
Dethklok (left to right): Skwisgaar Skwigelf, William Murderface, Nathan Explosion, Toki Wartooth, Pickles.
The legendary animated metal band is back with Dethalbum IV, a Def Leppard-in-an-arena-sized approach to gruesome, Cannibal Corpse-style riffage. Metalocalypse mastermind Brendon Small tells us how his cartoon came to life.
If fate hadn’t intervened, Dethklok’s newest album, Dethalbum IV—the first since 2012’s Dethalbum III—probably would’ve sounded quite different than it does. That’s because Dethklok mastermind Brendon Small would’ve enlisted his tried-and-true equipment: enviable guitars up the wazoo, a go-to Marshall cabinet with Celestion speakers, and at least a few mics. Instead, some thieves saw to it that Small take a different approach when they robbed his home studio.
“I think some people saw me carrying guitars back and forth and crowbarred my studio door, so my main A-league guitars were kaput,” Small recalls somberly. After the robbery, he moved everything out and went undercover. “I went into the modern world of direct recording,” he explains. “It pushed the record into a different place than my normal ‘safety gear’ would’ve.” In the theater world, one might raise their hands above their heads and exclaim gleefully, “unexpected results!”—the inevitable and, often, positive outcomes of unintended actions.
Metalocalypse: Dethklok | Gardener of Vengeance (Lyric Video) | Adult Swim
If anyone knows a thing or two about unexpected results (and theatrics), it’s Brendon Small. Having cultivated a career that he refers to as “whatever it is that I do for a living,” Small somehow managed to marry a Berklee College of Music guitar education with Emerson College comedy-writing classes to create a wildly unique career path for himself. Born in 1975, Small first gained widespread recognition as the creator, writer, and co-producer of the animated television series Home Movies, which aired from 1999 to 2004. The show followed the humorous exploits of a young boy named Brendon, his friends, and their amateur filmmaking endeavors. Small’s most notable achievement, however, came with the creation of Adult Swim’s animated cult classic Metalocalypse. It was the medium through which he finally, successfully, combined his songwriting and comedy-writing talents.
Premiering in 2006 and running for four seasons, Metalocalypse depicted the fictional band Dethklok embarking upon absurdly dark adventures as the self-proclaimed “heaviest metal band ever created.” Metalocalypse blended humor, satire, and heavy metal culture with sharp musical performances and scores, creating a unique and, ultimately, beloved experience for metalheads and animation fans alike. Small created and produced the series, provided the voices for several main characters, and composed most of the music featured in the show, including the tracks performed by Dethklok. In August, nearly a decade since the cliffhanger ending of The Doomstar Requiem – A Klok Opera in 2013, Metalocalypse finally returned with a full-length animated movie. Written and directed by Small, Metalocalypse: Army of the Doomstar brings Nathan Explosion (vocals), Skwisgaar Skwigelf (lead guitar), Toki Wartooth (rhythm guitar), William Murderface (bass), and Pickles (drums) back together for another action-packed journey.
Brendon Small's Gear
Dethklok creator Brendon Small resurrected the animated band this year after a decade-long hiatus.
Guitars
- Epiphone Brendon Small GhostHorse Explorer
- Fender Jazz Bass
- Gibson Explorer
- Gibson Snow Falcon Flying V
- Ibanez JS240PS with Sustainiac mod
- Ibanez Tom Quayle Signature TQM1
Amps & Effects
- Neural DSP Quad Cortex Quad-Core Digital Effects Modeler
Strings & Picks
- Dunlop DEN09544 Electric Nickel .095–.044
- Dunlop Ultex 1.14mm
Released in conjunction with the movie, Dethalbum IV is a bludgeoning aural assault that showcases Small’s knack for combining glossy production with “some of the ugliest sounds” he could conjure. “There’s this melding of the putrid and the beautiful that I’m trying to smash together,” he attests. Songs like “Aortic Desecration,” “Gardner of Vengeance,” and “Poisoned by Food” may be lyrically silly and satirical—even gross—but the music is serious business, on par with Mastodon, Lamb of God, and other like-minded metal bands who combine cunning songcraft with stunning instrumental proficiency. Riff-heavy, melodic, and merciless, Dethalbum IV is an expertly crafted record where death growls are overtaken by soaring melodies and vice versa, guitar histrionics are undergirded by monstrous grooves courtesy of drummer Gene Hoglan, and the production aesthetic, perhaps largely due to Small’s unintended switch to direct recording, is easily Dethklok’s slickest yet.
