Bill Whitten is a husband and father of two wonderful boys in St Louis where he spends 15 minutes at a time recording entire albums all by himself. He also finds the time to write and send it to us to publish. Go find his music and buy it; from St Johnny to Grand Mal to William Carlos Whitten. He also makes youtube videos. An amazing talent. Black Mystic Speed by WIlliam Carlos Whitten
I first saw the name Max Hipp in 2019 when I read his story THE LEAST FUCKED UP PEOPLE in Smokelong Quarterly. I enjoyed it very much so I was pleased to cross paths with him in a Bud Smith writing workshop during the winter of 2020-21. This was right around the time the first COVID vaccines were rolling out to the most vulnerable and politicians. Every Wednesday night I’d go down to my wood-paneled basement, tap a link, and stare at a panel of eight tired faces that would keep me somewhat sane for three hours.
AT: Do you remember in Bud’s workshop, how we’d have to write those little letters at the end of each person’s piece to sum up our thoughts? I was one of three to be workshopped that first week. I’d sent everyone two or three chapters of a children’s detective novel. When I read through the letters afterward, most were complementary and mentioned how the story reminded them of stuff they read as kids. But when I got to your feedback, you hadn’t written anything. I was like, WTF? Does Max not understand the rules? Did he hate my shit so much he didn’t think it was worth a note? Was his opinion so brutal he didn’t have the heart to tell me? And what the hell kind of pseudonym is Max Hipp, anyway? Fine, whatever. I could take it. Besides, it was your turn to sub the following week. Maybe I wouldn’t feel the urge to write you a note either. I’m no clairvoyant, I can’t see the future. But that didn’t happen. When I received your offering and opened the doc I saw the title CLIFF BURTON RULES and thought, Oh shit. Growing up, Cliff era Metallica was my favorite. Not only did you use my favorite musician in a story, but the story itself spoke to my upbringing and the upbringing of many kids who got into thrash metal in the ‘80s. You made me a solid fan of your work with that story, and I’m really happy to see it in a published collection.
MH: First off, let me apologize for being such a thoughtless jerk about your chapters! You’re right that I literally didn’t understand the rules in that workshop, or knew there were rules. I’ve noticed that if someone gives me directions on how to do something, anything, I will immediately misunderstand those directions. Also those chapters were flawless and great and I didn’t have anything to add and was thinking I could praise your flawless chapters “in person” over Zoom with my face and ridiculous pseudonym and all.
With that story, I wanted to get the feel of what The Satanic Panic in the 1980s (and early ‘90s in Mississippi; southern lag time) felt like, and how dangerous and wild and fun Metallica seemed back before they became a corporation. In the story, it’s 1994 and Sammy, the main character who’s born too late, wants to start his own band and be like Metallica. He feels like those guys are his brothers, which was common back then, when all you knew about a thrash band came from magazines and liner notes. They were the most beloved metal band on Earth because their tapes were traded one dubbed cassette at a time, through snail mail and across the seas to every continent. They took over the world that way. Anybody who saw them live in the 1980s on any of those stadium tours knew they were special, even peers like Slayer and Anthrax. A lot of that specialness was Cliff Burton. I’m glad some of that was hitting for you. It’s one of my favorites in the collection.
How were you introduced to ‘80s thrash metal and what was the first band/album you remember getting into?
It was Metallica. I hadn’t heard anything by them until around 1989 when I got a dubbed copy of …And Justice for All from my cousin. I’d never heard anything like it. I was still stuck in the literal with lyrics, so when Hetfield sang “See our mother put to death,” I was envisioning my own mother, which scared me. I didn’t have cool older brothers to show me punk rock or anything edgy and I was pretty isolated other than whatever I gleaned from MTV and middle school. Metallica famously didn’t make videos until the “One” video, but I didn’t see it until we rented it from the video store. After that, the floodgates opened. I realized the people I knew who wore those black t-shirts already listened to this band religiously, and pretty soon all the Testament and Megadeth patches on all the denim jackets made sense.
I was similarly affected by the “See our mother put to death” lyric. Justice is a heavy album, even by comparison to the previous three. Of course, everyone mentions the lack of bass on that album, the first without Cliff. Do you have any particular feelings regarding the bass being nearly inaudible in the mix?
I used to have more feelings about the lack of bass. Clearly, the sound of the record didn’t hurt Metallica whatsoever. They just got bigger. As someone who actually listens for bass guitar, though, it makes the album not hold up as well for me, but the sound of that album, that freeze-dried tightness, changed the way thrash sounded for the next few years.
I’m okay with the low bass on Justice now. I think of its absence as a sort of tribute to Cliff. But if I was Newsted I’d be fucking pissed. Since Justice was your first Metallica album, what was your introduction to Cliff Burton?
Probably listening to Ride the Lightning on the school bus with friends. And then watching Cliff ‘Em All on the VCR.
I don’t know if you’re aware your book came out forty-one years to the day of Dave Mustaine’s final gig with Metallica on April 9, 1983. Ultimately, I think the personnel change was positive because we got Megadeth as a result, and an entertaining decades-long rivalry. As a guitar player yourself, do you have a preference between Dave and his replacement, Kirk Hammet? And how do you feel about wah pedals?
