"You're alive! It's great to be alive."
That's what Dave Lombardo tells his wife, Paula, when she tries to match his coffee intake and her heart starts skipping beats. The 58-year-old drummer says he brews espresso like drip — meaning in large amounts, and frequently — and he's already swigging his sixth shot of the day when Revolver reaches him via Zoom just after 1 p.m.
"If you don't feel your heart fluttering, it's not working," Lombardo reassures me, grinning, as he takes another sip from his Dead Cross mug.
It's only fitting that one of the fastest drummers in metal history — the guy who pummeled the kit on Slayer's "Angel of Death," has been dubbed "The Godfather of Double Bass" and is revered for pioneering extreme-metal's rhythmic assault — has a need for caffeine. He also has a busier schedule than a Fortune 500 executive, so the extra boost comes in handy.
Since 2020, Lombardo has already recorded and/or toured with roughly 10 different bands. He's played with the Misfits, Mr. Bungle, Suicidal Tendencies and Testament. He's released music with Dead Cross, Bungle, Satanic Planet, Venamoris (he and his wife's dark-pop duo) and Empire State Bastard, a new grindcore band with members of Biffy Clyro.
Somehow, in the midst of all of that, Lombardo also found time for him-self. Over 40 years since he co-founded Slayer, and after decades of collaborations with metallers, punks, industrial weirdos, rappers and film-score maestros, the drummer was finally ready to unleash his first-ever solo album. Released in May via Ipecac Recordings, the label run by Mike Patton (his partner-in-crime in Dead Cross, Mr. Bungle and Fantômas), Rites of Percussion is a collection of instrumental compositions that range from moody drum meditations to visceral, groovy bangers — all with Lombardo's signature dark tinge.
Even among the extremely diverse discography Lombardo has amassed, Rites of Percussion sounds like nothing else he's ever done. In fact, to fans who mostly know Lombardo from his years in Slayer, it might make them crinkle their noses. He wouldn't want it any other way. Lately, he's been enjoying venturing off his blast-beaten path, whether it's dabbling in world music or shuffling through romantic love songs with his lady in Venamoris.
"Once you stop learning and interacting with other musicians, I think that could be the end," Lombardo says of his undying mojo. "And I don't want to get there. I'm not ready for that yet. Just like I'm not ready to write a book. Everybody says, 'Oh, you should write a book.' I say, 'Why? I've got so many more chapters to be a part of.' Writing a book, it's almost like hanging it up."
Maybe so, but we still felt that Lombardo's storied life thus far was worth documenting, so we spoke with him about all of it. From his tumultuous childhood fleeing Cuba and growing up an outsider in Southern California, to forming Slayer — then leaving Slayer, rejoining and leaving again — and his insatiable quest to never pigeonhole his creative identity, this is Dave Lombardo's life story.
WHEN WERE YOU BORN, AND WHERE?
DAVE LOMBARDO I was born on a full-moon night on February 16th, 1965, in Havana, Cuba. I was there for only a year-and-a-half.
TELL ME THE CIRCUMSTANCES AROUND YOU LEAVING.
Well, five years prior to us arriving in '67 in L.A., my two older brothers were sent to America. They were like 10 and 13. They were sent to America with a group of about 14,000 children — which was a handful compared to the amount that were left behind — to escape communism. My mom and dad didn't want them to be a part of the military regime. So, my parents, through the Catholic Church, placed my two brothers in a city here in Southern California called Long Beach, where Snoop Dogg is from. It's also where I've been my entire life. They were going to send my brothers to live in a foster home, and then my parents were going to follow with my sister. My parents were going to get a visa to escape … but [Cuba] was in the middle of this political thing with Russia, and the Cuban missile crisis happened and shut the borders down. The wall went up, and there was no communication between my parents and my brothers, only through letters. So, my mom and dad weren't able to see my brothers for five years.
OH MY GOD.
It was horrible for mom and dad. They thought they weren't ever going to see my brothers again. I believe my parents were going to get a divorce ... My dad lost his businesses; it was pretty bad. Then my mom said she had a date with my dad, and here I am. So they stayed together and, sure enough, in '67, they were able to catch a flight to Los Angeles, and then meet up with my older brothers.
SO GROWING UP IT WAS MOSTLY YOU AND YOUR SISTER?
