Hard-Core: Life of My Own

by Harley Flanagan

  The whole shit was still underground. There was only like one store on West 48th Street that sold real MMA and Jiu-Jitsu stuff on VHS, not DVD—MMA from Brazil and the Netherlands. I was so into the shit. If I didn’t have a training partner, I’d find one, either a band member or a friend. Or I’d just sit and meditate on the moves. The people I knew who were into it, we’d share tapes, make copies, and circulate them among people who were down. Since then, everybody has incorporated Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu into their style. Back then it was still all relatively new in America.

  I was fortunate to start training with him when it was in its early stages with just a handful of students, and I moved with him through several academies. The first one was at a Kung Fu school on 25th and 8th. Then we moved to 27th Street between 7th and 6th. Then we moved back to the Kung Fu school on 25th. It was funny, there’d be all these people doing Kung Fu in one end of the place, with all their staffs and crazy spears, and axes, and then on our side, people were getting mangled, choked, and arm-barred. I think the Kung Fu school lost a lot of students to Jiu-Jitsu. We went through several different places.

  Then Renzo got a space on 37th and 8th right near the Music Building. That academy was crazy; the building was under construction, so most of the floors were empty. The only things in the building that were open was us and a methadone clinic on the second floor, so there were always all kinds of scumbags in the building and hallways. The elevator door would open, and there’d be like two or three junkies standing there, going, “We’ll fight you guys!” and we’d just laugh, like, “Naaah, it’s all good. You win, guys!” That was when Renzo started really putting together a team of fighters.

  He had some crazy students back then. We finally moved to 30th Street, where we are now. And now, years later, he has legions of students and badass instructors—some of the most respected and decorated grapplers and fighters in the world. I can’t even keep track of how many high-level guys roll through the academy today: GSP, Chris Weidman, and so many others.

  Now Renzo has academies all over the world and an army of Black Belts! But I’m proud that I was a part of his team in the early days. I used to truck with the crew to see Renzo’s fights, and compete with Team Renzo Gracie. In ’96, when he fought Oleg Taktorov, a bunch of the guys and me piled into a car and went to Alabama. Oleg was a highly decorated Sambo Judo and Jiu-Jitsu fighter, and a former UFC champion. At the time, Renzo and Oleg were both undefeated; he outweighed Renzo by a good 40 pounds. Before the fight, there was a big press conference with all the fighters. Renzo was being interviewed, and Mark Coleman was in the crowd—and his manager was holding up a sign that said, “3 Gracies, one night: Renzo, Royce, Rickson!” At one point during the press conference, Renzo answered one of the questions, then smiled and said, “And my friend, there is no man alive on this Earth that can fight three Gracies in one night.”

  At that point, Coleman started to look a little uncomfortable. I was there ringside when Renzo knocked out Oleg. I was breaking Oleg’s balls, saying, “Hey Renzo, what was that you got him with? Oh-LEG!” ’Cause Renzo knocked him out with an up-kick. Oleg gave me a dirty look, got up, and walked out. The funny thing was, he didn’t even know he lost the fight ’cause he got knocked the fuck out. Sometimes it’s like that when you get knocked out. You’re like “Huh? What are you talking about? I’m fine, fuck that!” Meanwhile, your ass was just out cold.

  I met Carlson Gracie at that fight; he was there with some of his fighters. Murilo Bustamante fought an insane match against this huge wrestler named Tom Erikson. It was brutal. This guy was like twice Murilo’s size—there were no weight classes. Murilo took a murderous beating, but he never ever gave up and fought a valiant battle, to say the least. But it was ugly. I saw him backstage and I felt bad for him. There were a lot of big-name fighters there, but they weren’t big yet.

  Of all the people I’ve met, two of the people I respect the most are Renzo, and his brother, Ryan. I met Ryan back in the day at the old academy; it was his first time in New York. Within minutes he was breaking my balls and I was fucking with him right back. Even with a language barrier it didn’t matter, it was funny as shit and we got along great.