Ha! I had no idea when Mustaine’s last gig with them was, but I’m glad it was the book’s pub date. I like both of those guitar players. To me, choosing one would be like preferring a Phillips-head screwdriver to a flathead–depends on what you need it for. I like wah pedals for weird noise and tone purposes. It’s hard to make that effect sound new, or make it serve the song, so I have a lot of respect for folks who don’t just wacka-wacka with it. Sometimes you just have to put the wah away, step away from the wah.
You mentioned The Satanic Panic of the ‘80s. For me, growing up in the northeast, listening to metal and adopting the image drew some stares and occasional comments about devil worship. What was it like in Mississippi during that time? In my mind, your area is a lot more conservative, religious, and generally up in everyone else’s business. You’re not far from Arkansas where, in 1994 (the same year CLIFF BURTON RULES takes place) the West Memphis Three were convicted of murdering three little kids in a satanic ritual, the only evidence against them being the heavy metal they listened to.
Yes, the West Memphis Three stuff happened about an hour-and-a-half from me. My friends and I could’ve been those three metal kids who were wrongly convicted, the victims of satanic panic mixed with shoddy police work. Down here, wearing the metal shirts and growing out your hair made people scared of you, a kind of protection against bullying. It also made you a target for police, though, since they assumed you had drugs.
Did you have drugs?
Me? No sir, officer.
Have you watched season 4 of Stranger Things? The Satanic Panic played a big part in the plot (I read that the character of Eddie Munson was based on Damien Echols of the WM3), not only with metal but Dungeons & Dragons, which has also made its way into your stories. Did you play a lot of D&D as a kid?
Yes, I’ve seen all the Stranger Things episodes. I didn’t know anyone that played D&D until I was fifteen or so. When I was young, I thought I was too cool for it, like D&D players were nerds and I wasn’t, but I got into it during the 2020-21 leg of the COVID pandemic, playing on Zoom with old friends. We played every week, sometimes twice a week, for over a year.
Have you ever played a record backwards?
As much as I’ve always wanted to, no. Is there still time? Any particular ones I should try first?
It’s never too late to get possessed by the devil.
What was the first guitar and amp you owned? What do you use now?
The guitar and amp were both Peaveys, made in Mississippi. Now I’ve got a Fender Vibrolux as a main amp, and too many guitars. But I use them all, so it’s not an addiction, right?
Do you remember the first metal riff you learned?
It was probably “Seek and Destroy.”
Do you recall the name of your first band?
High Voltage. We liked AC/DC but couldn’t figure out a way to sound like them. We would write songs and record them live on a jambox, with whoever was singing standing close to the built-in mic so we could hear the lyrics.
Did you have a favorite band t-shirt growing up?
I always loved those Pushead Metallica shirts but sadly never owned one. My mom and stepdad wouldn’t have let me wear something like that and would’ve freaked out, exactly why I wanted one.
So your mom and stepdad weren’t supportive of your evil musical tastes. Did they forbid you from going to concerts or buying certain albums? Did they send you to a de-metaling program like in The Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years? Have you seen that doc?
I definitely rented that movie from the video store back in the day. No one put me through a de-metaling program, but those scams were widely available where I lived. And talking about childhood, let me put it this way: it was clear that things would go more smoothly if I listened to the heavier cassette tapes only on my Walkman.
Seeing as you avoided t-shirts, would I be correct to assume you didn’t hang posters of metal bands in your room? What did teenage Max’s room look like?
Correct. Posters and thumbtacks weren’t allowed. My room looked like the waiting room for a doctor’s office.
What was your first concert?
Metallica – June 16, 1992 at the Mississippi Coliseum in Jackson, MS. We were all fifteen. We had brainwashed ourselves for years leading up to that moment, with Cliff ‘Em All and the first four albums, so there was no way for the show to disappoint us. But I didn’t love the Black Album. They opened with “Enter Sandman,” their huge hit, and got it out of the way, which seemed like a middle finger to the new fans, the bandwagoners, and a nod to us real fans. It said to them, “Okay, you lames can leave now.” I’m pretty sure they play that one later in the set these days.
I saw them on that tour as well. I think they opened with “Creeping Death” that night, but I’m not 100% sure. I’ve spent thirty-plus years trying to ignore “Sandman.” It really is a most awful song, by any standard. They’ve certainly managed to top its horribleness with each new release, but nothing else has become so virulent. “Sandman” has become a “Smoke on the Water” type song. It’s decent fodder only if you’re just starting to learn guitar.
Not including the first four, what was the last Metallica album you listened to, or tried to? If any. And if so, were there any tracks you thought were okay enough?
I listened to the one that had “Hardwired” on it. That song was decent because it was three minutes long. By my count, that album had four decent songs on it, but I remember most of them were too long. Their ’80s songs were long too but never felt like it, you know?
Being a Cliff fan, what are your thoughts on Robert Trujillo occupying his spot for the last twenty years? Is he a good fit? Does it even matter at this point?
