Interview_FullOfHell

More Like Mozart Than You Think
A Conversation with Spencer Hazard

by Ray Clardy

Photos by Shawn Madden and Wayne Tan

Last Summer, Full of Hell guitarist and founding member Spencer Hazard took the time to sit down and chat with me about where the band was going, about religion, and about their new album Coagulated Bliss. At the time, it was an opportunity to comment on the band’s more-or-less-spanking-new album. The subject matter was as fresh as a free-range chicken in an overlit, gentrifier-friendly grocery-store. Our conversation remains salient and thoughtful: please listen to it here, or read it below.

Life also happened, and the freshness of the interview waned while it ping-ponged between various zines. Again like an organic chicken, what was once a source of freshness became leverage for profounder obsolescence, for deeper rot. Have you ever smelled an organic chicken, when it’s gone bad? Phrases like “your new album”—once real zingers that proved how current the material was—became like expiration stickers I couldn’t tear off; they dated the material in a bad way. Luckily, during the interim I was able to reflect further on the greatness and the rareness of Maryland grindcore band Full of Hell. If that’s your thing, continue reading---if not, find the interview at the end, or in the audio file.

I saw Full of Hell four times last year, and maintain they are the most zealous live act in modern heavy music. (Who else did I see recently, you ask: well only Conan, Couch Slut, Soul Glo, High On Fire, Sleep, Worm, Gatecreeper, Sunn O))), Amenra (2X), Norma Jean, Misery Signals (farewell tour), Primitive Man (3X), Thra, Converge, Dillinger (reunion tour), Frozen Soul, Beelzebong, Ragana, Chat Pile (2X), Deafheaven, Gorilla Biscuits, and more). Maybe somewhere there’s a black metal band I’ve yet to see—with an unpronounceable name, doing something esoteric and orificial in a basement with a bat or a chicken or a quadruped of some kind—but I haven’t seen them yet, and as far as the more popular bands in this less popular category go, I will reiterate that Full of Hell “Reign Supreme” when seen live. Vocalist Dylan Walker brings a blush of agonal spew to his vocals in a way that others don’t---with the undulant expressions warping his face, with a fry scream like battery acid. Spencer Hazard is a real-deal brilliant songwriter—but it goes beyond that. Let’s get philosophical for a moment; bear with me. Why is heavy music—when it’s good—so damn good?

In philosopher Kierkegaard’s Either/Or, there’s an argument about Mozart creating the greatest of all art in music—that music represents the immaterial, the divine, because it apprehends it on its own terms; it apprehends the immaterial in immaterial terms. This is artistic synchronicity, artistic unity… a result to be admired, even revered, when successful. Art like writing, painting, sculpture, or film isn’t like this, Kierkegaard says, even when it tries to capture something abstract. An abstract movie, for example—topically, a David Lynch (RIP) movie like Eraserhead—can be said to be “about”, can be experienced as, what it is in purely material terms. This is the case because mediums that aren’t musical apprehend the immaterial in material terms—not immaterial ones. Painting, sculpture, poetry, film: even when they’re symbolic apprehend what they symbolize in a material format—therefore, Kierkegaard argues, do not do what music does as well as music does it. Take Eraserhead, for example; if we interpret in the filmic medium’s terms what Eraserhead is about: a man with a distended hairdo who colludes with a puffy-faced freak woman in his radiator, etc., etc.

The point is not that movies can’t be great art---the point is that Kierkegaard argues the superiority of great music; he claims this dissonance between concrete mode and divine inspiration, between ideal, fucks up the artistic result on some level---that with music it’s impossible to perform this same reduction, making great music superior to great art of other kinds. Let’s explore this, and try our reduction on music. What is something like Full of Hell’s song Coagulated Bliss about, in literal terms? What is any metal music “about” (lyrics excluded)? …I dunno, melodic and dissonant resonances? Okay, see: the process performed on Eraserhead doesn’t quite work, here: because we’re talking about music in particular. Music is inherently evasive, and so it’s closer to the ideal art seeks to represent (this is the argument, anyway). It is about a divine and immaterial thing… represented, apprehended, in divine and immaterial terms. (Incidentally enough, let’s cite the title of the latest Full of Hell album: Scraping the Divine).