  I don’t know why he took an immediate liking to me, but he did. He used to come to my house and hang with my family, and he always used to bring us gifts from Japan when he’d go fight. He gave me his gloves from Pride FC that he fought with and signed them for me. I heard there was a big freak-out over it at the event—the promoters and the people from Pride didn’t want him to take them, but he didn’t give a fuck. He promised me the gloves from his fight so he flipped out and took ’em. He gave me those gloves, and when he came back from Japan, after my son was born, he gave me like $2,000. I didn’t want to take it, but he insisted. He said, “Shut the fuck up, it’s for the baby.” He was not someone to argue with. I tried but it was no use. He was a true brother.

  I met a lot of his old homeboys back in the day: Nino Schembri and all kinds of crazy motherfuckers! Old-school MMA Fighters. I remember back then when Daniel Gracie, Fabio Leopoldo, Rodrigo Gracie, Ricardo Almeida, and all those cats first started rolling through New York City, former UFC champion Matt Serra, Nick Serra, and John Danaher were all just blue belts. Those were great times. I was at Rodrigo Gracie’s first MMA fights, as well as Matt “The Terror” Serra and Nick Serra’s, when they first started competing in MMA. I used to go to all their fights at the Copacabana and out in Long Island, before it was legal in New York State. They’d fight on Muay Thai cards and kickboxing events billed as “freestyle exhibition grappling matches,” but it was MMA.

  I always had a love for combat arts. I have competed in grappling tournaments and underground MMA-type shit. But most of my fights took place when I was young, on the street for free. I did some commentating for “Combat in the Cage” in Rahway, NJ, and at “World’s Best Fighter” in Atlantic City: Team USA vs. Team Asia. It was a big deal ’cause it was the first time ever that an Asian team had fighters from Japan, China, and Korea. I also did a thing with Bodog; it was a blast. I have fought in NAGA and the New York State Grapplers Challenge—that was the first thing I competed in, back in 1999. I took third place. I also did some underground fight club stuff. I promoted seminars for old-school UFC fighters, like Mikey Burnett—fuckin’ great guy. Most of them are nuts. But what do you expect? They get paid to fight!

  MMA shit isn’t sanctioned in New York State—at least not yet—but they’re out there. It’s basically underground MMA matches. Some of them are private; some, like UCL, Underground Combat League, sell tickets. They’re held at boxing gyms and martial arts academies in different places across the city. The fights basically have the same rules as Ultimate Fighting. Some of them are rawer, like old-school “Vale Tudo.” Anything goes-style: head butts, elbow strikes, and kicking downed opponents in the head. I’ve been to all that shit in the Bronx, Uptown, and Queens. The last one I went to was on 200-something Street. I don’t want to get too specific about it. But they get pretty fuckin’ raw, I’ll say that much. I actually made it into a book about the underground fight circuit and several MMA magazines like Full Contact Fighter, Fighters Only and a few others.

  PART 2: CRO-MAG REINCARNATION/ REVENGE

  By the time we got back into the recording studio, I was training religiously. We had our rehearsal spot and we were doing pre-production for what’d become the White Devil Reincarnation EP and Cro-Mags Revenge. We went back up to Normandy Sound to start production up in bumblefuck Rhode Island. During the recording sessions, I had no training partners; all I had were my VHS Jiu-Jitsu tapes, which I’d watch all day and night.

  One day I talked some local rednecks and ex-con white-trash wannabe Aryan Brotherhood-type fuck-ups that I met at the 7-11 one afternoon into training—or really, more like fighting. I bet them I could submit them in less than three minutes or I’d give ’em $20 and buy them a six-pack of tall boys. They thought they could take me, so I’d let them come after me and try to
fuck me up. One after the other, I’d let them swing on me, and then take ’em down. So it only ever cost me like a six-pack just to keep them hanging out, and I’d just fuck these guys up and try out moves on them, while they’d sit and laugh at each other getting fucked up.

  Anyway, we recorded part of the Revenge LP and released it as an EP; it came out under the name White Devil. The Reincarnation EP only came out in Europe. We decided to save the tracks that we did on that, re-do some of the guitar tracks, record a few more songs, and put them out as a full-length in the States. The White Devil EP had this dude Kenny Lee on lead guitar. He was a guitar teacher; the dude was nasty, but for some reason, Parris wasn’t feeling it, so we got with Bobby Hambel from Biohazard, and we used that EP to get some dates. It actually went pretty well; it was Bobby, Parris, Dave DiCenso and me. I love Bobby—him and Dave are both great guys. We did a bunch of big festivals in Europe, and a bunch of club dates. That was when I broke Mackie’s nose in London. That shit was funny, but unfortunate. It happened ’cause he was talking shit to me and then he put his hands on me, so I head-butted him in the face, broke his nose and left him rolling around on the floor, with blood bubbling out of his nose and face until the bouncers picked him up off the ground and helped him leave.

