I was born in the shadow of the Mont Blanc mountain in France. My dad was a comely ski instructor and a deaf Italian Sign Language/French Sign Language interpreter. He took up the drums when he was young in a naive attempt to get through to his deaf father, but at some point, he ended up leaving my mom for a deaf Italian stripper (who else can get through that bull-shit music they play in those strip clubs all night?). I was pissed and focused my anger listening to punk and metal from the 1970s.

My mom was a ski instructor but she died while attempting the world’s only triple-black-diamond run. Suddenly, I didn’t have too much going for me, but the administrator of the Chamonix-Mont-Blanc ski resort allowed my punk/metal band to perform for skiers at a warming hut/chalet halfway up the mountain. As you might guess, the stuffed-shirt crowd didn’t receive this type of music in such an intimate venue, and was even blamed for initiating an avalanche or two.

While I was playing there, a guy named Jorg Nillsen saw me while on holiday… said he was a club promoter from Norway who saw ‘pain’ in my drumming. He convinced me to go to Oslo with him and he got me playing in the burgeoning Scandinavian death metal scene.

Then I played with several bands, but soon grew frustrated by the lack of chicks at concerts there. When I couldn’t take it anymore, snuck aboard an oil tanker in search of richer life experiences. Somehow I lost my footing on deck during a storm, and found myself emotionally, spiritually, and literally adrift in the frigid North Sea. That sucked big time and I remember thinking that this was it as I slipped below the water.

The next thing I remember, I was on some luxury yacht. Turned out to be owned by a rich-ass Soviet guy named Alexei Orlov. It was crewed by 16 gorgeous blondes who were surprisingly proficient sailors… among other talents. I sure needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation at that point.

I hung out on the boat for nearly a year until we dropped anchor near Los Angeles and found my way to the Sunset Strip. The Russian dude gave me some cash to get going and told me to follow my dreams. Most of the money went up my nose. I played with some shitty bands in LA, until I met up with Scotty Rokkett and eventually found my way into Metal Justice.

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