Let’s turn also to the words of Iggy Pop, who expresses same: “I don't know Johnny Rotten---but I'm sure... I'm sure he puts as much blood and sweat into what he does as Sigmund Freud did. You see, what sounds to you like a big load of trashy old noise is in fact the brilliant music of a genius: myself. (Laughs) And that music is so powerful that it's quite beyond my control and, uh... when I'm in the grips of it I don't feel pleasure and I don't feel pain, either physically or emotionally. Do you understand what I'm talking about? Have you ever...have you ever felt like that? When you just... when you just couldn't feel anything and you didn't want to either. You know? Like that. Do you understand what I'm saying, sir?”

As we can see, Iggy Pop isn’t putting what we’re talking about in words very well: because, goddamnit, that’s not what he does. But he refers to it—that feeling that comes from great music—and true musicians like Hazard command it: can create, can evoke That Feeling musically. This reality---this elusive but totally distinct dimension of music—is probably why so many people with intense backgrounds respond viscerally to metal… it represents That Feeling in terms that are as elusive as feelings themselves; it represents them in musical terms. We all get that we’re moshing, worshipping, the same affinity, more or less. It is never stated obviously, but it’s there.

What makes a great musician is very different from what makes a good writer. Writing comes naturally to me. I’ve also enjoyed metal/heavy music for much of my life, and have played guitar since I was eleven. While I played a DC basement or two in my teen years and can shred death metal riffs all day, I don’t have it the way Full of Hell guitarist Spencer Hazard does, of course not—and most don’t. Making good music is about more than just effort; it’s about more than just the ability to perform technically impressive acts. (I’ll never forget seeing Chon when I was around twenty, and thinking—no, knowing—that it sucked).

To be a truly great musician one has to engage with the actions of hearing, of selecting musically. One has to actively judge their melodic decisions in a creative way. That’s not a memorization of muscular feats that occur between the most “impressive” notes (or even the most musically minor or ominous, lest one sound rote). Being a great musician is more somatic—more to do with visceral attunements to the organs of one’s ears—than thinking, than writing. It’s more intuitive than speaking, or sculpting; there’s less analysis to it than YouTube’s dime-a-dozen gear-profiteers would have us believe. Full of Hell would sound like Full of Hell whether they played Line 6 combos, or the latest line up of Driftwood-whatever-the-fucks. There is not a formula for this thing; no combination of tubes can render such liberating filth. I think Hazard is a fully authentic musician… makes subjective choices about dissonance and assonance, and makes the right ones. As a result, the music of Full of Hell is like what Kierkegaard talks about as being great art, like Mozart. It apprehends the immaterial in immaterial terms—it “Scrapes the Divine”. It’s not even that tied up in being “heavy”, and so it is resultingly very heavy—isn’t that how this all started? See them for yourself—if you haven’t—and judge.

The first time I saw Full of Hell live was at the Brooklyn Monarch in, well, Brooklyn; before them Primitive Man played, and despite the fact that they’re the grimiest and most inventive doom band around, nobody stirred. (This may have been because everyone was stoned, because Brooklyn is full of soggy, elitist, crossed-arms hipster types, or because doom isn’t really moshing music: take your pick, but Primitive Man wasn’t to blame). When Full of Hell took the stage, a vortex of potent spew cleft the floor. There was a knot of energy forced---compelled---into the core of the space. Still, arms remained crossed. I remember thinking, and clearly, if this place doesn’t move, something horrible is fucked up.

Eventually, the militantly hip had no choice but to surrender. One guy opened the pit—as usual, a single spark igniting the powder keg. I was taken by how something subjective about Full of Hell’s tunes, something dissonant, slit the crust of the space and vented profundity. When they feel like it, the band is grindcore, death metal, or some craven pop-affected love child of Dinosaur Jr. and goblin-spawn—it boils down, it seems, to Hazard’s songwriting influence, diverse inspirations, and confidence of vision. It takes profundity to write such funereal dirges, but also to affect them with melodies as listenable (and… funky?) as what’s gleaned in tracks like Reeking Tunnels. Hazard, the band’s core, looks a bit like a sad, soulful Garfield. He is sober and enjoys rescuing odd little dogs with his wife. He does not have a body suit of tattoos or unironically wear leather vests, pins, or patches—but he makes some of the heaviest sounds around. Sometimes those sounds evoke Merzbow, and sometimes (at least a little) Husker Du or Sonic Youth. Here he talks about his life and process. Maybe we see, too, how he meets the divine in a divine medium. He’s quite like Mozart—or, as Iggy Pop would say, Sigmund Freud—in that way.

