Death Punch'd: Surviving Five Finger Death Punch's Metal Mayhem
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From the cofounder of Five Finger Death Punch, a fascinating inside account of one of the most successful heavy-metal bands of the past decade, and a revealing personal journey through the wild highs and terrifying lows of the rock and roll lifestyle—a wry and rollicking tale of music, addiction, and recovery.
Hailed by the New York Times as one of the most unexpectedly consistently popular bands on the rock charts, Five Finger Death Punch has become the new heavyweight champ of the metal scene. In this high-energy memoir, Jeremy Spencer, the band’s cofounder and drummer, takes us onstage and behind the scenes, on tour and into the studio to tell the band’s story and his own.
Death Punch’d is a detailed in-depth account of the group’s origins and influences, as well as the infighting and tensions that, when channeled properly, result in the music fans love. It is also the hard-charging, laugh-out-loud tale of how a mischievous boy rose from small-town Indiana to rock royalty—and how he nearly destroyed it all for a good time.
Told in his unique, self-deprecating voice, filled with his twisted and humorous take on living the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll dream turned nightmare, and including dozens of photos, Death Punch’d is a lively, no-holds-barred ride and an inspiring cautionary tale that offers lessons for us all.
“Sorry, I just—” “Said yes, he has. Oh . . . all right, then, I’ll tell ’im. [hanging up] She said all I need fer now is the name of your insurance company. Just call us with the policy number later . . . okay?” Jesus Horatio Christ! It went on like this for another fifteen minutes: address, phone number, occupation, place of birth, weight, height, birthmarks, hair color, eye color, emergency contact, and next of fucking kin—while I sat there, still in shock, bleeding another pint. At long
miserable, I wanted to leave, to run out the door and away from whatever horrible shit had happened there. Joey was a fucking creep. And maybe Rob was, too. I wasn’t sure how I felt about anything. I was disconnected from my own body. I’d just shot up a shitload of crank with a stranger who’d only been out of prison a few weeks—sharing a needle with a derelict who could have HIV, hepatitis, or God knows what else. Jesus! What the fuck was I thinking? I looked down at my arm, where the needle had
of being a hired gun. I asked if he’d be interested in joining Death Punch and he was like, “Fuck yes!” I talked to the rest of the guys, and they thought it was the right move. Everyone liked Jason and knew he was a phenomenal player. We decided to finish the tour and make a seamless transition. Darrell suspected his days were numbered. One night when we were hammered, he asked, “Am I getting fired after this tour?” The question took me by surprise. I was a total pussy when it came to hurting
record-release party at a club called Wasted Space at the Hard Rock in Vegas. The day before the party, I was finally able to put on a shoe. It hurt like hell, but the timing worked out. I flew in my friend Jarred from Indiana. And my dad flew in from Seattle. When we picked him up at the airport, I was still hungover and shaky from the night before. With the release party looming, I was on edge. As usual, Angel was driving me crazy. Because I felt like shit, I had her drive. But I couldn’t stop
shouldn’t have been surprised that after thirty-five years of marriage, he was ready for something different. But instead of choosing someone in the vicinity of his own age—fifty-seven—leave it to my dad, who never did anything in a conventional way, to choose someone a decade younger than I was. This wasn’t one of those older men playing daddy to a younger, penniless cub. Hardly. This guy came from a very wealthy family, and he’d given up a sizable trust fund to be with my father. Still, none of