Prologue

         Back when we were teenagers we never actually questioned whether or not Beast would succeed. We simply knew it, maybe before we'd even settled on a name for our band.  50 years go by so quickly though and the difference between our lives then, and our live now is like night and day. The year I turned 15, the year my father and I moved 6 times, I was finally settled into the small town of New Haven, Wyoming. It was a non-descript town, perfect and quiet. The 'burbs had the feel of a New England village, yet the "district" acted more like a haven for the upcoming artist. Out of anywhere in the state, New Haven had the most self proclaimed artists and musicians. It was in the art scene I met the people that would change my life forever.
It was in that year I met my beautiful wife Elizabeth. The moment I met her I knew I would never love anyone as much as I did her. Just as she is now, she was quiet and shy. Lakota blood flowed strong in her delicate features, from her soft skin, to the way her dark hair shone like strands of black diamonds. At first I thought she hated me. She wouldn't even look at me for the first 2 months of knowing her. When we spoke she always looked at either her feet or to one side, speaking so softly I usually only caught one or two words at a time. A startling contrast to the power her voice holds when she sings. Even still, she's much the same as she was, except now I don't have to try so hard to make eye contact.
Beth's best friend is Samantha. Sam is so opposite to Beth that their close friendship seemed unnatural back then. Unlike Beth, Sam was tall and elegant, her posture that of someone accustomed to being part of one of the most prominent families in New Haven. Whereas Beth has always been shy, Sam has a wild, rebellious streak that was perfect for drumming. When I met her, one of her most signature features was her honey-blonde hair. EVERYONE knew the girl with the blonde spirals that traveled the length of her back. It was exactly for this reason she cut it so short. were it not for her intense beauty, she could have been mistaken for a boy.
Sam's boyfriend was Louis, a 2nd generation French Canadian. He, visually, was a perfect match for the tall thin blonde. He himself was a towering 6ft 8, with broad shoulders and a mass of shoulder length dark wavy hair. Despite his size, he was surprisingly mellow and level-headed. Even the way he played the bass matched his personality, slow, deliberate.. Precisely calculated.  His huge swallowed the neck of  the bass, as thick fingers worked the strings in deft syncopation.  
Always somewhere near Louis was Jojo. Jojo was the epitome of the class clown. The again it's hard to take someone with 8 inch silver-white pings seriously. He hasn't really grown up much since then. If there's a plastic cockroach in someone's drink, chances are Jojo's behind it. For as much of a big child Jojo may seem, he is just as much a technological genius. Taking great influence from masters of the keyboard and synthesizer, Jojo is often seen juggling a soundboard, a vast collection of effects pedals, and at least 3 keyboards and synthesizers at once on stage. We've just always assumed his mind works circles around the average person and it's only in this feat of multitasking he's able to keep satisfied.
Jojo's on again off again girlfriend/special friend is Jess. When I first met the band we all hung out in the basement at Jess's Dad's music store. Jess and her dad are so much alike that you could easily mistake them for siblings if you couldn't see the marked age difference between them.  Jess was not an especially thin girl back then, nor is she really now. Nonetheless she posesses a beauty all her own. Although born with bright strawberry blonde, almost orange hair, she keeps it dyed dark, her bangs short, modeling after her idol, Betty Page. She was raised in a family of prodigious musicians and artists yet jess herself really had no talent back then. It was only later she was able to see her lack of artistic talent an asset that would later lead her to be the most badass PR Manager a band could ask for.
The person I'd really like to talk about though is John O'Reilly. It's been 40 years since I last saw him and not a day goes by I don't think about him. In mind, body and soul he was the embodiment of awe-striking beauty, if a man can be said to be beautiful. I remember the first time I met him I wasn't even completely sure if he was a man or a woman. It was only after a few solid moments of looking at the strong lines in his jaw that I was certain. He almost looked frail at first, long and lanky with hands that seemed almost too long for the rest of him. Deep auburn hair swept past his lightly freckled face, shrouding his shoulders like a cloak of autumn leaves. Thick lashes accented large red amber eyes that often found their way boring into my soul, picking apart my deepest thoughts, silently. I can remember the time I just watched as he sat on the stool in the basement of The Shack, long fingers gently caressing the scalloped neck of his Stratocaster, his enraptured expression hidden behind a curtain of dark fire as impossibly fast arpeggios scaled thunderously through the tiny practice amp. I'll admit, I used to think a lot of how nice it must be to be that beautiful.
John's beauty, however, was best portrayed by his mind. It took many years for me to really get to know who he really was. It's only after years of fragmented clues that I was able to determine who he was, where he came from. His brother told me once that he wasn't really his brother at all, but almost more like a family pet. His brother, Sean, was 17 when he found the 6 year old John living in a patched tent in the woods behind Wal-Mart. Sean soon became John's guardian since his parents refused to take any part in raising John. In their eyes, they had their one child, and that was all they felt they could handle. Later, John admitted he felt guilty, claiming that Sean's commitment to raising the wild child had robbed him of his later youth.
John's only real flaw that I've been able to see is that he operates best under guilt. Were if not for that, however, he may not have devoted so much of himself to being self sufficient. By the time he was 11, he was freelancing to an advertising company, a local sign shop and a company that built facades for Renaissance Faires.  Deeply ingrained into the art district culture it only seemed natural that he was adopted so to speak by the local artisans.
John had never been to school, never had a friend his age, never played with toys. For John, childhood didn't exist. Maybe that's why he always acted so simple sometimes. He was the kind of guy that you could catch standing in the middle of a parking lot, eyes locked on the evening cloudscape above. You know, I remember one time cars were literally honking and having to drive around him because he had one of his "cloud moments". He was that way with snow too. Every single time it snowed you could see the excitement in his smile, and in New Haven it snowed… A LOT.
The only other thing that kept his attention so rapt was me. For many years I always just assumed because we were so different he was just interested in those differences. He was always an analytical creature, comparing, mentally dissecting, visually reverse engineering. Where he was stunning and beautiful, I was gangly and awkward. I love drawing and painting but those things just don't come as easily to me. I'm optimistic and less than willing to let other people know when I'm sad or bothered. Really I'm your typical guy, nothing special.
I suppose my greatest influence other than John for me was an Indie/Blues singer named Mariel Jaunt. She was also from an art scene, but Austin Texas, not here. While other kids in the 90's were blasting Korn and NIN, I was in my room with the sultry tunes of soul filled post rock. Kinda funny for a metal musician I suppose, but I have to thank that appreciation alone for being able to revolutionize the metal scene in the years following the rise of Beast.
We were all a little different, each one of us, and those differences led to our success. This is our story, from our slow beginnings, through serendipity and hardships. Oh, and John, if you're out there somewhere, even if this is a bit late, here is my answer: you were right all along.

Rock on, Fuckers

--Redstorm
New Haven, Wyoming