I have an older sister. I'd rather not talk about her. She's not the black sheep, but we all have one in every family. So, I was basically the only child. It was a Cuban household: Cuban music, Cuban food, Cuban language. But when I stood outside the door, I was in America — the land of opportunity, where you could be whatever you want to be. I think that [played] a role in the drive that I had to be who I am today.
DID YOU FEEL LIKE AN OUTSIDER, HAVING BEEN AN IMMIGRANT?
Fuck yeah. I adapted the English language as best as I could. I don't have an accent, but the Cuban language was my first language. I learned how to speak English in school.
DO YOU THINK THAT FEELING DROVE YOU TO PARTICIPATE IN THE OUTSIDER CULTURE OF METAL LATER IN LIFE?
Yes. I loved the Southern California vibe: skateboards, Frisbees, beaches, surfing, hot rods. I still enjoy those things — and of course music. American rock music was the ultimate. My parents listened to a lot of Cuban music at home, but I gravitated toward what was on the radio. I had a little tape recorder, and I would sit next to the stereo and record songs that I liked.
YOUR BROTHERS ARE QUITE A BIT OLDER THAN YOU. WERE YOU CLOSE WITH THEM GROWING UP?
Yes and no. They were a lot older than I was, and they had already moved out of the house and had their jobs. My brother Manuel was in the Army ... He drove all the bigwigs around in Germany in the early Seventies or something. Danny was the only one who was at home for a while. He would put these little pencils in my hand and lay out little boxes on the floor. I had to have been three years old. And he put on an album by Cream called Wheels of Fire, and it had a song "Toad" that had a drum solo. He would have me play along to that because he was tired. He didn't want to deal with me.
WHAT WAS YOUR RELATIONSHIP LIKE WITH YOUR PARENTS?
My dad was a hardworking man. We really didn't do much as a family because my dad was working. As an immigrant — he didn't speak a word in English — he got a job, bought a house, paid for his home and retired. Now looking back, it's like, wow, this guy worked his ass off. No wonder I have this work ethic. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
WHEN DID YOU PICK UP YOUR FIRST REAL INSTRUMENT?
My brother had an acoustic guitar, and I remember fiddling with it. There was also this little electric organ ... I remember scaring myself because I hit certain chords together, and it created this scary, ominous sound. I remember looking over my shoulder and going, "Whoa." I felt the music — or I felt the power of certain notes and how it affected me.
We would go to these Cuban clubs where people would drink, have dinner and [hear] bands play. I would love watching the rock bands, because they played pop songs … The one guy that played guitar had long hair — who my parents at that time called hippies. So my dad would be like, "Hey, Dave, your hair's getting long. I don't want you looking like a hippie." But that guy would come up front with his guitar and it would have distortion. He would play rock songs like "Long Train Runnin'" by the Doobie Brothers and "Takin' Care of Business" by Bachman-Turner Overdrive. And [one day] I went fishing with my brother and he said, "OK, we're going over to my friend's house." We get there and the guy has a drum set. I get behind the drum set, and I tried to play something. He said, "Here, you do it like this." And he teaches me just one little roll. From that point on, my love and interest for drums just kept growing.
WHEN WAS YOUR FIRST BAND?
1978 or '79. I was 14. I was already jamming with guitar players, probably starting in seventh or eighth grade. I had a little $350 drum set that my dad bought me. Then I found other musicians at school, and we created a band called Escape — and changed our name to Sabotage when we got this other singer. Then my dad, being as hardworking as he was, said, "Hey man, you're 15, bro. You need to get a job." They didn't want me to go down a negative path. They wanted me to be productive and part of the workforce. I had to quit that band and get a job if I wanted to live at home. So, I did. The benefits of that were that he saw my work ethic — and I asked him to front me the money for the drum set that is pictured on the back of [Slayer's] Show No Mercy.
IS IT TRUE YOU WERE A PIZZA DELIVERY BOY WHEN SLAYER FORMED?
Yeah. When I met Kerry King, I was 16 years old delivering pizza, and I drove by Kerry's house. Because people knew me as a drummer, friends told me that a guitar player lived [near] my house. He was on the corner of my street four or five blocks up, and then Tom [Araya] lived on the next street, but one block over.
Remember I told you about that Cuban club where rock bands would play? Well, Tom Araya played in one of those rock bands. He's four years older than me, so he was 14 and I was 10. When I first met Tom, I asked him, "Did you play in this band called Tradewinds?" And he said, "Yeah." I said, "I saw you play." He said, "Oh, at that Cuban club?" I said, "Yeah, I used to go there when I was a kid."