Simply put, Dethalbum IV is a fierce musical statement that deftly combines hook-laden melodicism with fist-pumping metal. “There was a point where I was listening to this record, and I’m standing back and going, ‘This is much more aggressive and much heavier than a Dethklok record normally,’” Small explains. “[Producer] Ulrich Wild really landed the bird with this one, getting it to that aggressive and modern place, which is somewhere between Cannibal Corpse and Def Leppard’s Hysteria.” Small calls this amalgamation of influences “stuff that hits your DNA” when you’re a kid. “The impressionable parts stay with you,” he admits.
“Doing a Dethklok show is like storming the beach at Normandy during a laser tag battle.”
Despite being Dethklok’s de facto studio guitarist, what really sets Small apart from many other contemporary shredders is that he considers himself a writer first and foremost. “Ever since I had a guitar, I was always trying to write music on it,” he says. “Even when I couldn’t play it, I would just start to write ideas or lines or a riff on the lower strings.” Composition first, and then form-fit around it, he likes to say. “I like to come up with stuff, either in the script form or with some kind of instrument hanging around, from keyboard to guitar to spoons—whatever I can do.”
Even though he ultimately gravitated towards traditional recording techniques (like a mic in front of a speaker cab), Small admits that having digital options early on made his guitar and comedy-writing career possible. “I don’t think I could have made music unless I had that Line 6 POD in the very beginning,” he admits. “I’m a writer who happens to play guitar, and I have to find a way to mangle these sounds into something that makes sense. I’ve got to get the sounds down in the big notepad that is the Pro Tools session.”
Though his return to direct recording was a matter of necessity, it was influential to the overall sound of Dethalbum IV, and Small asserts that he tried to let the music unfold naturally. “At some point, I look at the record and go, ‘Whatever this is, I can’t stop it from being what it needs to be,’” he says. “There’s something in the pineal gland that’s driving it from the astral plane pushing it forward.” Ultimately, he attests, the Dethklok characters start to take over in his mind: “Nathan Explosion is making decisions, and Skwisgaar wants more notes, and I’m like, ‘Okay, I’ll see if I can make it work because I’m not as good as that guy,’ so I have to really work it.”
After thieves plundered his home studio, Small decided to record Dethalbum IV without any amps—a homecoming of sorts for the early Line 6 POD user.
Speaking of Skwigelf, Small cites one big difference between Dethalbum IV and previous Dethklok records. “Now Skwisgaar has a whammy bar and 24 frets,” he chuckles. “There are dive-bombs on this record that I never did before, but I wanted to be able to do what Jeff Beck did, get a little bit more expressive—go from the fixed bridge to the whammy. I’ve had guitars with it, but I just wanted to finally put them on the record. There’s just a little bit more goose in it.”
“I think if you’ve decided to jump onto the carnival train that is your own creative life, you have to bob, weave, fail, and succeed all in a matter of 20 minutes every single day.”
Small’s cross-section of music and comedy began during his time at Boston’s Berklee College of Music in his junior year. “I started having forward thoughts of my impending doom, like, ‘I’m going to graduate, and what the hell am I going to do with this guitar? I love it, I hate it. What am I going to do?’” he recalls. He was also having a hard time corralling the school’s curriculum into a solid identity for his own guitar playing. “I’m in a jazz chord lab figuring out what Joe Pass used to do. Then, I’m thinking about Danny Gatton in my country lab, and then I have advanced concepts of prog-rock where I’m learning about Gentle Giant, and then I’m in traditional harmony trying to mimic an étude or learn how to write a chorale, or voice leading, or figured bass, or any of that cool stuff, and I’m having some kind of musical identity crisis and fearing the end of school and the real world.”
Instead of going the weekend-warrior route via gigs posted on a corkboard at Berklee, Small pursued internships at two different jingle houses in New York. One was David Horowitz Music Associates, and the other was Michael Levine Music. “Michael Levine wrote the Kit Kat theme: ‘Give me a break, give me a break…,’” Small sings. He soon realized that his roommate Jed, from Emerson College, had what he deemed a much cooler internship with Conan O’Brien.
For real-life concert appearances, Small brings Dethklok to life alongside an all-star band that includes Mike Keneally (guitar), Nili Brosh (guitar), Bryan Beller and Pete Griffin (bass), and Gene Hoglan (drums).
