REBEL MEETS REBEL: TREVOR STRNAD INTERVIEWS JEFF WALKER

The Black Dahlia Murder’s lead growler chews the fat with Carcass’ head butcher

by J. Bennett
Illustration by Wes Benscoter

Over the course of eight years and five albums, English grind surgeons Carcass carved a bloody incision through the extreme-metal underground while extreme metal itself was still in its purple-faced infancy. Formed by ex–Napalm Death guitarist Bill Steer, vocalist-bassist Jeff Walker, and drummer Ken Owen, the band spewed out two gruesome gore-grind blasterpieces—1988’s Reek of Putrefaction and 1989’s Symphonies of Sickness—before recruiting Carnage guitarist Mike Amott (currently of Arch Enemy) and recording 1991’s medical-pathology-obsessed landmark, Necroticism: Descanting the Insalubrious, and 1994’s Heartwork. After Amott’s departure, Carcass signed on with Sony/Columbia (via Earache, the label responsible for the band’s previous output) and released 1996’s Swansong, a shamefully underappreciated death-rock album that ultimately lived up to its title. Despite Carcass’ untimely demise, the band’s influence on today’s extreme-metal pantheon cannot be underestimated, as a veritable army of emulators (General Surgery, Haemorrhage) and outright clones (County Medical Examiners, Pathologist) has emerged to fill the void. Trevor Strnad, vocalist for the Black Dahlia Murder—whose 2005 album, Miasma, features a Carcass riff or three—even has the medical instruments depicted in Necroticism’s CD art tattooed on his forearm. So it seemed only natural that we enlist him to interview the former Carcass frontman.

TREVOR STRNAD What advice do you have for a young extreme-metal band that’s considering signing with a major label?
JEFF WALKER Do it. Get yourself a hair stylist and a makeup artist, and just go for it. You’ve got nothing to lose, assuming you’re a good band. If it happened tomorrow, I’d do it again. It’s all about having a laugh, you know? Don’t believe for a minute that you’re gonna sell a shitload of records or break the world, but you’ve gotta go for it. Maybe there’s one band—like Black Dahlia—that’s gonna fuckin’ do it, you know?

How do you think the destiny of Carcass would’ve been different if you hadn’t been involved with a major?
It wouldn’t have changed. To be honest, the reason Carcass got burnt out was because we never got offered bigger things. It got very fucking boring. We never got offered big tours—nothing. We weren’t prepared to get a transit van and tour North America for the rest of our lives. Carcass was always on the up, and the Sony thing was kind of the pinnacle. It didn’t work out, but we had a go. You’ve gotta understand, the metal scene was so fucking dead back then. People blame it on that fucking band from Seattle—what were they called? [Laughs] But it was totally different than what it is now.

I’ve always felt that owning Swansong is the determining factor in whether someone is a true Carcass fan or not. It still stands as your most misunderstood album. Did you guys feel a sense of loss when you alienated some of your fans through your evolution?
Why do you like that one, you gay bastard? [Laughs] Every time we released a record, there would be assholes bitching about it. So you can’t really get too preoccupied with that—you’ve gotta do what you wanna do. Not to sound like an asshole, but you’ve gotta go with your heart. Otherwise, what the hell are you doing, as a musician or an artist? Of course, no one who likes Reek [of Putrefaction] is gonna like Swansong; people who like Heartwork don’t usually like Reek; and people who like Carcass probably aren’t gonna like my country record. [Last May, Walker released Welcome to Carcass Cuntry, a CD of country covers featuring guest shots from members of Napalm Death, HIM, and Carcass.] That’s just the way it goes. You can’t worry about what people want or expect.

Do you think Swansong is more accepted now, 10 years later?
Yeah, definitely. For me, that album was kind of our version of the Cult’s Electric—a stripped-down, no-frills, no-bullshit rock record. Not to be cynical, but to me, the whole idea of being on Sony was kind of a case of introducing kids to more extreme music. And it worked, to be honest. I was in South America a few weeks ago, and I signed more copies of Swansong than any other fucking record. It was heartwarming, really.

I always thought the whole idea of Carcass making a rock record was meant to be sarcastic.
Well, you know, [Mike] Amott quit the band during Heartwork and there was nothing left, to be honest. Bill [Steer] was into Seventies rock by then, so I tried to piece the two things together. I mean, it’s a very dumbed-down record—riff-wise and lyrically—but I just thought, Yeah, we’re on a major label. Bill says it sounds like [NWOBHM pioneers] Saxon, though—which is bullshit.

Does Mike Amott let you come on the bus when Arch Enemy comes to town?
I wouldn’t know—I’ve never bothered. [Laughs] To be serious, though, I went to see them play Liverpool about two or three years ago. I was really scared to a certain extent, because I’d heard so many great things about the band. I had a bit of trepidation seeing them live, because I thought I’d feel really sad or like a loser, thinking I’m out of the game or something, but I saw them and they’re a good band, you know? If you like that shit, fair enough—but it’s not for me.

What do you think about the ProTools age of extreme music?
I think it’s cool—and liberating. We could’ve saved a fortune back in the day. I find people who love analog a bit fucking boring. They’re like trainspotters or something. But maybe digital is too fucking easy. I don’t know. It’s definitely cheaper. I mean, on Heartwork, we spent three days trying to get a good guitar sound. That alone cost us like $2,500—for a fucking guitar sound. If I could get a refund for all the times that happened with us, I’d probably have about $10,000 in the bank. Having said that, maybe everyone should be forced to go through the analog experience... I mean, you’ve gotta pay your dues, right?

Coming from more of a punk background, what did you think of the misogyny that’s always been synonymous with gore lyrics?
When I was a teenager, I thought it was bullshit. I was a feminist, a soft cunt, you know? But the older I get, the more misogynistic I get. [Laughs] Honestly, though, Carcass was a reaction to everything that we perceived as misogynistic and childish. I don’t take it very seriously now, though. Nowadays, I say things that make people think I’m homophobic or misogynistic or racist. I’m not, but I can talk complete crap like anyone else can. The gore bands today make me cringe, though, because you can tell—sometimes even by looking at the spiky logos or the gay artwork—that they haven’t lived. Grow up a bit and live your life, you know? Know the score before you spout off about people. Then you can be a homophobe or a misogynist or a racist. [Laughs]