PLAYING MUSIC WAS OBVIOUSLY YOUR PASSION AT THAT AGE. DID YOU HAVE OTHER ASPIRATIONS?
Yeah. I didn't know how far Slayer was going to go, and neither did my parents. We were still playing backyard parties and high schools. I wasn't old enough to play clubs and bars … I was the youngest one in the band. My dad said, "What are you going to do with yourself? What are your plans?" My other passion was music engineering, and I was working as a DJ assistant. So, I chose a [school] in Hollywood that was kitty-corner from Sunset Sound. It was a very famous recording studio where the Doors had recorded. I applied to the engineering school, and I received all the documents, brochures and everything. Maybe two weeks later, [Metal Blade Records founder] Brian Slagel hits us up and says, "Hey, I want you to record a song for Metal Massacre." And the rest is history.
YOU LEFT SLAYER FOR THE FIRST TIME IN '86, RIGHT?
Yes. So, I was still living with my parents during '83, '84, '85, and then I got my own place in '86 … and [I realized a] financial issue when it came to Slayer. But Rick Rubin, because we had just signed with him [to Def Jam], made sure to call me every day. He said, "You need to go back. Dude, they need you." I was like, "No, man. Fuck that shit." But then he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I went back, and it was good. I'm glad I did.
SO, YOU INITIALLY LEFT BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T THINK IT WAS WORTH IT TO LIVE ON SUCH SMALL PAY?
I think I felt disillusioned. Even after recording Reign in Blood, because that's when I left in '86, I felt a little disillusioned with the business. But I ended up going to a Megadeth concert. They were opening up for Alice Cooper at the Long Beach Arena. I think there might have been talk about me working with Megadeth, but I just didn't feel it was a right fit. I don't think they were in a good headspace for me to join. But I thought about it, and I'm sure if I would not have gone back to Slayer, I would've joined another band or created a band. But Rick Rubin, he stayed on those phone calls.
YOU'RE KNOWN AS THE GODFATHER OF DOUBLE BASS. WHEN DID YOU FIRST TRY THAT MANEUVER AND WAS IT NATURAL TO YOU AT FIRST?
I think it was natural. I was already implementing those patterns with my legs or my feet. I was a big fan of Iron Maiden's early works. Clive Burr was a big influence, and the drum beat for "Phantom of the Opera" where he was using the high hat, but the bass drum was his high hat. Then I heard "Overkill" by Motörhead and I was blown away. That affirmed my trajectory: I wanted to go into a double-bass drumming style.
WHAT'S YOUR PROUDEST MOMENT FROM BEING IN SLAYER?
The history and being part of such an influential band. The awe that strikes people when you tell them, "I was the drummer in Slayer." It's like, "What? Really? You're that guy." Yeah, we change, don't we? Just everything we did: Making such a mark at a young age, that is something to be proud of. And of course, the body of work that we created was amazing. I love those records.
And just the direction and meeting Rick Rubin. Being in a studio in New York City with Beastie Boys, Run-DMC and Slayer all together said a lot to me about the producer that picked us up and his diversity. I think that was part of what also drove me to want to be a part of so many different projects. It's not just about playing in a band with one group of guys. For me, it's more than that. It's about meeting new people, new musicians, their style of music, their history, their background, their ability. Different challenges are what matter to me.
IN 1992 YOU LEAVE SLAYER AGAIN. DID YOU FEEL LIBERATED TO BE ABLE TO EXPLORE NEW THINGS?
Yes. I felt liberated and I felt driven. Everyone was upset. It was a little disappointing that your bandmates didn't understand, but that fueled my determination to create another band, which was Grip Inc., and record like four or five records. That was great. … I was listening to other styles of music that were influencing me as a drummer, and I was able to express those rhythms. Some of the drum patterns I was able to dabble with and record were drum patterns that I believe Slayer wouldn't be able to wrap their heads around.
A DECADE LATER YOU REJOINED THE BAND. WHAT MADE THAT POSSIBLE?
It just felt like it was the right time. There might have been a shift in schedules where some of the bands that I was involved with, including Fantômas and Grip Inc., weren't touring as much. So that door was kind of open. I don't know. It just seemed like that was an opportunity to come back to something that I was part of and continue on.