Small’s fly-on-the-wall experience tagging along with Jed at the late-night talk show prompted him to draw up a plan for his future. “I went back to Berklee in my final year, and I started taking writing classes along with Emerson [students],” he explains. His assignments included writing a spec script and a sample episode of a TV show, and demonstrating he could write character, story, jokes, and tone. “I saw that it’s like a good piece of music,” he says. “You’ve got an A theme, a B theme, and maybe a C theme, and how do they all intertwine into this final pocket at the very end?” Conceptually and structurally, it made sense for Small: “It was like the études I was studying. There was something baroque about it that I understood.”
These combined college experiences ultimately led Small to start thinking about the intersections of songwriting, screenwriting, and acting, and how that combination might be a viable career path for him. “If you can make sense of your guitar enough to score music, I think ultimately that’s a battle of you versus yourself,” he says. “Once you prove that you can take this foreign object [a guitar] and make it a part of you, you can do that with anything. You just have to learn where the knobs are, where the frets are, how to bend notes, and how to find your rhythm. Everything’s a storyline, from a piece of music to a piece of media. Whatever it is, there’s a beginning, a middle, and end. Ultimately, it did me well to think of them as similar things.”
“Everything’s a storyline, from a piece of music to a piece of media. Whatever it is, there’s a beginning, a middle, and end. Ultimately, it did me well to think of them as similar things.”
To bring Dethklok to life for this year’s Babyklok Tour alongside Babymetal, Small enlisted heavyweights Mike Keneally (guitar), Nili Brosh (guitar), Bryan Beller and Pete Griffin (bass), and Hoglan (drums). While preparing to hit the road, Small was focused on the aspects of live performance that the concert experience demands of him. “Doing a Dethklok show is like storming the beach at Normandy during a laser-tag battle,” he chuckles. “There’s lights and craziness and fog and haze, and you’re like, ‘Where am I?’ There’s a lot of muscle memory and position memory that has to be there. I have to think about the lyrics, the vocalizing, and if all I can see is the low E string, and I’m on the high E string, I have to trust that my hand remembers where it needs to be.”
Circling back to “whatever it is I do for a living,” Small offers the following wisdom for those interested in pursuing an artistic life: “I think if you’ve decided to jump onto the carnival train that is your own creative life, you have to bob, weave, fail, and succeed all in a matter of 20 minutes every single day,” he says. “How do you stand back and try to conceptualize and solve a problem? I think that’s what makes it fun, and treacherous, and terrifying, and filled with failure, and a little bit of success.”
YouTube It
Dethklok shreds a live performance of "Thunderhorse" for the Adult Swim Festival Block Party, combining thrilling Metalocalypse-style animation with furious technical performances.
The Future Impact V4 is an incredibly versatile pedal with an exceptional range of sounds. In addition to producing synthesizer sounds such as basses, leads and pads, it can function as an octaver, chorus, flanger, phaser, distortion, envelope filter, traditional wah-wah, tremolo, reverb, etc., and even has a built-in tuner. It can potentially replace an entire pedalboard of dedicated single-effect pedals.
The very powerful signal processor of the Future Impact V4 is able to replicate the various oscillator, filter, amplifier and envelope generator blocks found in classic synthesizers. In addition, it contains signal processing blocks more traditionally used for processing the sound of an instrument such as a harmonizer block and audio effects such as chorus, distortion and EQ. These architectures complement each other in a very flexible way.
Setting the standard for the bass guitar synth pedals since 2015, together with an enthusiastic community and long line of great artists, the Future Impact V4 is the guitar synth platform for the next decade.
Designed for players who demand flexibility without sacrificing tone, the Aquanaut fuses the rich warmth of classic analog delay with the extended range and clarity of modern digital designs. Featuring up to 600 milliseconds of delay time, the Aquanaut easily covers everything from tight slapback echoes to lush, ambient textures and rhythmic soundscapes – all with a simple, intuitive control layout.
Unlike many digital delays that can sound sterile and detached, the Aquanaut retains an organic, analog-inspired voice. Repeats are smooth and musical, gently fading into the mix to create depth and dimension without overwhelming your dry signal. Whether you’re chasing vintage tape echo, adding subtle space to your solos, or building massive atmospheric layers, the Aquanaut keeps your tone clear, present, and inspiring.