  They asked me if I wanted him thrown out. I said no, but he left anyway. Then Bobby started freaking out and pulled a knife on—of all bands in the world—Shelter, who Mackie just happened to be playing with at the time, the nicest, most nonviolent guys. Bobby wanted to fight everybody! That was a crazy evening. We played some great shows; we did Dynamo with Venom, and we played with Ministry and House of Pain. We even played a festival with Biohazard while Bobby was with us.

  A great Bobby story from that trip took place when we were on tour in Italy and we lost him in one of the airports. We were flying to a different part of Italy, and we lost him going from one gate to another. He just disappeared. Now, this was back when Bobby used to drink, and he was always meeting women everywhere he went. So we lost him because he started catching a rap with some chick in the airport, and we didn’t know. We got to the gate and Bobby wasn’t there. We boarded the plane and Bobby didn’t show. We were waiting and waiting, but he never showed up. At that point, we were wondering if he even knew where the gig was, if he was gonna make another plane, how we were gonna find him—or he’d find us.

  This guy was as unorganized as I am, and we lost him! It wasn’t looking good. We showed up to this two-night festival, and there was no Bobby! We didn’t know where he was, and we didn’t know if he was showing. The next day, we still didn’t know. All we knew was that he didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t have his guitars, he didn’t have shit. Sure enough, that afternoon, after sound check, there comes Bobby, walking up the beach. It’s hot as shit out, everybody’s in shorts and no shirts, and Bobby’s in his fuckin’ leather jacket, army boots, black jeans, and wool hat! I was like, “How the fuck did you make it here?” And he was like, “Dude, I didn’t even know what city the festival was in. I’m asking people, ‘Do you know where this big rock festival is happening?’” Somehow or another he made it, and we played that night.

  Bobby wound up leaving the band. I don’t think he was getting along well with Parris, and he had some issues with Scott Koenig, who at the time was managing Biohazard. But I loved playing with Bobby. He’s a brother for life. We signed with King Records, and they financed the recording of Revenge. But we were having a hard time finding the right new guitarist ’til we hooked up with Rocky George, the ex-Suicidal Tendencies guitarist, through our friend Mike Schnapp, who worked at Profile when we were signed with them.

  The first time I met Rocky to play with him was at the Music Building. He’d just gotten off the plane and I met him at the rehearsal studio. He walked in with all his bags, his guitars, and dropped all his shit on the floor, with no sleep; just total disheveled madness. He looked around, saw my Billie Holiday CD next to the CD player, sighed, and said, “Thank God!” Then he looked around the room, looked at me and asked, “Anybody got a bong?” So we instantly bonded. Rocky George and Bobby Hambel are two of the guys I had the most fun playing with onstage. You can tell when people are having a good time playing together, and we had that.

  Rocky joined and we went back to Normandy Sound and finished the album. I loved working with Rocky, but those sessions were fucked. It was too much; we wore ourselves out. We did tons of pre-production, practicing the songs to a metronome, taping shit, and taking notes on what drum fills we liked best. Dave would chart out his drums. We were too meticulous. Then isolating ourselves at Normandy in Bumfuck, Rhode Island, staying at the studio for weeks, tracking endlessly—mixing, remixing, on and on. It turned into a nightmare of an album to make. But in the end, it sounded fucking great. And it really was me and Parris and that produced it. We went through several engineers before we finished that shit.

  We had several blowouts in the studio: I threw a chair at Parris once for talking shit, and one time he tried to make me flinch by rushing up in my face, so I swung on him. He was all, “I can’t believe you swung on me!” But I was like, “What the fuck did you think I was gonna do? You rushed me!”

