like some of Kafka's haunts or whatever. So I'm very excited. We'd get off the plane and this woman is collecting, looking at people's passports as we're getting off the plane, which is kind of weird, but whatever. And I saw they took, they took my base players and they were taking some of our crews and I handed her and they were diverting me and everybody in our crew into one room and everybody else got off the jet bridge. You know, at the end of the jet bridge to walk into the airport, they diverted us into one room. I walked in this room and my base player was in there first and they were I think eight people, eight or nine people. There was a woman who turned out to be a detective and like three big like Slavic plane clothes like tough guy cops and then like five, four or five guys and masks with machine guns and the whole, yeah. They looked like they were there to get bin Laden basically. So once they had all of us in there, this woman comes up to me and she has my passport in her hand and she says, are you David Blythe? And I'm like, yes, she goes, this is for you. I need you to gather any medicines you have or anything you may need, you have to come with us. And I looked at this piece of paper and it was in English, kind of broken, it was a legal document, obviously. And I was being charged with the check equivalent of manslaughter because after our last show, apparently, a young man was on stage. The charges said that I purposely threw him from the stage. He fell, hit his head, went to a coma, died a month later. And that had been two years ago. We had zero clue anybody had been injured, much less, someone had died, right? So I'm like, what the fuck, you know? So they put me in a car and carried me off to the jail, the city jail in Prague. And I was there for three days. And then they took me to Pancreats prison, remand prison, which was, I think, a hundred and 2737 years old at the time. This crumbling prison that the Nazis had when they had control of the Czech Republic. And I was there for 34 days. So I was locked up for 37 days total. They gave me bail, which I paid. It was almost a quarter million dollars. We, my band paid it, cheese. But then unlike America, where if you pay your bail, it's like, okay, cool, you're out. Show up at the court date. There, the prosecuting attorney objected. He's like, no, we want to keep him in prison. So they doubled it. So you're pushing half a million dollars by this time. Luckily, we have some wealthy friends who loaned us the money he would offer to help us. So I got out after being locked up in Prague for 37 days. We didn't let the prosecuting attorney know that I kind of snuck out of the country because he could have objected again and I would have been re-arrested. And I left and flew back to America and went on stage like 10 days later. I did not fast and I won, cheese. And then we had to go and tour because I had to pay for the five lawyers I had. Six months later, I went back to Prague for a month, month and a half to stay in trial and was found not guilty. So yeah, it was a very sad situation. The American government had been contacted by the Czech government after this young man had died and we're like, we want to investigate this guy, maybe in connection with this young man's death, talking about me because there were people saying I had run and shoved him off the stage. And the American government said, yeah, this sounds like nonsense. No, we won't cooperate with you. But the American government never let me know. (laughing) So it's not like, oops, you got a park and tickets. Someone died, you know? And had I been aware of that fact, I would have gone there to deal with it. Yeah, you know? But they didn't let me know. So I wound up in prison doing going through all this nonsense and I felt compelled to go back to go to trial because they didn't have extra died to me, the American government would not have cooperated with that because I felt obligated to try and provide the family of this young man, the answers, any answers I had, the best of my ability. Once again, it's not like a parking ticket. All these poor people, they lost their son. All they knew is that he had gone to go see my band and had died a month later. That's very serious. So also I wanted to be made aware that if I held any sort of responsibility in this matter, I needed to face up to that and be held accountable because, you know, I hate to tie everything back to drinking and alcohol, but like, I was, and I wasn't drunk the night of the show, I knew that for a fact. For so long, I ran away from my problems and my feelings and my issues by putting drugs and alcohol on top of me. So when I was arrested, I'd been sober about a year and a half. I went to prison sober. I knew that if I did not go back and do my best to provide these people with some answers, then I would have just been running from a problem. And if I can convince myself that I don't need to be held accountable in this situation, then it's only a hopskip and a chompatel. I can convince myself, it's not a big deal. Take a drink, you know? And then I would have probably just killed myself. Yeah. What was your state of mind going into that prison? Like what did you know what was going on? How long did you think you were going to be there? Like I thought it was all a huge mistake at first, but the weird thing we've been talking about, ideas in being an artist, the weirdest thing was, is when they arrested me at the airport, all of this happened very quickly, I can't say exactly how long it took from them handing me this warrant and then to me getting in the car, but I, you know, no longer than probably three or four minutes. But when it started occurring, wow, time slowed down. And I had a conscious thought, I was like, you need to pay very close attention to everything that is happening to you right now. You need to be taking note, it was like a camera in my brain to start clicking. Not only because this is important for your well being, but this is going to be something you're going to write about later. And it seemed strange and almost inappropriate to have that sort of thought process going on at the time I'm being arrested, but that's the way my brain works out, you know, everything comes in and