Berserker Electronics Aquanaut Delay/Echo
Key features include:
- Up to 600ms of delay time for expanded creative possibilities
- Analog-voiced digital architecture for warm, natural-sounding repeats
- Ambient-style echo that enhances, not distracts from, your core tone
- Simple, intuitive controls for delay time, feedback, and blend
The Aquanaut is available direct at www.berserkerpedals.com and Reverb at a $149 street price.
Though Lou Reed seemed to only use a handful of chords, his shrewd right-hand strumming created limitless rhythmic variations.
Beginner to Intermediate
Beginner to Intermediate
- Focus on syncopation.
- Add muted strums to enhance your rhythm playing.
- Learn how to modify complex rhythmic patterns into smaller, more comprehensible figures.
Though usually more lauded for his lyrics than his guitar playing, Lou Reed had a distinctive style of strumming that can make replication a challenge and seemingly impossible for beginners to comprehend. With a combination of syncopations and muted strums, Reed’s rhythm guitar—from his time with the Velvet Underground to his solo career—has a groove and feel that all guitar players can learn from.
We’ll start with a relatively simple strummed hook that shows Reed’s roots. Ex. 1 is a variation on “There She Goes Again” from The Velvet Underground and Nico, which was recorded in 1966 and released in 1967. This strum was clearly inspired by Marvin Gaye’s “Hitch Hike,” as it duplicates Gaye’s intro almost exactly, albeit in a different key. (It is worth mentioning that “Hitch Hike” also inspired the Beatles “You Can’t Do That.”)
Ex. 1
Ex. 2 is the samething but performed with cowboy chords instead of barres.
Ex. 2
With Ex. 3, a la “Sister Ray” from 1967’s White Light/White Heat, we get into Reed’s more syncopated strums. Note that after the first beat, the emphasis of each strum is on an upbeat, including the changes from G to F, then from F to C, followed at the end by a typical Lou Reed-ism of strumming while in mid-change (though in all fairness, many guitarists do this). Thus, the last upbeat notes, which imply a G chord, are in fact a byproduct created by the switch, not a specific chord.
Ex. 3
Ex. 4 is the same strum but capoed at the 5th fret, using cowboy chords instead of barres.
Ex. 4
Our final Velvet reference, Ex. 5, comes from “Sweet Jane” (Loaded, 1970), which is a song I loathe teaching to students as it is deceptively tricky—it was the inspiration for this lesson—and can make one feel demoralized. True, the song has only four chords, but the syncopated switching and muted strums can cause problems for many players, and not just beginners. Take your time to get the nuances of the switches and mutes.
Ex. 5
Better yet, start with Ex. 6, which is a simplified version of Ex. 5, using cowboy chords instead of barre chords, as well as a more straightforward strum. True, it does not conform completely to the original, but it is a worthwhile starting point. Once this is mastered, try playing Ex. 5 with the open-position chords before moving onto the barres.
Ex. 6
Solo Years
Ex. 7 is a take on “Walk on the Wild Side” from 1972’s Transformer, arguably the most famous Lou Reed song. Here we’ve graduated from eighth-notes to 16th-notes in the right hand. Once again, the muted strums play a vital role.
Ex. 7
Like the previous two examples, you might want to start with the simpler Ex. 8, although the only change is that the mutes have been omitted. This example demonstrates how essential the mutes are, as the feel changes completely when you leave them out.
Ex. 8
Ex. 9 also comes from Transformer and is a variation on“Vicious.” Additional syncopations and muted strums, both different from “…Wild Side,” complicate what should be carefree.
Ex. 9
Ex. 10 is, again, a simplified alternative.
Ex. 10
Examples 11 and 12 demonstrate two options for fretting chords, using Reed’s “Leave Me Alone” from Street Hassle (1978) as a vehicle.
Ex. 11
Ex. 12
Our last example, Ex. 13, is based on Reed’s late-’80s “comeback” hit, “Dirty Boulevard” from New York. Here we not only get syncopations, but a rhythmic variation in the chorus—same chords, different rhythms. Pay attention to that quick, almost-ghosted B note on the “and” of 1 in measure two. It almost seems like a mistake but it adds so much.
Ex. 13
The Lou Reed Legacy
When most fans think of Lou Reed, the first thing that comes to mind is his pioneering subversive, transgressive, and poetic lyrics. But, clearly, that is not all there is to his work. In truth, Lou Reed is an incomparable musician whose guitar playing should not be underestimated. So, take this lesson as a starting point and search out more of his idiosyncratic strums. You will be well rewarded.
