Without question, Dez Fafara is a busy guy. When Revolver connects with the Coal Chamber and DevilDriver frontman, he explains he's been up since 4:30 a.m. — like most days — working out business details for the roster of bands he manages, including Exodus, Cradle of Filth and Jinjer, through the Oracle Management company he runs with his wife, Anahstasia. He's also been readying a deal to bring his SunCult line of surfwear into Tillys department stores.
Back in the metal realm, DevilDriver is gearing up for the spring release of their bombastic Dealing With Demons II, while the reformed Coal Chamber are about to hit stages for the first time in eight years. Oh, and he's got a two-volume autobiography coming out soon, too.
"I've got a lot of stuff going on," the multitasker admits, before imparting some sage advice. "Here's the thing: Take it all on, because one day you're going to be in a hospital bed, and you're going to wish that you didn't fuck off a big opportunity to just stay home. Take advantage of the minutes and hours you're given, because we don't know when the clock is up."
While optimistic in scope, his outlook also comes from a place of unfortunate experience. Fafara has seized the day his whole life through — from building skateboard ramps as an energetic youth; to law-defying, late-night postering runs at the start of Coal Chamber; to his current wave of empire-building plans — but the past few years have, understandably, ground everything to a halt. Naturally, the pandemic pulled DevilDriver off the road, and left the band unable to promote 2020's Dealing With Demons I. Then, Fafara came down with a nearly fatal bout of coronavirus in the fall of 2021.
"I almost died from COVID, so I had to take this [past] year off to heal my heart," he says, the statement landing in a literal sense — while perhaps also alluding to the mending of fences within the Coal Chamber camp, and the reflective tack of Dealing With Demons II.
Coal Chamber's initial late-Nineties/early-Aughts run delivered blessedly unhinged nu-metal anthems like "Loco," but those highs were also clouded by drug use and onstage fisticuffs. As they've matured, and "got their shit together," Coal Chamber now seem to have learned how to conjure aural chaos without inciting interpersonal calamity.
Dealing With Demons II, meanwhile, finds a contemplative Fafara delivering rage-intensified lyrics on betrayal and broken relationships. As he looked back on an extraordinary life through the autobiography project — which begins this year with Loco: Chaos, Calamity and Coal Chamber — he also managed to work out his demons through DevilDriver. "This is my last record where I'm poignantly against the human race, like, 'Hey, I'm talking about you, here, motherfucker!'" Fafara exclaims. "My next stuff is actually on an unbelievable spiritual level. It's completely different than anything I've ever written… beyond optimistic."
Ahead of Dealing With Demons II, Coal Chamber's much-anticipated reunion dates and the publication of Loco, Fafara filled us in on his crazy life.
HOW NOSTALGIC OR REFLECTIVE OF A PERSON WERE YOU PRIOR TO TAKING ON THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY PROJECT?
DEZ FAFARA Not one bit. There's that old saying: If you don't know your past, you don't know your future. Fucking wrong! The minute you start looking back, it's almost impossible to start to move forward. I took no time to look back until Anahstasia got me a two-book deal: The first one is my life when I was young through Coal Chamber, and the next one is the DevilDriver years.
It was an incredible process to speak to a co-writer [author Joel McIver], extremely reflective. A couple times, I had tears in my eyes. That doesn't come easy for me. I also got pissed about a few things. There'll be some insane revelations within that book that obviously I'm not going to give up to you right now… But people are going to get an honest, open look at who Bradley James Fafara is. I think they deserve that.
Look, it's hard enough for a band to have two years of a career … I've been in it since almost 1993-94, and I say that meaning label interest and signing deals. Before that I was a drummer in a psychobilly band called the Screaming Wolves. I'm a psychobilly, punk rock, gothic club kid way the fuck before I'm a metal guy. The only reason I went into metal is because it was vicious, and punk rock was starting to become blink-182. I found somebody in [Miguel] Meegs [Rascón], my guitar player from Coal Chamber, that loved Sisters of Mercy as much as he loved Motörhead and White Zombie. So, we clicked.
HAD THIS LATEST COAL CHAMBER REUNION BEEN PERCOLATING IN THE BACKGROUND FOR AWHILE?
Nobody was talking about it or thinking about it, but my wife actually reached out to them [when I was sick] and said, "My husband, my best friend, could possibly be on his deathbed with COVID. We just had antibody shots in his stomach; he's starting Ivermectin. We're hoping he comes out of this." I had to live downstairs in my house for seven months because I couldn't make it up my stairs. If you've ever seen me onstage … think about that guy, and then think about the guy who can't even make it up his fucking stairs because his heart is giving him so many problems after COVID.