Spencer Hazard

RC: So, first, I wanted to talk a little bit about Coagulated Bliss in particular. And then I was thinking we'd move into some more philosophical questions about the band as entity and your philosophy as an artist, too… but in the context of Coagulated Bliss, it's been said many times in many other interviews that the album is largely about “coming back home” or getting back to one's roots. We can see that in some ways in the videos and with the album art. I'm wondering what that meant to you as a guitarist on the album.

SH: I mean, I've only ever lived outside of Ocean City for like… I lived in Philly for a year and a half. It's kind of hard for me to personally be like: I'm like “bringing it back to a small town” type thing, I guess. It's mainly like you said---it's less to do with like me personally---but Dylan (Dylan Walker) in the lyrics wanted to bring it home to a more---instead of being an all-encompassing thing---like with his lyrics, more of a tight knit, personal type-thing.

Because it's like, even though Dylan lives in central Pennsylvania, he still lives in a super tiny town. And we've pretty much all grown up in these---I don't want to say uncultured, because that's not true---and that's I would say offensive---could be offensive---to people around here.

---But it is like, we come from these areas where it's like… the scenes are very small with people, the scenes are very small with types of music and being open-minded with different types of music and stuff. And I think he just wanted to bring it back in; we've been all over the world in the last fifteen years and to kind of bring it close in such a wide lens to be more hyper focused on our actual “how we grew up” and “how we live currently”.

RC: Yeah potentially, like, unpretentious, you know?

SH: Yeah.

RC: And so with that, I'd love to hear some more about, I mean, obviously, there is a scene where you guys are from, in Pennsylvania. And of course, you guys were at Lurking Class (skateshop) just last night.

I was hoping you'd talk a little bit more about what that scene is like, and what it was like for you, going back as a developing artist.

SH: I mean---there's like, with local music, there's always kind of been ebbs and flows with it. I first started going to---not necessarily hardcore shows---but pop punk and emo and like, whatever punk garage type shows. I was, I would say 12 or 13. I first started going to shows just, you know, taking the bus for like $2 over the bridge from West Ocean City into Ocean City: going to local church halls or VFW halls. And I feel like our scene for a very long time was very closed-minded on things because Full of Hell…

I mean, I've always been into more extreme and---not necessarily more “out there” type music compared to my peers and my friends, that I'm still friends with---but it's like, we have a very different outlook on art and music and that kind of thing. And I've always felt like an outsider with the music I've done compared to the rest of the scene around here. And it's kind of been that way… I would say up until maybe the last five years I feel like. Yeah, the world shut down with COVID and stuff… but that also was a blessing in disguise where a lot of new kids were able to start different projects that they might have not put effort into because they might have not had time. And with that extra time, they might have been like, well, “I have time to do this, this, this and this” kind of thing.

---But for the most part, growing up, it was like a lot of like, I would say what people would describe as scene music and metalcore music and stuff. And there were a couple hardcore bands and I was in hardcore bands. But that was a very niche part of the audience.

---But like I said, in the last five or so years, and even with the show last night, it's honestly crazy that there was like 250 people at a local, you know, punk and hardcore show for how small of an area that we are. So it was very cool to see that many people there… that many people, I mean, it was mainly young kids I had never even seen before. I mean, people were being like, “Oh, I'm sure a lot of your friends are here.”

And I was just like, “I don't know almost any of these people here.” It was just such a young audience---I think that is a very healthy thing.

And with the skate shop, there's the skate shop and then another bar that's down the street from me like five minutes from my house that will… Jarhead’s (Jarhead Fertilizer) played there a couple times and stuff. ---But yeah, it's very much more diverse bands and audience compared to what there was with me first starting getting into music and first starting Full of Hell in 2009.

RC: Yeah, and potentially that’s social media too, you know, it takes people down these rabbit holes; people very quickly can find or get channeled into a really specific niche, you know, and then they end up finding stuff easily.

