Page 42 - Metal Hammer Issue 334 - UK (May 2020)

DAVE MUSTAINE
The band cancelled tour dates and put the
brakes on a new record so Dave could begin
a brutal treatment regime, resting at his farm
in the rolling hills of nearby Franklin between
blasts of radiation and IV chemo drips. The
worst, he says, is over. “I’ll have to do another
MRI soon and check in with the doctor
regularly, three years, five years. But the cool
thing is, my voice came back even better than
before. I think the treatment shrunk whatever
was on my vocal cord that was making it hard
to sing. I’d seen pictures of my voice box and
there was some kind of bubble on the flap
that was giving me trouble. Cyst, tumour,
nodule, whatever the fuck it was. But that’s
gone now, and they say long as I don’t do
anything stupid, I should be good for the rest
of my career. I know once you get cancer you’re
never really out of the woods, but if the process
doesn’t scare you into changing your lifestyle,
then shame on you.”
ave is no stranger to injuries
and pain. He suffered career-
threatening nerve damage to his
left arm during a 2002 stint in
a Texas rehab, and a decade later, underwent
emergency surgery for spinal stenosis –
whiplash, if you will – resulting in titanium
implants in his neck. Flashing his trademark
maniacal smile, Dave insists he felt no fear in
the face of death.
“I already died once,” he says, referencing his
1993 overdose on Valium. “I don’t remember
anything, though. No light or tunnel or any of
that shit. I respect death but I’m not living my
life in fear. There was a little when I first found
out that I had cancer, but it wasn’t so much
about dying, as not being able to use my gift
anymore, to play guitar or sing. That really
shook me. To be inconvenienced is one thing.
It’s something else to lose your gift.”
Dave leans in. His steely glare, coupled with
the white beard and wild hair, gives him the
appearance of some Old Testament prophet
of doom. “When they told me that my arm
was 80% and I would never play guitar again,
I thought, ‘You have no idea who you’re talking
to. I will absolutely play again, and it’ll be
a matter of days, not weeks.’ There’s a couple
things I still can’t do, but I feel like I can play
almost as good as I used to. Going through that
thing with my arm was helpful. It gave me the
courage to face any kind of medical problem
I might have down the road. I’m going to do
everything they say and if there’s blood, I can
handle it. I’ve seen my own blood before.”
We ask about the darkest days, if his
reputation causes people to expect an
unrealistic level of strength. Dave fidgets with
his shoelace. Ruffles the pup sweetly. Reaches
“MY VOICE
CAME BACK
EVEN BETTER”
DAVE MUSTAINE
42 METALHAMMER.COM
for another piece of gum before the reply.
“I think people do expect me to be invincible.
It is a lot of pressure,” he admits. “But when
you come out on the other side victorious, they
cheer even louder. I like being a man of the
people. That might sound corny, but it’s true.
The hardest part was having to let others take
care of me. I’ve always been so independent
that even if I do need help, I’m not going to let
anyone know. But overall, chemo wasn’t as
ugly for me as it is for a lot of people. I had
a couple of days where I got really sick and
threw up, but that was it. I tried to be upbeat.
When I would go in for treatment, I’d talk with
the other patients, try to be encouraging.”
The thrash titan was forced to miss the
band’s inaugural MegaCruise in October,
with his daughter, Electra, stepping in to
represent the family. Upon completion of
treatment, Dave was able to return for the
Killing Road tour with Five Finger Death Punch
in January. While on stage at the SSE Arena
in Wembley, he announced that the cancer
was in complete remission.
“Actually, I think I mentioned it from the
first show of the tour,” says Dave. “If not
Helsinki, then Stockholm for sure. I wanted
the fans to know that I’m OK and how great
the crew has been. And for sure, I want to tell
the truth and let everyone know how much
I prayed through this whole ordeal. Not just
like, ‘Oh, yeah, thanks, God.’ But that I really,
seriously prayed.”
Christian for nearly two decades,
Dave has always been vocal about
his beliefs. While discussing the
rol
e faith played in his recovery,
he pauses, raking fingers through his beard,
measuring his words. “After growing up as
a Jehovah’s Witness, there was a time that
I hated the concept of anything that I had to
answer to. The church disfellowshipped my
sister, Debbie, and I was the only one who
would sit and listen to her cry. It flipped me
out and all I wanted to do was get back at the
people who hurt my sister,” Dave explains.
“But now, I try to keep my prayers pretty
gentle. I don’t pray for anyone to get hurt or
get what’s coming to them, only for God’s will
and that he would help me do what I need to
do. To me, prayer is just an open, honest, easy
conversation like you’re talking to your dad.
Essentially, that’s what God is supposed to be,
our Father, right? So that makes it easy for me
to engage in prayer.”
Asked to elaborate, Dave adds, “In the
Bible, the Pharisees liked to pray in public
so everybody could see them. They thought
the louder they prayed, the more pious they
would seem, like it’s an indication of their
righteousness. For me, righteousness is
something that’s exhibited through consistent
behaviour that’s Godly in nature. You sum up
the gospels with the Golden Rule. Helping
others, no matter what. There’s this old song
by the Circle Jerks called Wonderful.” Dave
sings the chorus of the 80s punk classic.
Romeo perks up, cocking an ear in his master’s