It all matters! I always think of him replacing Newsted not Cliff, but I can see how people might not accept him playing Cliff’s songs the same way they probably didn’t accept Newsted. Trujillo was on those thrashy Suicidal Tendencies albums and I discovered them when I saw the “You Can’t Bring Me Down” video on Headbanger’s Ball. I watched him play live with Ozzy’s band at an Ozzfest in 1998 (with Mike Bordin from Faith No More on drums!) and loved it. In Some Kind of Monster, when they’re auditioning bass players, he’s the best one by far. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to know that, yes, I accept him.
I met Trujillo a long time ago. One of my bands was recording at a studio in California and on the second or third day the engineer goes, “You guys know Rob Trujillo?” Of course I’m like, Fuck yeah, I know who he is, and the engineer all nonchalantly tells me he’s recording some solo stuff in the next room. So I kept sticking my head out into the hall and eventually got to talk with him a bit and hear what he was doing. I want to say it was Mass Mental stuff but I’m not sure. I think he was also still playing for Ozzy at that point. About a year later he joined Metallica. I’m not leading into a question with this. Actually, yes, I am. While on the subject of Rob, are you aware he and Mike Bordin (Faith No More) re-recorded bass and drum tracks on the first two Ozzy albums? I think it was because Sharon Osbourne no longer wanted to pay royalties to Bob Daisley, who I believe wrote many of those songs with Randy Rhodes and Lee Kerslake. Rob and Mike have stated they were not aware of what the session was for until they arrived, and that since they were employed by Sharon and Ozzy they did what they were told. How do you feel about musicians doing that sort of thing?
That’s a cool Trujillo story–I’ve never met any metal guys. I’m aware of the shenanigans with the Randy Rhodes records. I’ve got no moral objection to it, I guess, though I’d rather hear the originals. I hope they’ve come to their senses and restored them back to the first version by now.
How old were you when you heard about Ozzy biting the head off of a bat during a concert in 1982? What was your take on it at the time?
My sister probably told me about that when he was touring in the 1980s. To me, this made him clearly evil, somebody who struck fear and awe and was outside of the norm. I think it’s hard to express how news of that event (dove or bat) spread throughout popular culture, via word of mouth, for years. Even if it wasn’t true, everybody spread the legend because it was a good story.
What was the last metal concert you went to? Not including one you played.
Last metal concert was Mr. Bungle at the Tabernacle in Atlanta in May 2024. This is wildly appropriate for our interview because Dave Lombardo (Slayer) was playing drums and Scott Ian (Anthrax) was playing second guitar for them.
I did catch wind of that lineup on social media. Lombardo was in Dead Cross with Mike Patton, so I wasn’t as surprised to see him as I was Ian. Good show? Did they throw in any Slayer or Anthrax covers?
They played the intro to “Hell Awaits” and reworked an S.O.D. song into “Speak Spanish or Die.” They also covered some pop hits like “I’m Not in Love,” “True,” and “Hopelessly Devoted to You” to break up the fast and heavy onslaught. Mike Patton can sing anything.
Do you like Faith No More? They’re a band Metallica introduced me to, simply because Hetfield wore one of their t-shirts in some pics. It wasn’t until later that I learned Jim Martin and Cliff Burton had been in EZ-Street together.
Never heard EZ-Street, but I think I remember that either Kirk Hammet or Les Claypool, or both, went to high school with Jim Martin (I refuse to google this). I definitely like the Jim Martin Faith No More albums. Nobody sounds like that guy, the way he layers the guitar parts until it sounds enormous. That’s a heavy picking hand downstroking the crap out of everything, and he really shines on The Real Thing. “Woodpecker from Mars” and “Zombie Eaters” and “Surprise! You’re Dead!” I mean, c’mon.
I know Kirk asked Les to audition for Metallica when Cliff died. It’s hard to imagine that lineup now, but he might have been a good fit considering his work with Blind Illusion. I believe Hetfield thought he was too weird.
It’s hard to imagine him taking a backseat in another band. He strikes me as a guy with a lot of musical ideas and opinions that would probably go unheard in twenty-first century Metallica.
Care to give us a Top 10 list of metal bands? Or metal albums, since a lot of those bands have sucked for decades?
This list is somewhat arbitrary and will probably change tomorrow, but if I were to pick ten favorite metal albums today:
Metallica – Ride the Lightning, Motörhead – Overkill, Judas Priest – Sad Wings of Destiny, Deep Purple – In Rock, Iron Maiden – Killers, Melvins – Bullhead, Slayer – Reign in Blood, dead horse – Peaceful Death and Pretty Flowers, Saint Vitus – Saint Vitus, Black Sabbath – Black Sabbath.
The newest album on this list is from 1991. Wow. But I think that has more to do with the way metal albums are recorded today, everything too upfront in the mix.
I wouldn’t have expected to see Bullhead on a list of favorite metal albums, but it makes sense. I think my brain automatically places Melvins in the “alternative” category, which is unfortunate, in a way. This makes me think of something Sammy says in CLIFF BURTON RULES, about Nirvana, or, more specifically, Cobain–that he’s lame. Is that purely for the story, or does Sammy’s opinion reflect your personal feelings?