I'm like, this is something that might potentially be output in some form or the other artistically. So I was very hyper aware of my surroundings and time seemed to slow down. But when I went in, I felt, man, I don't, it's kind of hard to put words on the feeling. I tried not to have expectations of this is going to be resolved in a couple of days, which I thought it would be at first. But then as time stretched on and I didn't get out of jail, I stayed in prison and it, you know, it looks like your bail isn't going to work out. I tried really to stop thinking about leaving and tried to stay really focused and stay in the moment as to what exactly was happening right there. And no, I didn't know half of what was going on. Very few people spoke English in there. I didn't have a computer, no internet, no cell phone. My lawyer, my check lawyer would come to see me sometimes. And there were a few prisoners that spoke English in there, but not very well. Like we went out to the yard one day and this prisoner, I remember, he comes up to me and he goes, he's trying really hard to form the English words. He's like, Ozzy Osborne and I'm like, yeah, I know Ozzy, what about it? He was, Ozzy Osborne says, good thing for you. And I'm like, what? He's like, Ozzy Osborne says, good thing for you. And I'm like, okay, maybe Ozzy said something, you know? And him and Sharon had, and they had actually written a letter to the judge, which I still have a copy of it that said, you know, we've known this guy since 2004 when he's a good dude. And we're not asking you not to charge him, but please just honor his bail and let him go. And we will come and we will put on an OSFEST at our expense in the Czech Republic and you can donate any, all the money to whatever charitable proceeds you want. Just let this dude go, let him get a chance to stay in trial. So, you know, there was a lot of people in the music community speaking out for me, but I had zero clue because I was stuck in a misfit song, dude. That's what it was like. It was crazy. They would never, that president would never be allowed to be open today in America. They'd nuke it and turn it into a Walmart immediately. It was crazy. So you really, your approach was just try not to have any expectation, focus on taking it day by day. Day by day. And to remain grateful for the things that I have in that moment rather than upset for the things that I don't have, including my physical freedom. Yeah. So, you know, I'm sitting in prison and I'm like, this sucks. When food was horrible and nobody speaks the language and I don't know if someone is going to try and stab me because I don't know how people are viewing me. Checks are not very outwardly emotive. emotive. So when they're speaking and everyone knew why I was in there, like the first day I walked into population. And I wasn't in some sort of celebrity cell or either. I was in population. It was like when the needles record, like everybody looks at me, oh, there's the American rock star. Yeah. And the check papers were particularly this one tabloid, which is the biggest selling paper in the Czech Republic was paying me as some sort of like murderous, viking American guy. You know, like they printed all sorts of nonsense, like they said I'd kicked a woman to death or some crazy shit. Yeah. It's like, yeah. So where my lawyers had to threaten to sue them. So everybody knew, I think, more than me, at least what the external perception of my situation was. Yeah. So it was, I don't know, it really had no choice but to come to some acceptance and also to remain grateful because it's like this sucks, right? But I'm not in Afghanistan in a quonset hut right now with like AK-47 rounds whipping over my head. Right. And there are guys going through that. Yeah. You know, there are men and women stationed like in those situations. And there's people somewhere going through something much worse than me. The food sucks, but at least I have food. Yeah. You know, and I tried to really keep that in the forefront of my mind, it helped me immensely. What lessons have you taken away from that experience? Don't go to prison. Don't go to prison. It sucks. We'll put that in the show notes in case people, it's not clear for people. I think for me, you know, the further I stay away from the further the more time that goes from that until now, it's harder to remember. It's harder to remember just how bad it was, you know, and yet I somehow amazingly managed to stay relatively calm through it. So now when I get upset over something relatively minor, and the big things in life, like if if a some sort of catastrophe happens right now, I'm your guy, right? I'm good. Yeah. Right? We're going to handle it because I'm calm and I'm level headed and I get focused. But if the coffee maker breaks, it's all bets are off. It's horrible and I'm like, or if I, you know, I can't get my computer to work and I have to call the AI assistant and it's just like, fuck, fuck, I'm going to fucking lose my mind. Right? That's the stuff that gets me. It's the little things. And the further I stay away, the further I move away from this horrible experience I have, I forget. So I have to remind myself sometimes like, dude, you were in prison, yeah, you were facing five to 10. They don't give you time off for good behavior. You could have gotten out two years ago and you're flipping out over there being no parking. Yeah. You know, what the fuck is wrong with you? So I have to really remind myself of that and, you know, on the bookshelf beside my writing desk, there's a picture of the prison I went back and took when I went back for a while. I took this picture of this clock because there's a clock in the yard and the paint is all appealing and it's on the cover of Dark Days, this photo, yes. That was the only clock I had for a month, once a day to go out and look at the time for an hour, you know, and I keep that up there. I keep this picture up there to remind me you were somewhere real bad. Yeah. And, yes, whatever you're going through right now sucks. Sometimes it's real life things. Sometimes it's inconsequential bullshit that I let, you know, get it, get under my skin. But you are in prison. Square yourself away, soldier. Yeah. It's crazy. And it is so