SH: And then of course, where social media is a double edged sword, because it's a situation where: yes, it's bringing out a lot more kids to shows, but then it's also bringing out bad people starting to come to shows as well being like… they see on the internet: I'm supposed to act like a hard ass or a dumb ass. And then you get that crowd coming to shows. And it's just… like I said, it's a good thing but there is a double edged sword.

RC: Yeah. And there was a little bit of that last night. I remember that one guy… and it makes you kind of wonder, you know, I mean, definitely there's a question to be asked about “how do I honor this culture without being a gatekeeper”? You know?

SH: Yeah. And I feel like I mean, I'm sure that is a problem everywhere and has always been a problem. I mean, like I said, I've gone to shows since I was, you know, a preteen. And of course, there's always been fights at shows.

And there's been situations of like, crews being at shows for hardcore shows and stuff. But I guess it's like with our area specifically, it is a much like tighter microscope on things because these kids, like you said, social media, their only vantage point is seeing how people act on social media and not having the, you know, ability to travel to these other cities and see how, necessarily, people act at shows or how people will regulate shows with---not necessarily fighting---but by being like, “hey, you need to be more respectful” kind of thing.

RC: Yeah, it's a fine line. It's an organized chaos.

SH: Yeah.

RC: And so with that… kind of you talked about seeing shows from a young age and they're relatively heavy. And that was, I think, a lot of that was a lot of the 2000s: there was a little bit more punk and a little bit more hardcore. And that's how a lot of us kind of came down the pipeline into other stuff.

But also, I was hoping you'd talk about… do you have memories of moments with bands where you were watching people on stage and you decided, “oh, that could be me” or “I could be doing that, or I want to”. What was that process like?

SH: I remember there was one show specifically. I mean the thing, like I said: I was always into… when my friends were getting into metalcore, I was still into punk and stuff.

And then, of course, eventually I got into Myspace music and metalcore just because that was the “sign of the times” kind of thing. And I didn't really stay into it that long. ---But I remember there's an in-person event.

---But then there's also seeing the Hellfest DVD, and seeing The Locust for the first time and being like… “oh, this is hilarious” at first---but then something being like: this actually… something is clicking with me. And then I think one of the first pivotal shows I ever went to was when I was 16, me and my friends, we went to the Auto Bar in Baltimore and (saw) Pig Destroyer, See You Next Tuesday, Daughters, and Coalesce.

---And I know there's been obviously there's, you know, stuff with Daughters that came out later on---but still seeing them for the first time as a 16 year old being like: this is the craziest thing I've ever seen in my whole life. And I feel like that show was a very pivotal moment for me as well.

RC: And Pig Destroyer in particular, they make the kind of music where potentially, as someone with emotions, looking at that, wanting to make art, it gives you permission to do things you didn't know you had permission to do.

SH: And that was… that show happened to be… I know Blake has passed away recently, but that was the first show with Blake doing noise as well. So seeing that was just like, “what the Hell is this guy doing” kind of thing? Because it was like… as a 16 year old being from a small town, you're not really exposed to stuff that extreme. I honestly first heard Pig Destroyer because my parents took me to the X Games because it was free one year in Philadelphia.

---And there was just some booth handing out sampler CDs and Pig Destroyer was on it and hearing songs from Prowler in the Yard at like twelve years old. I'm like: “I don't understand this at all”. But now looking back I'm like, I can't believe that was like my first exposure to stuff like that as like a 12 year old.

RC: Right. Yeah. ---But it's dense and it's rich. And there's some understanding that, you know, even at that age, even if the anger isn't there at that age… there's still kind of a mystery.

SH: Yeah, exactly.

RC: So, and then---kind of staying with this theme of talking about early history stuff---what was it like---because, of course, everybody brings their own level of talent to the band---and people have people have been in the band, most people since the beginning… and so I'm wondering what was it like for you to have the band come together?

SH: I mean, Full of Hell initially started like because I was playing with another group of people and that kind of imploded on itself. So we kind of just switched members around. And the first jam, we wrote songs for our first demo, but it was a completely different iteration… like, you know, completely different concept of the band. And it slowly morphed as we've matured and just got different influences and stuff.

---But we didn't find Dave until… I would say maybe two months into the band. And it was a situation where I was just like, I just knew he played drums and he wasn't even into grind or power violence or---he was just like---I remember I messaged him on Myspace and he was like 14. And I was like, “hey, do you want to join a band? Do you want to go on tour?” And he was like, “I'm 14.”