The band started texting me on a daily basis. I think it was Meegs that said, "Fuck, I'd love to do a show with you, bro. I love you." I said, "You know what, love is the law. So, we gotta let everything go… But the way it's going to go, I'm not going to talk one bit of business with you. My wife runs the show. She's the manager." I'd done all the business for Coal Chamber: I booked [shows]; I wrote the lyrics; I got the tours; I dealt with the agents and managers — and it became too much for me at that point in my life. I just wanted to be a singer.
COAL CHAMBER FIRST PLAYED THE SUNSET STRIP IN THE EARLY NINETIES. THIS WAS AFTER HAIR METAL, DURING GRUNGE, AND NU-METAL WAS RISING. WHAT WAS THE SCENE LIKE AT THE WHISKY AND THE TROUBADOUR BACK THEN?
Coal Chamber came out as a band called She's in Pain, and that was 1990-93. Our first show as Coal Chamber was in '93. The [Strip] was completely dead. The hair scene had completely killed everything, and when grunge came in … really, the Sunset Strip didn't give a fuck. I never went to clubs in L.A. during that heyday of Pearl Jam, Nirvana and Hole … and I never saw people running around with flannels on in L.A.
But there was a very small band from Huntington Beach called Korn that would bus people up to their shows in L.A. The scene went from hair metal to this weird conglomeration of Coal Chamber, Static-X, System of a Down, Korn and Deftones. So, I think L.A. went through growing pains after the hair-metal thing, and probably said to the masses, "The next scene we pick up on in L.A. is going to be weird, diverse and cool." And that scene became nu-metal.
WHAT ELSE DO YOU REMEMBER ABOUT THOSE EARLY DAYS?
I remember getting in a big white van with five-gallon buckets of paste, big paint brushes, and 5-by-20 posters. We would roll up and down Sunset and Melrose, and we would cover all the movie posters. Terminator 2? Cover it! We would go home to shower and barely be able to take that shit off our hands.
We would put up 250 posters in a night, so much so that I had the cops call my house and say, "If you do this again, we're going to come to your house and arrest you." I'd say, "You don't know where I live," and hang up on them. I was stupid. Of course they knew where the fuck I live. They're the LAPD.
THE FIRST VOLUME OF YOUR AUTOBIOGRAPHY IS ENTITLED LOCO, AFTER THE FIRST TRACK AND SINGLE FROM COAL CHAMBER'S DEBUT. WHAT DOES THIS SONG REPRESENT TO YOU IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF YOUR CAREER?
We were playing the Whisky and [most] of the crowd would be what was called the South Gate Crew, a Hispanic crew that if you fucked with 'em, you'd end up with a broken nose and no teeth. We had violent shows in the beginning. So, "Loco" mostly represents the culture that came to support us the most. We wanted to give back to them. That song's what broke us open.
THE VIDEO FOR "LOCO" AND THE COAL CHAMBER ALBUM COVER BOTH FEATURED THAT NOW-ICONIC ICE-CREAM TRUCK. WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THAT?
That was actually a guy that cruised around my [neighborhood] all the time. Me and Meegs used to run out of my little one-bedroom apartment and grab an ice-cream cone, and we got to know the guy. He allowed us to use it. He was just a really cool old man, and said, "Don't mess up my decals; don't spray-paint anything on the truck." This is actually the truck that cruises around as we're writing music [for the first album].
HOW MANY OF YOU LIVED TOGETHER AT THE TIME?
All of us! I had a tiny, 600-square-foot apartment in Hollywood. Meegs ended up moving in; [bassist] Rayna [Foss] ended up living in the kitchen area. And then [drummer] Mikey [Cox] actually started staying with us, too. … He was 17 when he joined the band. He did an interview for the book, and coming from the eyes of a 17-year-old, it was a culture shock. We were all living in that apartment at the time, trading Top Ramen and going out every single night with backpacks of tapes. We would just give away 50 cassette tapes a night. We were our own street team.
COAL CHAMBER SURPRISED FANS WHEN YOU ANNOUNCED THE FIRST REUNION SHOW AT THE SICK NEW WORLD FESTIVAL WITH SYSTEM OF A DOWN, KORN AND MANY OTHERS. A SECOND SHOW WAS JUST BOOKED AT THE BLUE RIDGE ROCK FESTIVAL. ARE YOU PLANNING MORE GIGS FOR 2023?
We are! Of course. Here's the thing: I cannot see how we can fight now. They're off drugs. I'm open to being less private, and I don't handle any of the business anymore. There's no real way we can get at each other's throats. It's not like, "Bro, you're trying to fuck my girlfriend," or, "Where's my drugs?" There's none of those conversations to be had.
IF CHAOS HAD INFORMED THE BEGINNING OF THE BAND, WHAT WILL COAL CHAMBER BE LIKE WITHOUT IT?