Melvins are weird and punk rock but also metal, I’d say. They have so many albums (they’ve been going for forty years now) that my brain only vaguely associates them with Cobain or “grunge” or “alternative” anymore. I actually like Nirvana. Sammy is a zealot who craves metal purity. You might say he’s a metal supremacist.
But I thought Nirvana was great when they came out. They exploded in the media about the same time Metallica did and suddenly you had all these aggressive guitar sounds on MTV and the radio. Because Cobain name-dropped a bunch of punk and noise bands in his interviews, I was able to find a bunch of bands I still love. He did a lot of good for the musicians who shaped him.
Are there any bands from that “alternative” era you didn’t like, and have since found an appreciation for?
Melvins, Mudhoney, and Screaming Trees sound even better to me now than they did back then. They’re much more interesting than some of the more popular bands of the era.
You mention Maiden’s Killers in your Top 10. Does that mean you prefer Paul Di’Anno’s vocals to Bruce Dickenson’s?
Even though Di’Anno died just before I could answer this question, I prefer Bruce. I think I like the weird, jerky arrangements on the early Iron Maiden records.
Have you heard the song “Bruce, Eddie and Paul” by NOFX?
I’ve never heard the song. I’m not generally a fan of NOFX, but I’m glad they like Iron Maiden.
Do you care to rank the “Big 4”: Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, and Megadeth? Is there a band you would personally swap out for another?
1. Slayer, 2. Metallica, 3. Anthrax, 4. Megadeth. No, I’ll keep the Big Four like they are. Slayer is the only one that’s made a listenable album in the last ten years, which is why I rank them first even though they’re officially retired now.
I think Slayer is back. I saw something on social media about it. That the reunion was a big secret. Kerry King even kept it from his new band. Which Slayer album are you referring to?
Repentless is the Slayer album I’m talking about, the only one they’ve put out since Jeff Henneman died. It has some of his last riffs on it, so they say. Gary Holt is on that album too, so that’s very cool.
Speaking of Kerry King, his new album is fast and aggressive in a different way than Slayer. Some of the songs feel closer to punk/hardcore. I’ve only listened once, but I liked it.
When we talk about Metallica’s best albums we refer to them as the “first four” but I just remembered how much I love The $5.98 E.P. – Garage Days Re-Revisited. I love those covers. That album introduced me to some classic bands I was unaware of until then. Idk if there’s a question here. I guess I’m wondering how that album ranks with you.
It ranks pretty high with me too. Metallica is the reason I knew anything about those bands and I loved those songs as much as I loved the ’80s Metallica songs. They made those songs their own, didn’t just try to make a faithful version, that’s why it’s so great. I bet that E.P. helped Killing Joke, Diamond Head, The Misfits, Holocaust, and Budgie stay afloat. They’re another band who helped out the artists they drew from.
How did you feel about softer metal bands like Poison, Mötley Crüe, and Ratt? I recall something someone from Slayer said, maybe Kerry King (or maybe someone from Exodus), about how, back in the day, they’d make fun of anyone they saw wearing a Ratt shirt but secretly geeked out over Warren DiMartini’s guitar skills.
I’m not going to pretend I was cool in any way about music. Nobody’s older brother lent me his cool record collection and my only way to find out about these things in the ’80s was the radio and MTV, and they seemed completely taken over by hair metal. When I was a kid, I loved those bands. Mötley Crüe’s “Looks That Kill” video on MTV really sucked me in. Mick Mars’ guitar tone got me, and how they looked like extras from Road Warrior, a movie I loved. And of course the flaming pentagram.
Crüe is just one of a few metal bands I have seen criticized for using pre-recorded tracks during concerts in recent years. Do you have feelings on that practice in metal?
It’s pretty lame, but I’m not too worked up about it.
What metal bands could you never get into?
I could never get into Ghost or Slipknot. Other metal people seem to love them.
I’m with you on Ghost and Slipknot. Mastodon is the only “new” metal band that comes to mind that I’ve enjoyed in my old age. But I can only take so much.
Yes! It feels like I’ve reached capacity for heavy bands I can care about. Or maybe to put it another way, I’ll never love the new bands like I loved the ones I was listening to when I was fifteen, meaning I won’t sit with a new band’s lyric sheet and listen on headphones and memorize things. I don’t know if giving bands that kind of attention is a universal experience, or what.
Are you aware of all the different products ‘80s thrash bands have been putting their names on these days? Hot sauce, beer, and coffee seem to be favorites. Charlie Benante and Dave Ellefson had their own brand of coffee. Chuck Billy sells weed or weed paraphernalia. Even Metallica lent their name to BLACKENED whiskey, which seemed a little odd considering Hetfield’s well-documented alcoholism.
I missed all that. The merch table must look like a CVS.
What are you listening to these days? What’s currently in your Spotify mix, CD player or whatever you use? And how do you prefer listening to music? Do you miss the days of physical copies and album artwork?