I was like, yeah, that's fine. ---And I just remember having a break at work and just sending him a list of hundreds of bands to be like: “check out all of these bands” kind of thing. So it's like he kind of grew up as a person and a musician, just being in a band and touring.

RC:That's amazing.

SH: Yeah.

RC: And for you, I mean, you were working a job at the time, where was the point where you kind of stepped off into the deep end and decided to commit yourself more to being a musician?

SH: Luckily, it's like, I've always just… my dad has a small time construction company, because infrastructure is a big deal in Ocean City. ---But he's always just had… we'll do remodeling and renovations and stuff like that. So I've always had the privilege of being able to come back to a job when I'm not doing band stuff full time. And it's like, if we have low periods where I'm not---we're not---recording or touring, I'll still do construction work part time just to make ends meet.

---But it's like, I mean, we were luckily able to start like---not fully living off of doing music---but I would say pretty early on, after our first, I think second or third European tour, but it still is like, you know, a little bit of money just to help with bills and paying off stuff. But fully being like, “we're going to do this full time”, I would say we started doing that after Trumpeting Ecstasy.

RC: Yeah, that that was a game changer, for sure.

And I'm also wondering, with the style of… and this gets into some Trumpeting Ecstasy stuff a little bit. ---But with the style of guitar that you play, it's of course, you know, quite unique and quite extreme. And so when you started… I mean, a lot of people start playing guitar, and they're plunking out Smoke On the Water or something---what was it like for you to decide, “I want to play in a heavy way”, instead of, you know, playing along with tabs, or just kind of playing the same patterns that everybody else plays? What was it like to decide that you wanted to play in a heavy way and then developing what your heavy guitar playing sounded like?

SH: I mean, I first started writing songs with bands when I would say I was like 15 or 16, even to the point of... I'm sure a bunch of kids, you know, will be in a garage and start, you know, writing songs with their friends and stuff.

---But I never---I only took, like, maybe a year of guitar lessons, and most of it didn't stick with me. And it's always---like I've said in interviews before, too---it's just like, I don't find myself to be a very proficient or technical guitar player. Because I just never had interest in theory or learning other people's songs and stuff.

It's always just been like: here's my skill set. And instead of making me stagnant with that I've been like: I'm going to push myself to at least try to be creative with the little bit of knowledge I have as a guitar player. And going back like, yes, of course, I wish there were certain aspects where I took the guitar more seriously. ---But for the most part, I think that has been advantageous for me kind of plateauing as like… a technical aspect of guitar and enforcing me to be more creative as a guitar player and being like: I don't like learning other people's songs.

It's always just felt tedious and annoying to me. It's always been way more rewarding and fun just to come up with stuff on my own.

RC: Yeah, and you're obviously a good songwriter. And you do have a very consistent kind of sound… I mean, even when we don't “know” the notes we're playing, there is a sense of, you know, this hand movement. Sometimes things are played just because they feel good, often they correspond with a certain sound. And so there is definitely a sound, the consistency through the records, even the early ones.

SH: And I… even like when I'm teaching Gabe---the new guitarist, he fills in for me overseas and stuff---he's our new second guitar player. Even when I'm trying to show him stuff where it's like, I don't… I might not see it as challenging because I wrote it.

And to me, I'm like, “Oh, it just makes sense to me.” But when I show it to him, he's like, “I don't understand what you're actually doing.” So it's almost like I stumbled into my own voice as a guitar---as like a technical guitar---player, because I'm kind of playing guitar so wrong, it comes off technical to other people.

RC: Yeah, totally. Like the dissonance or whatever. There's also some some stuff in there that I wanted to ask about… on Trumpeting Ecstasy, things go, of course, in a slightly more death metal tinted direction; the sound changes to being a little bit less grindcore. I mean, that also brings up a question for me of like, you know, maybe you decided, “hey, I want to add this death metal influence.” And you know, did you just figure out what those sounds were like messing around on the fretboard? Or were you looking at playing notes you found in other songs? How did you steer things in a death metal direction when so much of what you were doing had been intuitive, and it got a little more genre sculpted?

