College Times

Issue date: 2/1/07 Section: Music

"Vengeance Rising"

By Mike Meyer

Thought I was nice, in the beginning - "Bad Treat" (Via Vengeance)

It's 7:30 p.m. on a Friday evening in September. Via Vengeance is about to kick off the second day of the Stoner Hands of Doom festival at Hollywood Alley in Mesa.

Via Vengeance has the fewest members of any of the 36 bands playing the four-day festival.

Via Vengeance consists of Shane Ocell.

Just Shane Ocell.

Shane Ocell is the drummer, guitarist, and lead vocalist for Via Vengeance, the Valley's only one-man heavy metal band.

Treat me good, treat you better. Treat me bad, treat you worse. - "Bad Treat" (Via Vengeance)

In April 2006, Shane Ocell was an angry man.

In July 2005, he'd broken up with his girlfriend of two years. In August, his father, with whom he had a mercurial and sometimes bewildering relationship, had succumbed to lung cancer. It was Shane's first experience with death. In January 2006, Shane realized that an employee at the body piercing shop he owned in San Diego had embezzled approximately $20,000 from him over the course of two years. That same month, his grandfather passed away. Two months later, in March, his grandmother also died.

It was a difficult time in Shane's life, and the idea of exacting revenge -in his fantasies at least--sounded appealing. With that in mind, Shane designed the Via Vengeance logo. A slightly opened straight razor is the "V" for both words, with drops of blood falling from the razor's edge to dot the "i." Shane had hoped to start a clothing line, enlisting various local tattoo artists to give their artistic interpretations of "Via Vengeance" on T-shirts.

But instead, Via Vengeance morphed into a one-man metal band. This one-man band plays music that is loud and angry. It is an expression of vengeance, passion, and ultimately, healing.

It is an expression of Shane Ocell, body piercer, musician, survivor of warring parents, failed bands, and life.

When I was a little boy, my father said to me, He said boy, you never, you never give up. Only strong survive. - "Only Strong Survive" (Via Vengeance)

David Ocell and Connie Scott met in 1973 in Arizona, where Connie grew up. They moved to Colorado in 1974, and Shane was born the next year. David and Connie eventually married in August 1978, but the union was short-lived. David was a Vietnam veteran with diagnosed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He had been exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam and carried shrapnel in his leg from a grenade blast. David was a heavy drinker. By contrast, Connie never drank. Eventually, David's drinking grew to be too much for her, and David and Connie began divorce proceedings in May 1980.

Three months later, Shane was kidnapped by his father. The scenario: David and Shane went to Montana to visit relatives. After spending two weeks there, David and Shane left for the return trip to Colorado. Shortly after their departure, Connie learned from her sister-in-law that David would not return their son. Two months later, Connie finally received the phone call she'd been waiting for. David had been pulled over in Canada. Shane was with him. They had been on the run for two months, staying at motels or with people they met, and occasionally sleeping in David's truck. David was arrested and jailed on suspicion of kidnapping. Before the cell door slammed shut, David had a parting message for his 5-year-old son.

"This is all your mother's fault," he said.

The child was angry with his mother. His father had led him to believe that his mother had put his father in jail. Connie pressed federal kidnapping charges against David, and he was extradited back to Colorado. The charges were eventually reduced to custodial interference, for which David spent several months in jail. The divorce was finalized soon after, and Shane's only contact with his father for the next three years was the occasional phone conversation.

When Shane was 8, David had moved back to Arizona. Shane missed his father and had been persistent about seeing him again. Connie felt more comfortable letting him visit David in Arizona, where her parents also lived, so she relented. The visit went well, and eventually, Connie let Shane visit his father for two-month spans during the summer months. The mother and son had moved back to Arizona when Shane was 9. David settled in Denver, taking a job as a bricklayer. Connie filed paperwork in an attempt to collect child support, but the government could never locate David.

Shane's contact with his father became sporadic.