interesting, too, because like the value of keeping that reminder like front and center, even though it is probably one of the worst experiences of your life. You know, having that, that reminder consistently, yeah, I'm alive, though. It sets perspective. I'm alive to remember that is the family of this young man. Their son's gone. Yeah. That's horrible, horrible man. What I went through is nothing compared to that loss, you know. So I have to be cognizant of that as well. Right. Yeah. If I want to have any, you know, any sort of accurate assessment of myself as an empathetic compassion man with a correctly calibrated moral compass, I have to keep that person foremost in my mind. Totally. Totally. - It's an incredible story, man. It's fucking crazy. - So don't go to prison. - Yeah, don't go to prison, kids. - Yeah, y'all don't do stupid shit. That'll get you in prison. You aren't a gangster, trust me. - Before we wrap up here, I'm curious, for anybody, for young people out there who aspire to maybe have a career music or as a writer or a photography, with any sort of creative field. Like, what's your go-to advice? - Do what you want to do, do it. That's the only way you're going to get better at it. For music, it's always been the same advice for me. It's practice as much as you can. Practice, practice, practice, practice. We used to practice six days a week when nobody cared about us. Practice, practice, practice. And play as much as possible anywhere to anyone at any time. For us, that meant playing someone's basement for three people, going on tour in a van. Playing punk rock squats or whatever. That's the world we come from. We did not wait for someone to hand us something. I think in some ways, 'cause the internet and social media, the internet existed, but it was not nearly as prevalent as it is now. Not everybody had a laptop. Smartphones didn't exist when we started doing this kind of thing. In some ways, it's easier to get your stuff out now. And for young people, I think the democratization of recording technology and all that stuff is great. It's easier to get your stuff out now, but I think there's also in the younger generation this sort of feeling of constantly being judged, right? And I think it produces an anxiousness in them, you know, and you can't give a fuck about that, right? It's interesting because you mentioned playing a basement to three people that night. If you guys suck that night, the steak's pretty low 'cause it's only three people are gonna know how much you sucked. Whereas today, theoretically, if you put something out and it sucks, theoretically, you know, the whole world could know tomorrow. Right, but let's look at the reality of the situation here. This is, I think that's the sort of the problem with this feeling of being judged on the internet, right? It's not real, it's not fucking real. You know what is real? Playing in a bar and having a beer bottle smash against your head. That's fucking real, bro, that happened, you know. If I can handle that, if you can handle 50 people screaming, you fucking suck and throwing shit at you or fist fighting the audience or whatever, just total chaos in real life, that has real world consequences. Someone writing you suck on Instagram or whatever, that's not reality. They aren't in your house yelling at you. You're a failure, they just aren't. You have to be able to disconnect from that. If, you know, obviously we want people to like our music and we want people to come see us or whatever, but I do not give a flying fuck who doesn't like our music. If I did, I would never leave the house. You can't give a fuck, I hate to keep saying it, but you just can't, bro. It's well said, man, it's well said. What did you do in those moments with the people shouting in the beer bottles breaking and just keep rocking, bro. Just a big middle finger back at the crime, yeah. Very combative, man. I mean, sometimes because it was like, you're asking, you know, in the early days, it was just like, destroy. Like that's part of it, you know. Someone's gonna hook something at you, you know. I think part of it too is just make something that you love so much that you're willing to be hated for it. - Yeah, absolutely. And if you do get some sort of measure of success or recognition, you have to be prepared for it. People will hate you for that. - Yeah, sure. - You pay your bills, fuck you, right? You pay your bills doing something that you love so fuck you, buddy. - Yeah. - Well, I don't. I think that's where that comes from. - Yeah, you know, a little bit of envy, yeah. - Or, you know, just, you know, if you want this, if you want this life, this life as an artist or a writer, or whatever, you have to want all of it. - Yeah, there's no world where you create something and everybody loves it. - Yeah. - So you have to get comfortable with the disapproval as early as possible. - Yeah. - I think that's like a probably good piece of advice. - 100%, become accustomed to that. - Yeah. - The sooner that gets comfortable, the better off you are. - Yeah, the more you're going to continue to focus and push and work on what you want to do. What's important to you. - Well said. All right, Randy, the new book is out. It's called Just Be On The Light. - Yes. - Your memoir, Dark Days. Also covers some of the stuff that we talked about. That's in bookstores everywhere. Thank you so much for coming on, dude. - Thank you so much for having me. It's a blast, man. - It's been over the years seeing your book and bookstores and then finally figuring out, oh wait, there's a connection. - It's been a trip. - I have to say, the night we hung out at your show, seeing how many metalheads were fans of mine. - You, yeah. - It was so, it made me so happy. - So great to do it. Our drummer art was just like, oh he fan-boyed to me. - Yeah, he's like, Mark Manson's really coming. I'm like, yeah, and then you were so kind to send him a book. - You know, it's I did great to you. - Yeah, I know. - It's been a blast, dude. - Thank you so much. - Thank you. - Yep. - The subtle art I'm not giving a fuck podcast is produced by Drew Bernie. It's edited by Andrew Nishimura. Jessica Choi is our videographer and sound engineer. Thank you for listening and we will see you next week.