SH: I feel like it's like, with being into grind and punk and stuff, you kind of eventually find your way into bands like Assuck and stuff like that, where it is still punk and grind, but like, death metal tinged. And I just specifically remember even writing riffs and stuff for like, Rudiments (Rudiments of Mutilation) and the Merzbow collaboration and stuff and being like: “this is too death metal sounding if I play it this way”. And then eventually, just one day, I'm like: I’m putting myself in a box if I keep being like, “this is too this, this is too that”, as long as it sounds good to me, it’s a Full of Hell song.

… So that's why as well as like, instead of me being more self conscious of being like, “this doesn't fit the mold of what would sound like on Rudiments.” I'm like, who cares? It's my band, I can do whatever I want with it. So it was kind of like, naturally, you know, stop myself from being so self conscious about being like, “people are going to think it's too death metal.” I'm like, whatever.

RC: Yeah, that's the irony of making metal music or any kind of harsh or offensive art is you want it to be harsh and challenging. But then also, there can't be a recipe for that, because then that becomes paradoxical, you know?

SH: Yeah, it's… I feel like I would stifle myself if I was still like being like, “that's too metal sounding, that's too punk sounding, that's too this, that”, I'm like: as long as it feels right to me, then then it should be in a Full of Hell song.

RC: Yeah, of course, it's a very heavy band. And yet also, there are these cleaner sounds that have been been coming in lately with the Nothing collab. And then on the recent album, and it does make it I think, it does make it more challenging and heavier---in a way, you know?

SH: Mm-hmm.

RC: Just moving into some stuff about, more generally, the band itself. There's of course this conception people have where metal is about, you know, Satanism or devils or devil worship. And in some cases, it's like a funny joke.

And in other cases, you know, people take it very seriously. And just because the band is named Full of Hell, and the religious and demonic imagery is such a prominent part of the band's aesthetic: what does Hell mean in the context of Full of Hell? And what is the impetus behind that kind of insistence or focus?

SH: Well, like, the name comes from: it was, you know, not any real thought into it. It was just: we named it after an Entombed song because we're like, “oh, we like Entombed.” There's no deeper meaning behind the name. As far as like the religious aspects that can go back to relating to Hell and stuff like that… we have demonic shirts, but that's mainly, you know, it's like: we find these designers and we're like, “that's a cool design.” We aren't ever like, “hey, make it evil-looking”, that's just corny.

RC: It doesn't seem like that.

SH: But as far as the religious imagery that Dylan presents, I think he we look at it almost like… it's almost like a “self tug of war” of, “what does faith internally mean”… to a person but also to… at the same time, it's just like, so much to do with faith is very evil, as well.

Because it is like, I mean, look at how much religion just in this country hurts people. No matter if they believe it or not, they're put under these guidelines and stuff because of what someone else believes. And just because they don't have a say in it, they have to follow what someone else believes because of religion---whether it be like, you know, like abortion, whatever kind of thing. It's just inherently evil.

RC: Yeah, it's potentially reclaiming a certain kind of relationship with the unknown, which is what you guys are doing when you're making this music, you're kind of---

SH: ---It's, I mean, even going back to the religious aspect, you see all these laws that have even passed in the last week or so: kids are forced to have to learn the Bible in certain states. And that's obviously bullshit.

And it's like, religion should be a good thing for personal people, like in their own personal beliefs, you know---but yet again, people use it as a tool for evil or a tool. And put it upon other people. Like I said, even if they don't personally believe it, you're put into an aspect where you're forced to have to deal with it, because that's what someone in power believes.

RC: Yeah, exactly. And I think that could also be an aspect of coming from a rural place or a small town too, is that there's a little I think---there is often, I have a similar or somewhat similar background---there is a sense of religion playing a potentially positive role in some people's lives.

And then also, of course, on the larger scale, you know, you move through your existence and you mature and there's disillusionment and development there… and those two things are in a relationship with each other.

SH: Well, that's---it's another thing (about), going back, to like a small town---I was talking about this with my wife, where me and my wife live is a pretty farm backwoods, like redneck-ish area.

… And the one gas station we always go to, it's like half the people that work there are just like---it's either rednecks or there's a couple trans cashiers---and like, gay cashiers and stuff like that. And it's just like---but they live in harmony. And I think the main issue is, most of these people are fine with living in harmony---but then they see something on the news that's telling them being like: “but actually, you should be afraid of these people.”