When Shane was 13, he argued with his absentee dad over the phone. The conversation ended with Shane calling David an "asshole." The two didn't speak for the next two years. At 15, Shane visited his dad in Denver over the summer. David picked Shane up from the airport, and when they got in the car, David grabbed his son's arm and told him matter-of-factly that when Shane turned 18, the two were going to fight. He never really explained why. But three years later, on Shane's 18th birthday, David's prediction came true.

Shane and his father played pool at a bar on that day. Both were drinking heavily. Shane beat his father at pool for the first time and couldn't resist making a wisecrack. David attempted a backhand, but Shane blocked it. They drove home, and in the yard in front of David's house, the father and son brawled for nearly an hour, until a neighbor broke it up. Shane accompanied his father to work the next morning at David's bricklaying job, sporting fresh battle wounds. Their coworkers found the fight amusing. "Looks like your boy beat your ass," Shane recalls one saying. The two never had another physical altercation.

Shane had survived his rite of passage.

In David's eyes, Shane was a man.

Their relationship changed as Shane grew older. David finally stopped drinking in 1994 at the urging of his brother-in-law. Shane and David talked on the phone, but Shane only saw his father occasionally over the following eight years. Shane says it was difficult to keep in touch with his father during this period, despite their improved relationship. David had moved to South Carolina and occasionally had no phone service. When Shane was 26, he saw his father again at David's parents' 50th wedding anniversary. Shane had a feeling something was wrong. His father looked like a different person. Shane began talking to his dad on the phone about once a week after the reunion. David helped with a down payment on Shane's first house in Scottsdale. Four years later, in August 2006, David Ocell died of lung cancer. He was 55.

After David's funeral, Shane, his mother, and David's family took David's ashes to one of David and Shane's favorite fishing spots in Montana. As he was scattering his father's remains in the Missouri River, a trout jumped out of the water just 10 feet away. "Daddy caught his first fish," Connie said to her son.

But his mother's poignant words didn't make it any easier for Shane to mourn his father, or to understand their fractured, sometimes violent relationship, the kidnapping, the divorce, the drinking, the anger.

Look at me in, in the eye. - "Via Lie" (Via Vengeance)

Shane Ocell is now 31 years old, 5 feet 9 inches tall with a stocky build. His head is shaved and tattoos sleeve both of his arms - a she-devil on the right arm and an angel on the left. He occasionally sports a dark brown beard, but has recently shaved it.

Shane became part of the Valley music scene in 1998, when he took over drum duties in Hillbilly Devilspeak. Since then, Shane has played drums in local acts Jedi 5 and Dear Rosemary. By 2005, all three bands had ceased to exist, and they had only been marginally successful anyway. And some of the band members didn't live up to his high expectations. He was annoyed by members blowing off practice, failing to contribute financially to various band expenses, and generally lacking motivation.

"I always felt like I was the leader of the bands, being a drummer," he says. "I always showed up, I always paid my rent. I am a reliable person."

And also, by his own admission, he's a control freak. That may be traced to the fact that he is an only child, has been self-employed for eight years as a body piercer, and has never been married or lived with a girlfriend.

So with no band, Shane decided in March 2006 to learn guitar as a hobby. In an effort to create a simple beat to play guitar to, Shane tilted his snare drum at a 90 degree angle and taped a bass drum pedal to the floor in front of it, allowing him to play the bass and snare drums with his feet while he strummed the guitar.

Shane practiced in this manner one day when he unconsciously leaned forward. He noticed that the drumstick he was awkwardly holding between the fingers of his right hand was hitting the ride cymbal every time he strummed the guitar. The proverbial light bulb lit up over Shane's head. From that day forward, he began practicing and writing songs as a one-man band. And the idea of Via Vengeance morphed from the possible name of a clothing line to the moniker of the Valley's only one-man metal band.