Oh man, my listening habits are scattershot. Most of the new things I’ve been listening to I’ve bought from bands I’ve seen live recently, like Bark, Chat Pile, Hartle Road, The Drip Edges, Future Fix, The Guiding Light, MSSV. Then there’s the old stuff that never gets old for me. I’ve got too many LPs, CDs, and cassettes. I create playlists on Spotify and then don’t listen to them, like the act of creating playlists soothes me somehow.
I think you talked about this in another interview, but do you care to tell what you’re doing musically now? I know you’ve got several projects going. I love the E-Meters, by the way.
Thanks for digging E-meters. We’re recording a second album right now, slowly, and we’ve got basic drum tracks and are adding things. Tyler Keith & The Apostles released an album two years ago that I’m still proud of. I play guitar with friends pretty regularly. At this point, playing music feels like a spiritual practice. There’s no end goal for it–just making the thing. If you don’t make things, nothing new happens.
Did you recently tour with Tyler, or have a string of shows? How did you end up playing with him?
Not super recent. We did a string of midwestern dates in summer of ’23, and we regularly play Memphis. My band opened for his band back in 2010. I said, “I want to sit in on a song with you guys.” He said, “Why don’t you just sit in on the whole set?” and I’ve been sitting in on the whole set ever since. He’s a great friend and also a fine writer who has a novel out on the same “book label” as my story collection. He’s written more great rock and roll songs than anyone I know.
Who are your major influences when it comes to playing guitar? Are there any current players you’re into?
I wish I could say the influences were really obscure and cool, but they’re the most basic ones. Jimi Hendrix, Tony Iommi, Angus Young. They’re the foundation and they still sound great to me. Then, of course, Hetfield. Some other layers I’ve added would include Link Wray, Neil Young, Lou Reed, Greg Ginn, Bob Mould, Greg Sage, Robert Quine, Fast Eddie Clarke, Wayne Kramer, and Ron Asheton. This may sound weird, but I don’t really care about guitar players apart from how they serve the songs. If the songs are crappy, not even the best guitar player can save them.
If you could catch a golden era show of any metal band, who would it be?
This may come as a shock to anyone who has read this entire interview, but it would be Metallica on the Master of Puppets tour, early 1986.
If you could punch one musician, living or dead, in the face, who would it be?
Hmm…maybe Kid Rock? P. Diddy? There are probably others who need punching more than they do. I’ll keep thinking about it, though I’d probably be the last guy to punch musicians.
Which Anthrax singer do you prefer?
Joey Belladonna, no contest. The guy on the first album ain’t bad either.
John Bush doesn’t do it for you? What about his main band, Armored Saint? Did you know Bush was asked to sing for Metallica before Hetfield officially took on lead vocals?
I’d heard that about Bush and Metallica. Armored Saint never did much for me and I notice that Anthrax doesn’t play anything from his era live now, which I think is a good call.
Do you have a favorite Anthrax album?
My answer is probably the same as everyone else’s: Among the Living. It’s got so many great ones, it’s undeniable. I dare you to come up with one you like better.
I cannot. Among the Living is the correct answer. 1986 was a great year for thrash.
During the course of this interview, original Anthrax bassist, Dan Lilker (Nuclear Assault, S.O.D., Brutal Truth, Venomous Concept) began filling in for Frank Bello on the band’s South American tour. I read an interview where Lilker stated, “When we parted ways back in 1984, they told me to stick around because they might need me in 40 years.”
Hahaha! That guy is great.
Does Overkill rank for you? I’m from Jersey so they were a big deal for me. Anthrax too, as they were just across the river. And of course Dan Spitz was in both bands.
I missed out on Overkill when I was a kid because none of my friends were listening to them. Maybe it’s because they weren’t on a big label at first and didn’t have as wide of a distribution as Elektra, Capital, etc.? I still haven’t listened to them much. Is it too late? Where should I start?
It’s probably too late. But I think Years of Decay is their Master of Puppets, so to speak. There are arguably better songs on other albums, but I think the lineup and production on that one puts it up there for me. D.D. Verni has a good bass sound and Bobby Gustafson’s riffs and solos seem underrated to me. I don’t think Gustafson stuck around much longer after that album.
Well, through the magic of the internet, I’ve just checked that one out and have to agree with you on all counts. They are swinging for the fences, trying to push the genre forward the same way Justice and South of Heaven did just ahead of this album. They’ve got peaks and valleys and they’ve got speed but also a few Sabbathian jams, like “Playing with Spiders/Skullkrusher.” I’m a sucker for any song called Skullkrusher.
Did you get to see Overkill live a bunch? I can imagine some intense mosh pits. Seems like Prong should’ve opened for them.
I did see Overkill. They played this small club in Newark called Studio One in the ‘90’s a couple times. Studio One was a great place to have. It was about thirty minutes from where I lived and a lot metal bands played there: Mercyful Fate, Nuclear Assault, Brutal Truth, Testament, Machine Head, Obituary, Napalm Death, Cannibal Corpse, Sepultura, Voivod, Type O Negative, GWAR, Newsted’s pre-Metallica band, Flotsam and Jetsam, and yes, Prong too, though I can’t recall if they were on the Overkill shows. Overkill was a great live band. I know they’re still kicking around but I haven’t listened to anything new in about a decade. I understand the lineup has gone through a lot of changes.
