Mark was grateful for the job and excited to help bring bands to the label. I sent him out to Houston to see a band called Tangier. Hurricane Hugo had just swept through the northeastern Caribbean, causing extensive damage, but the airline didn’t think it would progress as rapidly up the southeastern United States as it did. Mark’s plane took off, but it had to be rerouted to Dallas to avoid the storm. When he landed, he called to let me know the Tangier gig was a wash and ask me if there was anyone in Dallas worth seeing. I told him he should check out Pantera and gave him the contact number I had for the band.
Mark called, and their drummer, Vinnie Paul, answered the phone. Mark said he was from ATCO and would love to check out the band’s show that night. Pantera didn’t have an actual show booked, but Vinnie told him they were scheduled to play at some girl’s birthday party at a Mexican restaurant in Fort Worth. He told Mark to show up if he was interested and gave him the address.
At about 11:30 that night, my home phone rang.
‘Derek, this is Mark! I’m sorry to call you so late, but I had to let you know that I saw Pantera, and they were the best band I’ve ever seen in my whole life!’
I told him I was happy to hear it. I hoped his enthusiasm confirmed my thoughts that these guys were ready for a deal and I should strike before other labels came sniffing around. At the same time, I had some reservations. Mark was a rookie, and his effusiveness could have come from his excitement about being on his first real scouting assignment.
The next week, I flew to Texas to see Pantera at a club in Arlington. Within three songs, I had become a fan beyond a fan. Phil was such an incredible frontman, and Darrell had that X-factor that could never be scientifically manufactured. He was a whizz on guitar, and his sound was so thick and heavy, with a crunch so vicious I thought the speakers in his amp would burst. He loved playing, and it showed. As aggressive as the riffs were, and as wild as his solos could be, he injected joy into every note. He wasn’t just a guitar hero, he was a petroleum-fueled character, and his outrageous personality rang through his fingers and out to the world. He was a star.
The strong connection between Darrell and his brother, drummer Vinnie Paul, kept the music fist-tight, and Phil brought an untamed, sometimes unhinged quality to the band. They had grown and become more aggressive and exciting than they were when they formed as a glammy metal band who worshipped Van Halen and Ratt. Now, they were more like Metallica crossed with Judas Priest, but with a meaner Southern bite. I knew they would only get meaner and better. So, we signed them.
The band wanted Ozzy Osbourne producer Max Norman to work with them on their first major label album. Max flew to Texas to see a show and felt they had promise, but before he had already accepted a gig to produce a new album by ex-Dokken guitarist George Lynch’s new band, Lynch Mob, and he couldn’t do both records at the same time. We didn’t have the budget to match the offer George made him, so Max had to back out of the Pantera gig.
This turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. Darrell liked the guitar sounds on a pair of albums by Overkill and Metal Church that were both produced by Terry Date, so we gave him a call. It worked out perfectly, and they would end up going back to Terry for every album until they made their very last one, 2000’s Reinventing The Steel.
Terry was cheerful, easygoing, and open to any ideas the band had about improving their sound. Pantera were obsessive about being as heavy as a tub of mercury yet having each note ring out with lethal clarity. Having played hundreds of club shows over the years, they knew how to set the dials to maximize their sound, and Darrell was a master of his gear, setting his amps with lots of high and low tone but practically no midrange (‘scooping the mids,’ as it’s known) to achieve a devastating rhythmic crunch as well as a piercing quality that made his guitar leads stand out at any volume.
Aside from honing their sound live, Darrell and Vinnie had spent plenty of time learning the ropes with their dad, country artist and producer Jerry Abbott, in his studio, Pantego Sound. Before they started working with Terry, they sent me the demos for ‘Cowboys From Hell,’ ‘Walk,’ and some other tracks, and they sounded great—incredibly tight, galvanized, and well-mixed. It was a great starting point.
Terry recorded Cowboys From Hell with the band at their dad’s studio, fine-tuning their demo sound to make them street-lethal. After recording a take, he’d sit down with Darrell and bassist Rex Brown, slowing down the analogue tape and listening to the playback to make sure every drum beat, bass note, and guitar riff were perfectly synchronized. If they weren’t, they’d do it again. They were that consumed with becoming the most precise metal band ever.
Considering how much they loved drinking, smoking weed, and partying hard, it’s amazing that Pantera were able to resort to muscle memory and make their recordings so tight, even when they swaggered and grooved. The band’s wild streak went hand-in-hand with the rowdy, raucous music they made. Whether they were tracking a song, inventing mixed drinks, making weird sci-fi videos, or taunting poor Terry (who responded incredibly well to their devious pranks, even when they stole his rental car to tear up and terrorize the neighborhood, then returning it severely damaged), Pantera were filled with childlike glee and impish joy. I told Terry that as long as they remained dedicated, productive, tight, and musically exceptional, and didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t care what they did for fun. I’d even foot the bill for a few trashed rental cars. But I had seen too many bands destroyed by their own indulgences, and I made it clear that in no way would I put up with Pantera’s shenanigans if it impaired their performances. I urged Terry to make sure they were clean and sober when they recorded. As precise as the music was, I can’t guarantee it was all recorded sober. But that’s rock’n’roll.
Some of Pantera’s pranks were overblown and even dangerous, but they weren’t mean-spirited. They loved to ‘bust a nut,’ as they put it, and if that meant daring crew members or other musicians to consume used cigarettes in their beer, paying unwary friends to eat everything on a deli tray that had been pissed on, drawing penises in Sharpie on the faces of revelers who passed out, or throwing firecrackers at other musicians asleep in the bunk, it was all part of the revelry. They were absolutely authentic. What you saw was what you got.
I loved Pantera, and I was also their label head, which meant checking in on them in the studio and hanging out with them backstage. Knowing their reputation for tomfoolery and hearing their aggressive music, I was a little nervous about socializing with them. I figured I would be completely out of my element on the party front, and I didn’t want to be held down and have to slink home with Sharpie penises drawn on my face. I hoped to talk to them about music and touring, which I felt was an important part of exposing them to new audiences. While bands like Nirvana, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and Smashing Pumpkins were starting to pave the way for a changing heavy music scene, MTV and radio still weren’t exactly gung-ho about thrash metal. But that left an opening for a rowdy, bombastic sound kids weren’t hearing elsewhere.
I went backstage after a show in New York to hang out with the band, and the party was already raging. Darrell and Vinnie were passing around shots of Black Tooth Grin, which I later found out was a Darrell invention consisting of Seagram’s Seven with just a splash of Coca-Cola (they later upped the formula to Royal Crown when they got some money). They greeted me with warm handshakes and handed me a shot. Figuring it would help ingratiate me with the band so I wouldn’t be seen as a corporate teetotaler, I downed the drink. My throat was on fire. Darrell handed me another. I finished that as well. When I regained my ability to speak, I told them how great they were onstage and how well their sound would carry in a huge venue. Vinnie slapped me on the back like I was a high school buddy. I felt included, but as the alcohol went to my brain and I started to get lightheaded, I thought, If I carry on like this, I won’t be around tomorrow. I’ll die right here!