Montana’s own Evel Knievel
If artists aren’t allowed to take risks, and even fail, great art will never be made. Need proof? Check Picasso, Hendrix, Monk, and Led Zeppelin.
In sixth grade, I went to a strict Catholic school. When you have an Italian-Irish mother, that’s just part of the deal. The nuns had the look and temperament of the defensive line of the ’70s Oakland Raiders. Corporal punishment was harsh, swift, and plentiful–particularly toward boys—and we all feared them. All but one second grader. I can’t remember his first name; nobody used it, because his last name was Knievel. His uncle was Evel Knievel, the greatest and perhaps only celebrity ever to come from my home state, Montana. On the playground, we would watch in awe as this wild Knievel kid raced by us, nuns chasing in an awkward, sluggish pursuit as he knocked kids over, dust, books, and gravel flying behind his path of terror. This kid was fearless. It was truly inspiring to watch.
I hadn’t thought about my schoolmate for decades, until recently, when I saw Dave Chappelle talking about a terrible show he had in Detroit where the audience rebelled against him and began chanting, “We want our money back. We want our money back.” Chappelle told the angry mob: “Good people of Detroit. Hear me now. You are never getting your f*****g money back. I’m like Evel Knievel. I get paid for the attempt. I didn’t promise this shit would be good.”
Good art is a gamble. Look at Picasso. In 1907, he spent nearly a year drawing rough sketches and eventually painting his jagged, raw, unpretty Les Demoiselles d’Avignon. Picasso kept Les Demoiselles d’Avignon in his Montmartre, Paris, studio for years after its completion due to the mostly negative reaction of his immediate circle of friends and colleagues. After its first public showing in 1916, critics were hostile. Today, the painting is hailed as a pivotal moment in art history—the first true work of both Cubism and modern art. Many argue that the 20th century began culturally in 1907, with this painting that today hangs in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Picasso wasn’t paid to make folks comfy; he got bank for shoving boundaries.
Similarly, I remember my sister and I watching a clip of Hendrix’s feedback-drenched “Star-Spangled Banner” at Woodstock. I couldn’t really process it at the time, but I knew I was watching something that had never been done. When he got to the “bombs bursting in air” part, it sounded like a barrage of explosions. Then, he references the mournful military bugle call “Taps,” played on bases at the end of each day and at funerals. My sister was offended. When I asked why, she said it was “unpatriotic.” I watch it now and I see a Black Army veteran who justifiably had a complex relationship with the country he had served. Martin Luther King was assassinated a year earlier, police brutality toward Black citizens was common. Black Americans were disproportionately stuck in low-wage jobs, and unemployment rates for Black workers were roughly double those of white workers. And although Hendrix was discharged, many of his Army buddies were overseas fighting a war they did not understand or support. So, yes, unpatriotic seems appropriate. But Hendrix’s performance was iconic because he dared to try to show his complex feelings through his guitar.“That’s the sweet spot: Fearless doesn’t mean flawless.”
Listen to Led Zeppelin’s groundbreaking “Black Dog.” The B section is so wonky, sticking out like a sore thumb with that weird timing that always feels wrong to me, but it would not be the rock masterpiece it is without that unsettling section. Maybe that’s the sweet spot: Fearless doesn’t mean flawless. Thelonious Monk’s janky genius proves that; those off-kilter notes hit you in the gut, not the head. Beck, Bowie, Coltrane… they didn’t polish away the edges; they leaned into them. That’s what makes you feel like a kid at an amusement park, wide-eyed and along for the ride.
When somebody hires me, they get what they get. I want to nail it, but art is subjective, so my idea of what feels right may not jibe with theirs. Humans are not great at communicating, so often I walk away from sessions and gigs wondering if my contribution was good, great, or garbage. But that’s a stupid question I try not to allow myself to indulge. You can’t do great work playing scared. There are times when music is not creative, just painting by numbers, trying to give the customer what they think they want. I do a lot of that to make a living, but that’s more like being a vending machine spitting out custom orders, not an artist.
Real artists are like that Knievel kid—leaving a trail of chaos, and not apologizing for it. I think artists who do it the best flip the script. Their audience isn’t just a judge, but a co-conspirator in the mess. They’re betting on the artist’s next move, not buying a finished product. They’re paying for the front-row seat to potential, not a flawless show. The paycheck was for the swing, not the home run. If the audience pays for “enjoyment” that turns artists into jukeboxes, not creators… if artists aren’t free to fail… innovation dies.