Oh yes this is intentional. You had so much potential. - "Burned" (Via Vengeance)

As he sets up his gear on the Hollywood Alley stage, Shane notices the sparse turnout with some disappointment. The small crowd is due in part to the relatively early start time, combined with Valley music fans' apparent indifference to Stoner Hands of Doom. Dedicated fans of stoner rock and doom metal have traveled to Mesa from Washington, Rhode Island, England, and the Netherlands, but local patrons seem to be the exception to the rule. Despite a lineup featuring bands from all over the United States, as well as Japan and Sweden, the concert will hardly be a financial windfall for festival organizer Rob Levey.

Shane sets up his drums first. His drum kit is a study in efficiency - bass, snare, floor tom, hi-hat, crash, and ride. He tests the bass drum for the sound man in the back. The sound resonates throughout the venue with a methodical, almost unconscious monotone. Thud. Thud. Thud. With the house music blasting heavy metal, Shane and the sound man communicate via hand signals through the thin haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Eventually, they get the sound right on the bass drum and move on to the snare.

The sound check proceeds through the drum kit, on to the guitar, and finally the vocal mic. Once the levels are to the mutual satisfaction of Shane and the soundman, the gig is ready to begin. Shane activates his distortion pedal, and the giant amps fill the mostly empty venue with a gut-churning rumble of down-tuned guitar that gradually morphs into screeching feedback. As Shane makes his way through the half-hour set, a small group of people converges in front of the stage, banging their heads and "throwing the horns" in the universal metalhead sign of approval. The song that receives the best crowd response is "Burned," a minimalist ode to the former employee at Shane's piercing parlor who Shane says stole from him.

"Intentional, intentional," Shane repeats as the song builds to its climax - Shane screaming "BURN!" repeatedly over a distorted thrash riff.

After the show, Levey pays Shane $100 for his set. It is one of only a handful of gigs Shane's actually been paid for, so he views it as a bonus. He hopes audiences will embrace the idea of a one-man band as a viable entity, as opposed to a gimmick. He eschews some effects that might make his act easier, such as a loop pedal, which would allow him to play a riff once and let it repeat indefinitely. He views such computerized effects as a form of "cheating."

"The goal," he says, "was to play heavy music with no loop pedals or effects, all by myself, with the capability of pulling it off live."

"To my understanding, what I am doing has never been done."

Are you happy for yourself? "Via Lie" (Via Vengeance)

Although music is Shane's first love, he makes a living hurting people. He's been a professional body piercer since 1994. Before he started piercing, Shane's only other job was at Red Lobster, where he worked his way up from busboy to kitchen manager. One of his friends at Red Lobster wanted to get a tattoo, and Shane decided to tag along. The tattoo artist was Rich Dohoney, and Shane and Rich immediately hit it off.

The two had been friends for a few months when Rich asked Shane if he'd like to take a road trip to Salt Lake City, Utah with him. The trip went well, and soon after returning, Rich asked Shane if he'd be interested in moving there permanently. Shane was able to transfer his job at Red Lobster, and Rich had arranged for the two to live rent-free in a warehouse owned by the tattoo parlor where Rich planned to work. They made the move in 1994, and Shane helped out around the tattoo shop in his free time, mostly answering phones. Shane eventually moved back to Arizona to be with a girl he knew from Red Lobster. Rich moved back shortly thereafter, this time asking Shane to work for him as a piercer. Shane took the job and worked with Rich at Easy Rider tattoo shop for two years. In 1996, Shane and Rich moved on to Crawling Squid tattoo shop.

In 1998, Rich moved back to Utah to open his own shop. A few months later, Shane and Aaron Coleman, another Crawling Squid employee, decided to do the same in Mesa, opening Immaculate Tattoo in 1998. Eventually, Shane decided to strike out on his own, and he opened Mastodon Body Piercing in San Diego in 2003. Shane opened a second Mastodon in Mesa in 2005.

Mastodon Body Piercing is housed in a white, nondescript, freestanding building on the southwest corner of University Drive and Ironwood Street in West Mesa, next door to a Mexican deli and carniceria. This is where Shane spends about 50 hours a week with his friend and business partner, tattoo artist Brandon Sehman. The shop has the sterile, antiseptic smell of a dentist's office, an indicator of cleanliness and professionalism.