Favorite Megadeth album?
It’s hard to decide between Peace Sells and Rust in Peace. For the purposes of this interview, I’ll say Rust in Peace because the video for “Holy Wars” hooked me. That’s the first album I heard by them. There’s something about the first album you hear by a band when you’re thirteen–somehow it sticks with you.
What is the most metal animal?
A crow. Or a sloth.
Would you tell us about your cat?
My black cat is named Brutus and she’s almost eighteen. When I got her, she was the meanest cat I’d ever met and would attack people even though she weighed six pounds. I’ve seen her punch babies and small children when cornered. She makes so much eye contact it’s uncomfortable. She pukes more than she used to, so that’s pretty metal.
So, you have a book out. It seems like the response to WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU OPENS YOUR HEART has been good. I’ve seen it pop up in my social media quite a bit, always with complimentary words. Are you working on anything now? Anything we can expect in the near future?
I have a long W.I.P. document of short stories that needs attention, and I’ve started sending stuff out again. Also, there’s a short, mean novel that I’ll use to antagonize agents very soon. And I’ve started a second novel.
Thank you for taking the time to talk with me for Farewell Transmission. Is there anything you’d like to add before ending this?
I appreciate it! Nothing much to add besides long live all the great readers and listeners out there. Shout out to the good people everywhere. Drop me a line: @maxissippi on IG and bluesky
Max Hipp is a teacher, writer, and musician from Mississippi. His work has appeared in, among others, Southern Humanities Review, Cheap Pop, SmokeLong Quarterly, and Black Warrior Review. He teaches literature and creative writing. He’s currently doing some book touring with help from the Mississippi Arts Commission.
From Cool Dog Sound: The characters in Max Hipp’s debut story collection howl with loneliness. They’ve reached the ends of their coping mechanisms and bank accounts and are making terrible life choices and trying to recover in the wake of them. We’ve got folks who can’t let go of the past, folks obsessed with sex and music, lovers stuck in dismal relationships, and clueless romantics who probably need their asses whipped. Heartbreak piles up like car crashes in the fog, and everybody just has to carry on like everything’s fine. These stories keep hitting the funny/sad notes, and with his scalpel-tip sentences, Hipp marches readers through the wringer, with great compassion for the lost and searching.
Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. He’s the author of three chapbooks and a full-length collection, Venus at the Arms Fair (Alien Buddha Press, 2024). Recent publications include Spectra, World Hunger Mag, Horror Sleaze Trash, Don’t Submit!, and BRUISER. His poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Twitter @damon_hubbs
They closed the pisser in the park, so I had nowhere left to go. I used to love hanging out in that pisser, the acoustics in there were incredible, I’d sit in a cubicle all day listening to the guys going at it. It was a real social scene, a true community, you really got to know the regulars – the guys who stopped in during their lunch hour, the guys who hung around all afternoon trying to pluck up the nerve, the guys who liked it in the dark. I really started to root for the guys, I wanted them to get everything their hearts yearned for. When I saw that the door had been boarded up by the local authorities, I was totally distraught, I stayed in bed for three whole days. An entire world had been closed off for me. I started missing the guys, so I went looking for other places where they might have gone. I thought the guys might be hanging out in the woods, so I started going there. But all that happened was a guy kept trying to sell me some orange pills, and I’m not into that stuff.
2. My Own Pisser
The idea came when a guy knocked on my door asking if he could use my bathroom. He was going door to door trying to sell people a new kind of leaf blower and he’d drunk three cans of Barrel Bomb to get himself going that morning. As I stood in the spare bedroom and listened to him having a piss, I thought we’ve all got these toilets in our homes, just for ourselves, and wouldn’t it be nice if we shared them with people who could bring joy and variety into our lives. The next day I put up a sign outside my house that said: ‘Free toilet here!’ At first no one came, I waited in every day just in case, then there was a knock on the door that woke me up. It was 03:26 am. I usually took the sign down before I went to bed, but I forgot that night. We stood looking at each other for a minute, he was hugging himself and hopping on the spot to keep the cold out, then he said: ‘Toilet?’ He pointed over his shoulder at the sign. I showed him up and went into the spare bedroom. I couldn’t hear him doing anything in there, then the lock on the bathroom door unclicked, he went quickly down the stairs and the front door slammed. There were spots of blood on the bathroom floor and in the sink. I got out my chemicals and scrubbed until there was daylight in the window.
3. I Only Wanted to Hear
My friend Raincoat – not his real name – was a surveillance whiz. He told me he’d worked for intelligence in a semi-official capacity, there wasn’t a space he couldn’t penetrate. He once played me a tape of a well-known public figure – I can’t legally say who – using multiple slurs that would destroy them if they ever went public. That was his insurance policy, the masters were in a safety deposit box. He told me he could install a new system he’d been working on, giving me total audiovisual access, but I only wanted to hear, so the bathroom was wired up. I put up flyers in the park. The Flyer said: ‘Clean & Free, Open 24 Hrs’ with my address and a picture I drew of a sparkling toilet.