First of all, from the first note of rehearsal it's chaos. From the first minute [we'll be] onstage, it'll be aggressive, all-out bash time. I won't go onstage if I can't be that way. So, the chaos is there [in the music], but the chaos behind the scenes is not. That's what's amazing, to see that water fountain flowing smooth, man. The water's flowing over the gems, and they're sparkling. But when we get on the stage, it's fucking all-out war. Like, "Go fuck yourself, here we come."
CAN YOU SENSE A DIFFERENCE IN YOURSELF WHEN YOU'RE PERFORMING WITH EITHER COAL CHAMBER OR DEVILDRIVER ONSTAGE, OR IS IT ALL THE SAME DEZ?
I think the Dez of DevilDriver completely blanks out to the point where if I'm onstage and a guy comes up to hug me or fight me, I'm so blanked out that I could kill you and not remember it. In Coal Chamber … the word "reserved" is not right. I'm just as vicious with Coal Chamber, but I'm in a weirder, goth headspace.
DEVILDRIVER ARE GETTING READY TO RELEASE DEALING WITH DEMONS II THIS SPRING. THE RECORD'S "BLOODBATH" TOUCHES ON THE CONCEPT OF KEEPING THE BEAST AT BAY. HOW MUCH BETTER ARE YOU AT DEALING WITH YOUR STRUGGLES THESE DAYS?
I think everybody has the tendency to beat their heads against the floorboards. Here's the thing: I've been through a lot. I don't care if you have a billion dollars, you're going to have death and sickness around you; you'll fall down and break your ankle; your friend will commit suicide. I've had all of those and more. And in the last three years: going through my wife's [battle with] cancer; I fell down the stairs, twisted my ankle and was laid up for months; I almost died from COVID.
But I handle pressure as I always did, which is like, "Fuck you, I'm going to get over this. I'm going to pick myself up, and I'm going to rise like a phoenix." That's through anything. It didn't matter if it was a teacher in elementary school tying me to my chair during one class, which nowadays she would have gone to jail for doing…
SORRY, WHY DID YOUR TEACHER DO THAT?
Well, I have ADHD. I had problems all throughout school. Teachers are tremendously slow, and they talk to you tremendously dumbed-down. You're in this room with fluorescent lights, there's no vibe going on, and they expect kids to learn. You've got a kid that has ADHD, that only sleeps five hours a night … and I'm jumping out of my skin. I'm getting out of my chair; I'm going to get a drink; I can't focus; I'm fucking with the kid behind me.
The teacher just got fed up and tied me to a goddamn chair. When my mom found out about it, she went insane. I bring that up to say I rose through that. There's actually a lyric I have in DevilDriver [on 2005's "End of the Line"] which is "dust myself off and go it again."
YOUR FATHER, TIGER FAFARA, WAS AN ACTOR. DID HE SHARE ANY WISDOM ABOUT THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY AS YOU WERE ENTERING IT?
No. My father was an actor — he's got a mile-long IMDB — but I was never raised with him. My mom sent me away to go live with him for a summer, but that was it. My stepfather, who recently passed, raised me on a jobsite. That guy was Clint Eastwood mixed with John Wayne. I was raised in a blue-collar working environment, where the sun is up and we're going to work. I ended up being a bricklayer, working with Hells Angels and shit.
THINKING OF THAT WORK ETHIC, PLUS THE ACCUMULATED EXPERIENCE OF 30 YEARS WITH COAL CHAMBER AND DEVILDRIVER, HOW DOES THAT ALL TRANSLATE TO MANAGING VETERAN BANDS LIKE EXODUS, OR RISING ACTS LIKE JINJER OR GROUNDLIFT, THROUGH THE ORACLE?
The advice has always been simple, because I got shitty advice before I had my first record deal. … I'll give you a brief synopsis: There was a minute where I'd hurt my back on the jobsite, and I had to find something to go into that I loved. My mom had a friend that was a hairdresser, and I saw the life that that guy led, and it was 10 girlfriends, a lot of money and great cars. So, I went into that.
I was working in Beverly Hills before I got my record deal. I could name a million stars that I worked with — or Nancy Reagan, with her security standing next to me to make sure I didn't do anything [untoward] — but one of the guys that came in a lot was Paul Stanley. Keep in mind, I had KISS all over my walls; I was in the KISS Army. Paul came in and I said, "Hey Paul, we got a record deal! I don't know if I'll be around here much longer, so great working with you." And bro said, "You don't want to do that, Brad. You're going to hate it. It's long hours. You're going to hate this life." And this is one of my fucking heroes telling me not to go for it! I gave that guy the middle finger when he walked out.
To answer your question, what I tell Groundlift, or older guys like Exodus, is put your head down in the wind and keep running. Until your legs are chopped off, keep running. Do not give up your dream for anyone else.