To the left are a couch and two chairs situated around a coffee table. A neon "open" sign hangs in the window on the right, casting a red glow over the glass display cases of assorted jewelry for piercings. Earrings, studs, and stainless steel barbells of varying sizes are lined neatly inside the cases. Polynesian tribal masks stare down from every wall. A separate glass case in the corner houses the organic tribal jewelry - polished, oddly-shaped pieces of jade, onyx, buffalo horn, and white bone. A piercing needs to be fully gauged and healed before switching to this exotic jewelry.

The air inside is cold, bordering on uncomfortable. An iPod behind the counter is connected to a set of speakers and set on shuffle, filling the chilly air with mostly punk and heavy metal songs, interrupted by the occasional hip-hop jam.

Brandon's tattoo studio takes up one of the back rooms. Shane's piercing studio takes up another. He keeps a guitar and practice amp for killing time between appointments in a third room. Farther down the hall is a kitchen area with a refrigerator and microwave. A door on the right leads to the sterilization room, where Shane and Brandon sterilize the tools of their respective trades. A certificate on the wall states that Shane has passed a class on the prevention of bloodborne pathogens. He took the class while attending a piercing convention in Las Vegas.

There is no official certification required to be a professional piercer. All it takes to be a professional piercer in Arizona is a needle and a willing client. Shane didn't have to attend any classes or pass any tests. He is self-taught. It's mostly common sense, he says. His training consisted of reading a few books on anatomy and practicing on his friends.

The hardest part has always been finding a place to set up shop. City bureaucrats who give out business licenses classify piercing and tattoo parlors in the same unpopular category as pawnshops, massage parlors, and strip clubs. Getting approval to open a new shop can be an exercise in futility. The easiest route is to move into a pre-existing shop.

Shane is not a believer in the powers of advertising. He gets 90 percent of his business through word of mouth referrals. He prefers to work on an appointment basis, but will accept walk-in customers too.

A husband and wife who appear to be in their 30s walk into Mastodon with their two young daughters, ignoring the sign on the front door prohibiting children. The wife wants a new barbell for her tongue piercing. The husband wants to get his tongue re-pierced. He wants a vibrating tongue barbell, but Shane doesn't carry them.

"It's basically like having a watch battery in your mouth all the time," he says, referring the husband to another shop that carries them.

Shane asks the husband a few questions. How many times has he had his tongue pierced? Has the old hole closed up? He asks the husband to stick out his tongue and notes that he has a relatively short tongue. He gives the husband a form to fill out while he goes in the back room to set up. After a few minutes, he reemerges and leads the husband back to the piercing room, instructing the husband to sit facing him on the cracked vinyl of the dentist's chair in the center of the room.

Before he begins, Shane hears the two girls playing in the lobby area. He pokes his head out the door and curtly tells the wife that she'll need to keep the kids under control or take them somewhere else. Turning back into the room, he replaces his rubber surgical gloves and prepares to go to work. He goes through five or six pairs of gloves per piercing, changing them anytime he touches something that poses even a remote threat of contamination.

Shane hands the husband a small cup of Tech 2000 mouthwash, which sterilizes his mouth and provides a slight numbing sensation. He asks the husband to stick out his tongue again. Shane dries off his tongue with a sterile gauze pad and marks the top and bottom with a sterilized toothpick dipped in gentian violet. He clasps the tip of the husband's tongue with a pair of surgical clamps. In his other hand is another surgical clamp holding a sterilized needle. Shane tells the husband to take a deep breath, which he does. Without hesitation, Shane pushes the needle through the husband's tongue with an audible "pop," then quickly pushes the needle out the bottom of the husband's tongue with a temporary stud. He screws a ball onto the bottom of the stud, and the procedure is finished.

He gives the husband a bottle of Biotine mouthwash, telling him to use it after every time he eats, drinks, or smokes. Shane tells him to suck on ice and drink lots of water. He gives the husband a new toothbrush (imprinted with a Mastodon logo, no less), explaining that his old one might have some lingering bacteria on it. They return to the lobby area, where Shane rings up the husband for the $40 piercing plus the additional jewelry. The husband hands Shane a tip and thanks him.