4. Building a Client Base
My first regulars came at night. I adjusted my sleep pattern for them. They didn’t make a lot of noise, but they left a lot of mess. I didn’t feel any connection to them. I needed to reconnect with my guys. Raincoat told me: ‘If you want to find them, you’ve got to get on the hookup apps. That’s what they use to keep tabs on the homos now.’ He gave me one of his old phones and showed me how to ‘spam’ on it. After a few days, guys started hanging around in my front garden. When I heard them come in and follow the directions, I ran up into the spare bedroom. It was so good to hear those familiar sounds again – the recordings I made were catalogued and stored on a separate drive. I emptied the spare bedroom to try and give it an echo, I kept the window open to make it as cold as possible, I scattered used tissues to create an aroma. As soon as the guys had vacated the bathroom, I hurried in and got on my knees in front of the toilet. I lowered my head into the bowl, reached up for the handle, and cranked the flush.
5. The One-Flush Policy
When I was a kid, my dad instituted a one-flush policy – he got concerned about water preservation after he read a sci-fi novel where Earth in 2037 gets turned into a desiccated launchpad by space travel conglomerates competing to settle Jupiter. He couldn’t park his car in the garage anymore because it was filled with bottled water – I think some of it was his own piss – and he got into three fistfights with people on our street when they used lawn sprinklers. He told us all the time that in the future whoever controlled the water supply would rule the world, and our decadence would come back to haunt us. Dad closely monitored our bathroom habits – if we flushed wastefully, we got a spanking and had to go to the woods to do our mess ‘like a lowly beast’. It only got better when Uncle Vic visited, he showed up every Christmas Eve, even though he was never invited. One year – I must have been about seven – Uncle Vic went to the bathroom, then a couple of minutes later he shouted from the top of the staircase: ‘It didn’t go down in one go, bro. Do I have your permission to give it another go, or should I just let it sit there?’ Everyone at the dining table froze. Dad hesitated, then said: ‘Yes, but just this once.’ Uncle Vic shouted to me: ‘Would you like a bonus flush, Kiddo?’ I looked at Dad, but his face didn’t tell me anything. I slid back my seat and tried not to move too fast. When I got to the bathroom, Uncle Vic was standing next to the toilet. He lifted the seat and signaled for me to look down. The bowl was empty. I looked at Uncle Vic, he smiled and said: ‘What are you waiting for, Kiddo? Crank on that flush!’
6. Expanding the Client Base
I woke up on the sofa with a woman looking down at me. The woman was holding a crying child. The woman said: ‘I’m so sorry, he’s made such a mess. I’ll happily clean it up–’ I cut her off and said: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it.’ She said: ‘This is such a godsend! He picked up a bug at creche and he’s been shitting uncontrollably for days now. I can’t believe they shut the public bathroom. The perverts ruin it for everyone! I’ll recommend you to the other parents I see in the park. It was spotless when we went in. Honestly, I’ve stayed in hotels that don’t match up.’
7. Handling the Externalities
Baby shit was streaked everywhere, I took a bottle out of my cleaning caddy and set about spraying every surface with the most powerful chemical I had – I bought it from a shop down the road run by a guy who claimed to have fought for the Mujaheddin. I scrubbed until I got dizzy and went for some fresh air on the landing. The front door opened. Two guys came in. They stood in the hallway, talking low so I couldn’t make anything out. Then they started shoving and collapsed onto each other. They rolled out of view. I could hear them bumping into the furniture. I took a bottle from my caddy and went down. They were grappling on the kitchen floor, their skeletal arms wrapped together and grasping. I leaned in and sprayed them in the face. I stepped back and held out the bottle as they separated – screaming, coughing, gagging, rubbing their eyes. I retreated to the foot of the staircase and locked the door when they’d staggered out.
8. The Most Picturesque Pisser
I carried the bottle with me everywhere, but they weren’t the ones I should have been sweating. The parents from the park started showing up, they turned my living room into an outreach centre, they took over my kitchen to bake treats, there were toys everywhere, and they commandeered my cleaning caddy – that’s when I really blew my top. I stood in the middle of the living room and told them: ‘This isn’t what I wanted when I started this thing, and I’m not doing this anymore!’ The house went quiet, then a baby started bawling. I dropped my bottle and left the house. I kept running until I was in the woods. I gave the guy selling the orange pills everything in my wallet and he handed me a bag. The guy tried to stop me when I opened the bag and directed it at my open mouth, but I shoved him to the ground. He got up and ran away, shouting: ‘It’s your funeral, pal! I tried, man, I tried!’ I forced them all down, I knew the only place left for me was underground, a special place where I could be with the blind and spineless creatures. I got on my knees and started digging with my hands, tossing dirt over my shoulders. When the hole got deep enough, I rolled inside and kept going until there was no more daylight. The hole started to pulsate. I was thrown upward by an eruption of foul air. The pale sky filled my eyes. Then a face. It was Uncle Vic! I hadn’t seen him since that Christmas. He never came back after the flush party. Dad said he was sick. I asked him where he’d been, he said: ‘I’ve been hanging out with the guys, Kiddo. Let’s go see them!’ Uncle Vic carried me to a clearing, where there was the most picturesque pisser I’d ever seen! I tried to imagine what chemical could make it sparkle like it did. We went inside and Uncle Vic deposited me in a gorgeous cubicle. The water in the bowl was crystal clear, I scooped up a handful and washed the dirt from my face. Footsteps echoed off the tiles, the lock clicked on the neighbouring cubicle and there was the jangle of a belt being unfastened, I could hear everything with perfect clarity, like the entire place was wired up. The guys had come!