---But it's just so confusing to see that… being like: they can work alongside these people and tolerate them and understand from a personal aspect that there's nothing wrong with these people. They're just trying to live their lives. ---But then, on the other hand, the news is telling other people, “No, these people are inherently evil. They're out to destroy your children out to destroy society.” So it's very interesting to see. It's like, you know, we're not a very big city---progressive city---but seeing that small microcosm of people interacting with each other is very interesting.

RC: Yeah, yeah. I mean, it is a microcosm. And there's, of course, like a very, it's injustice in real time, you know, seeing the dark side of human nature elicited by something mechanical.

SH: Yeah.

RC: Which is… it's the best thing to protest artistically.

SH: Yeah.

RC: Which actually brings me really nicely into the next question here, which is---and you know, some of it's been addressed just now---but do you feel like your work with the band is more of a compulsion? Or is it more of a mission? Are you just kind of doing it? (Because that's what you do, and it's what you would have to do regardless of the effect)? Or is there like a kind of a goal in mind?

SH: I think it's kind of both. ---Because it’s like, anytime I go out and like, try to write a record, I can't come up with anything.

---But if I'm like, just sitting around messing with a guitar, I'll come up with a ton of riffs. So it's almost like: I know I need to come up with music. But if I put that pressure on myself, I can't actually.

And my biggest fear of being a professional musician is stagnation. It's just like: I never want to get to a point where with the band where it just feels like it's stagnant---whether it be creatively, or touring or anything like that. So it's just like: I guess there are elements of compulsion.

---But there's also two elements of like, I need to work hard to… if I'm going to make this succeed.

RC: Yeah, absolutely. So then also, there's this element of, of course, this is very cathartic for your audience members. ---And I'm wondering if if it's cathartic to you, and if so, what the catharsis is venting?

SH: I mean, I feel like it's hard to describe because there are elements of… I mean, I'm doing something very unique and fulfilling as like, quote unquote, a “career”. ---But also too there is the element of… now, there are parts where it's like: it does feel like a job. And, you know, there's the stress that comes along with being like, “I'm doing something creative, as a job; this could end at any moment”, or this could just, you know, people could stop caring. So there's a hard balance to it, because it's like: I don't want to complain and be like, “this sucks”, like, “I don't want to do this job”, because, I mean, I do construction, and that does actually suck, you know? ---But there is the element of stress of being like, I know, I'm in a very touchy career field where it's like: it could end at any moment from not even something internal, in the band, but just people being like, “Oh, we've moved on” kind of thing. Right?

RC: It's precarious.

SH: Yeah.

RC: And then it's a double edged sword, because, you know, to be a musician to be so successful to be making even, you know, some of your income doing that is in and of itself, supposedly, you know, an opportunity for gratitude. So that's very much a thing.

And then there's also, I think, a question of, you know, people in the band are settling down in some ways. …And they're, you know, they're growing in their personal lives. I wonder if you're thinking about the longevity of the band or the trajectory of the band.

SH: I mean, we always, like---even as we started---as a band we always looked at bands as influences, not even like, say, musically, but as how they operate.

And that's always been very inspirational… looking at a band like Converge, looking at a band like the Melvins and stuff like that. So it's like, yes, we take influence from their art, but we also take influence from being like: “how are these bands able to stay creative for so many years, stay relevant for so many years”, and like---stay not like---they don't tour that much, but they're still able to maintain, you know, a fan base and still tour when they need to, kind of thing. So: we've always looked at those bands as inspiration and how we would want Full of Hell to operate as we go along. You know still be creative, still be musicians---but also still to have normal adult lives.

RC: Yeah, there's a sense too, with the sustainability piece. It's such intense music, of course. And I know that you're a straight edge guy.

I have to think that you guys are sober for large portions of the tour, or something like that.

SH: I mean I am, but I wouldn't say everybody else. (Laughs)

RC: Yeah. It's impressive to me to watch and to see that that level of intensity just continue in the way that it does. Because there is an energy that comes from the band.

And I think to speak to the earlier point about, you know, a younger crowd, maybe not understanding in a conscious way some of the specific cultural faux pas. There is something that people sense, even if they're new to the scene, where if that music is going to move them, it does move them. There's something---I think---intuitive about it.

SH: Yeah, for sure.

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