Shane returns to the piercing room and moves the needle and surgical clamps into the sterilization room. He thoroughly wipes down the area with a sterile cloth and MadaCide, a hard surface disinfectant available only through medical supply companies. Once the piercing room is sterilized, he returns to the lobby and relaxes on a couch.

Tongue piercings are fairly common, although not as popular as they once were. He figures he's pierced thousands of tongues in his career. Genital piercings typically take Shane a little longer. Simply calming the person down can also take some time. Still, Shane estimates that he's done over 1,000 genital piercings on both men and women. At this point, Shane is unfazed by the intimacy of the work. It's simply part of the job.

He turns down four or five potential customers a week. For Shane, it's better to lose the $40-80 than to have the customer regret the piercing later.

At this point, he's more serious about his music that his piercing career. Eventually, he'd like to hire someone to work in his shop and do the actual piercing.

"I don't want to still be piercing in my 40s," he says.

Clap your hands now. - "Via Lie" (Via Vengeance)

It's 11:30 p.m. on Friday, November 3, 2006, at the Cypress Lounge in Glendale, and Via Vengeance is about to play the penultimate set of the night. The Cypress is a small club, so the sound check is quick and informal. Shane's drums aren't microphoned, so all that is needed is to find the right levels for Shane's guitar and his vocal mic. The crowd is sparse once again, but the vibe is different. Happier. Or perhaps just drunker.

Tonight, Shane plays a longer set. He swigs from a 24-ounce can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in between songs. The singers from the two other bands on the bill that night, Ryan from Regan MacNeil and Richie from the Whorchatas, stand right in front of the stage sharing a microphone and screaming along with Shane throughout Via Vengeance's set.

"This song is about my dead dad," Shane says before breaking into "Only Strong Survive." A couple songs later, he tears into a cover of Clutch's "Binge and Purge," drawing an enthusiastic response from just about everyone in the bar. Ryan and Richie scream the chorus - "Come on motherfucker, let's throw down!" - as Shane pounds on the drums and lets feedback squeal through his amp.

The night comes to a close with Shane sitting in on drums with the closing band, the Whorchatas. Over the course of the set, Richie, the singer and guitarist, has gone from being fully clothed, to shirtless, to wearing only a g-string, to being almost completely naked on stage, wearing only his socks and his guitar. Shane and the rest of the Whorchatas remain fully clothed, but that doesn't lessen the appreciation from the fans at the bar. The impromptu jam session doesn't end until the soundman approaches the stage just before 2 a.m. making a throat-slashing gesture.

Shane's, and by extension, Via Vengeance's future remain uncertain. For the short term, his goal is to buy a vehicle big enough to haul all of his equipment to gigs, rather than renting a van or enlisting the help of his SUV-owning friends. He is also working on a new demo and hoping to book a tour in early 2007. He views touring as an integral key to gaining more exposure in front of new audiences.

The one certainty is that Via Vengeance won't be adding any members. Shane won't rule out playing in other bands, but he sees Via Vengeance as always consisting of just one member-Shane Ocell.

Regardless of Via Vengeance's commercial success or failure, the experience has been positive for Shane. His family and friends have seen a change in him since he began performing as Via Vengeance.

Nathan Cups, his best friend since high school, says Shane is a lot more motivated both in his musical and professional careers.

Sehman sees more contentment in Shane. "It's the first time I've ever seen him let go," Sehman says. "There's talent there that hasn't come out in any other band he's been in. It's flowing."

Connie says that her son seems more dependent on himself and that Via Vengeance has provided an outlet for him, allowing him to put his thoughts into words and music.

The change has not been lost on Shane. Writing and performing as Via Vengeance "helped me get through those months" and "keep my mind off things," he says.

"I'm definitely happier."

Via Vengeance Links:
Main Site
Piercing Site
Myspace Site

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