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the flavor of the dying vape i found on Leya’s kitchen table. burnt watermelon. microplastics. bruised apples, green bananas. i hate that my I is all knotted up in your You. codependency. entanglement. enmeshment. i hate my eyes glued on You, ascending the steps at 145th St. Station. all my books and my clothes in crates in your room. i hate being a Capricorn. talking to CPS on the phone. poorly affixed coffee cup lids. so many stains. the sunny Sunday after tragedy befalls you. inappropriately wonderful weather, the shrill cries of blue jays, telling lies. bad cover bands. cryptic tonsils swollen like fat grapes occluding my vocal tract. wheezing out an aria. smokers lung. wasting time trying to understand its passage. the insidious oblivion of Youtube shorts. mukbangs. your big sneezes, smearing snot on my leg in the absence of tissues. the absence of You, taking all of my Me. i fucking hate Tuesdays.
dear Madi
i can’t help but think daylight wasn’t meant to be saved. the road is a void, i stop at a red. the tire pressure light is on. you helped me fill the tires on Luke’s Subaru in New Paltz last February. he snapped a b&w photo of us doing it on a disposable Fujifilm. i’ve got a copy somewhere, must’ve misplaced it.
we’re both city slickers now, downtown degenerates. the scene subsumed us, didn’t it. and as it were, i don’t remember how to put air in the tires. checking the Honda booklet while the red still burns… dashboard. cd player. airbag warnings. moonroof, mirrors. the sun is too often the main character. the moon is almost always a symbol of itself, yet i feel its tug the strongest. we got thrown out of orbit, didn’t we? long island is but a quagmire, my dad texted. i drove him home last week from the hospital in Oceanside, avoided every pot hole on New York Avenue. i thought of you, and your dad. how’s Bryon doing? how are the dogs? how’s Mooney and her thumbs?
it’s only 5:49 and it’s so dark i can’t read the manual. a flash of green. i’m accelerating. kale mushroom egg bites on the steps of St. Nicholas park. reading Luke’s poem. we touched grass. i’m so happy we’re in love. i’m so happy—i could cry and pull out all my hair, stuff it in the Nicorette box we kept on the table at Tompkins, beside the ceramic mallard.
i swear you were there when i saw the green ray in Saint-Jean-de-Luz. like the click of a laser beamed into my corneas. irrevocable instant. the waves broke immediately after it passed. i ate tomatoes doused in olive oil at a tiny bar by the beach, and thought of the storm we were caught in two years ago, on another coast, clutching you as ozone flooded our olfactory, clay oozed from the cliffs, and lightning smote the sand.
it’s impossible not to see God in your eyes since then.
at Sunoco it’s $2 per vend, for four minutes of air. counting change, i open the moon roof for some circulation. jamming quarters into the slit, i fill my tires with thoughts of you.
home, sick
choppy sea of carpeting, L-shaped couch, Led Zeppelin poster. my high school boyfriend was a painter. he had a knife on him, always stowed in the pockets of his cargos. when i’d sing he’d cry. he sold a 6×6 foot canvas to the drummer, the guitarist didn’t know what to think of him, and the bassist was always barefoot.
i don’t know what made me stop singing, when the pitches bent, and i got lost in some ceaseless caesura. all i know is that when i’m home, in Long Island, i hide under leaf piles, poking my head out only to watch herds of deer dash down the hill in my parents’ backyard.
my ex-boyfriend was in a car accident and walks with a cane now. the Mustang was speeding, and spun out— it was nobody’s fault. with his disability checks he balls out on Grailed.
i just happened to crash out. it was nobody’s fault, but my own. i moved to Brooklyn for fucks sake. it was bound to be a blight, at any rate.
that band? they’re still playing. the guitarist sings now. i’m happy for them, truly. but all melody becomes mist. sound moves at a rate of 340 meters per second, until it becomes intractable, immaterial, barely an echo.
sound is the ephemeral incarnate. only light never decays.
Chloe Wheeler writes poems. Her writing has appeared in Expat Press, Hobart Pulp, Don’t Submit, Bullshit Lit, among others. Twitter @sardine_enjoyer
I hit send and put the phone down, face up, on the table. Waited, and the phone buzzed. The screen lit. I read. I went to the doorway of my apartment and opened the coat closet, which, since I live in Southern California, I use for storage instead of coats. I walked back over to the table. I positioned the nail true over my phone screen and hammered the notification into the table.
Joshua Hebburn is an assistant fiction editor at X-R-A-Y. From the Farewell Transmission archive he recommends Tyler Dempsey’s “Evidence I’m Mentally Ill.”