  We wound up finishing the mix at Electric Ladyland in New York, the legendary home of Jimi Hendrix. But we were up in Rhode Island at Normandy for a long time working on that shit and we got fuckin’ stir-crazy. Me, Rocky, Parris and were living at the studio in an apartment upstairs. Our buddy Alvin Robertson, who used to be in the band Bloodclot and roadied for the Bad Brains, was there helping out, kind of tech-ing, making us laugh, and being a freak.

  Sean Kilkenny from Dog Eat Dog, who loaned us a bunch of amps that we were using in the studio, remembers: “I stand by my word by saying Revenge was the hottest f’n record they did since Age of Quarrel. And I had the pleasure of being there. I watched them write and rehearse the songs at the Music Building. It was like watching that machine that rips the asphalt off the street. Dave DiCenso was incredible! Then Rocky George shows up. Talk about insane! I remember loading gear out of the studio to bring to Normandy, a whole freakin’ sound system! They set it up upstairs in the ‘artist’ apartment. These guys were ripping through the rhythm tracks downstairs, and I’d bring a rough mix upstairs so Rocky could write the leads on the sound system they brought with them. During the recording of Revenge, Harley, Parris, and I were doing backing vocals and doubling them. Tom Soares or Phil said, ‘Who’s got that high girly voice in there?’ Needless to say, Harley and I finished the backing vocals. At one point during the recordings, Harley was doing vocals. He asked for a drink of water. I brought him the water. I didn’t know the motherfucker did his vocals naked with candles burning!”

  Revenge is my favorite Cro-Mags album. Obviously the Age of Quarrel era meant more to me, but Parris’ and my songwriting matured. I feel they were some of the best songs “musically” that we ever wrote together—all those years of playing together, separating, getting back together, the chemistry was still there.

  In that respect, it was just like the old days; we’d both come up with riffs, then I’d play drums, throw riffs at him, he’d play them back at me, et cetera. The lyrics reflected what my life had become. It was brutal, fucked-up, raw shit. I mean, leading up to and during the recording of that album, I had been going through so much in my personal life that it did affect the direction of the lyrics. I just dug in and that’s what I came out with. But that chapter was coming to an end, and a new one was beginning.

  We called it Revenge because it was kind of inspired by the fact that I had “Revenge” branded into my chest, and also it was kind of “revenge” as far as the two of us playing together again. It was our way of saying “Fuck you” to the shit-talkers on the scene.

  I remember at one point I actually suggested to Parris that we should get John in on it; his response was simple and cold: “Why embrace him when we can erase him.” I thought, “Damn.” That’s kinda harsh, ’cause it would’ve been cool for the
fans. But it didn’t seem like it was even a possibility at that point, and things were sounding really good. But I knew it would be a bit of a musical struggle if John joined again.

  One of the things I liked the most about Revenge was Rocky’s leads, all the voicings and nuances throughout the songs and in between the vocal parts; he was into Mahavishnu Orchestra and all kinds of crazy shit. We were constantly turning each other on to cool music, and still do. I am lucky to have played with him on so many projects. He’s a great guy and a great guitarist. I thought it was our best recording. Me and Parris were at the top of our game, and I was finally learning how to sing; I even took vocal lessons for that record. I was proud of how we sounded.

  We finished recording, and I was back at the Music Building and bouncing around a few other places; shit was rough. At the time, I was coming out of several messy relationships, and that’s when I hooked up with the future mother of my sons Harley and Jonah.

  She asked to not be mentioned by name in this book, but it’s impossible for me to tell my story without talking about our relationship because of how important it was, and how much it affected my life, especially by giving me my sons. So out of respect for her wishes I won’t use her name.

  I’ve had a lot of girlfriends, more than I can remember. The one thing most of them had in common was that they were nuts. I’ve gone out with good girls and bad girls, strippers, dominatrices, drug addicts, all kinds of freaks. I had to leave most of that shit out to make things fit into this book, but believe me, I could’ve easily written a book called “Crazy Bitches I Went Out With and Other Groupies and Sluts Along the Way.” I have been in some real messy relationships: lots of drugs and madness, real Sid and Nancy shit. And I have been in love a few times. I’ve had my heart broken more than once. But the break-up with the mother of Harley and Jonah was the one that hurt the most and changed my life forever, because of my sons.