YOUR FINAL RUN WITH SLAYER LASTED ABOUT 10 YEARS. YOU LEFT BEFORE THEY CALLED IT QUITS IN 2019. DO YOU WISH YOU COULD'VE PLAYED ON THAT FINAL TOUR?
No, not really. I was already doing so much… I'd known for years that Tom wanted to retire, so it was no surprise. During the later years — I left in '13, so maybe around 2009 or 2010 — Kerry and I were thinking about putting together another band. It might have been at Hellfest, when Kerry and I said, "Hey, let's go see Exodus." We walked to one of the other stages and we saw Gary Holt play. I said, "Dude, that guy's a badass." And Kerry was like, "Yeah, that's who we need to recruit for this new project." And again, at that time we knew Tom wanted to stop. He was tired. And then the whole Jeff Hanneman thing went down and the first person that crossed our minds was Gary Holt.
HOW DID JEFF HANNEMAN'S DEATH IN 2013 AFFECT YOU PERSONALLY? DID IT MAKE YOU RECKON WITH YOUR MORTALITY?
It shocked me. I was heartbroken because I believe the band did almost everything to help him get better, because it was a combination of things. The spider bite made his immune system weak, so then when the alcoholism took over, that's when shit went downhill. It was unfortunate, sad. Did it make me think of my own mortality at that time? No, I felt on top of the world at that time. But as time goes on, you think about your mortality all the time. Oh, shit, I got about 20 years left. Fuck. What should I do with that time?
SO MANY MUSICIANS DURING THE ERA YOU CAME UP IN HAD BATTLES WITH DRUGS AND ALCOHOL. DID YOU ALWAYS MANAGE TO AVOID THAT PITFALL? There were battles, but I quickly nipped it in the bud and didn't let it take over. There could have been times where it could have, and it felt that way. Not on the outside, nobody would know, because I'm pretty private. I don't easily let people into my world or make my world known. But I certainly didn't fall into it to the extent a lot of my friends did. And some of them have lost their minds. Just friends that aren't even musicians, it's like, wow, that must have been a bad batch.
A COUPLE YEARS AGO KERRY SAID SLAYER "QUIT TOO EARLY." IF YOU GOT THE CALL FOR A REUNION, WOULD YOU SAY YES?
I don't even go down that path. I don't see it ever happening. If they ever do decide to come back, they're going to piss off a lot of fans because, man, they really hyped that farewell tour. They're going to have to be very careful on how they approach that. But who cares? The fans will be happy regardless. So, I don't even think about that.
REVOLVER READERS RANKED YOU THE GREATEST METAL DRUMMER OF ALL TIME. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT RECEIVING AN ACCOLADE LIKE THAT? It's uncomfortable. It puts pressure on an artist. Sometimes that pressure will activate a rebellious side of me, and I will want to create something totally different that people wouldn't expect. Recently, Venamoris [is an example]: very soft, melodic ballads where I'm playing brushes and rim shots and my wife is singing. It's beautiful music. And it's like, "OK. Now what do you think?"
SPEAKING OF YOUR WIFE, YOU TWO WERE MARRIED RELATIVELY RECENTLY. HOW'D YOU MEET?
We were introduced by a mutual friend around 2010, I believe. I had separated from a long-term volatile marriage. She had just moved from Nashville. She's Canadian-born and a wonderful woman [with an] amazing family. When we met, I felt like I could talk to her about anything. We have this amazing, open-dialogue relationship. Our first conversations were very open, and then we slowly fell in love. And we've been married, going [on] five years.
At first, I didn't know she was a vocalist. Then she confided in me, and I was blown away. When I first heard her sing, I was like, "Man, we've got to do something." This was years ago, and it was always brushed under the carpet. And luckily, during the pandemic, after long nights and a lot of wine [we created] Venamoris.
WHEN IT COMES TO LEFT-FIELD PROJECTS LIKE VENAMORIS OR SATANIC PLANET, DO YOU CARE IF YOUR USUAL FANS DON'T LIKE IT?
I like the challenge. And it's not like I'm going to ever abandon thrash. There'll always be the Dead Cross and the Mr. Bungle music, and Empire State Bastard, too. That's always going to be there. It's all these other little gems that I'll throw out that are very satisfying to a creative person because you're able to put something out there that wouldn't be something you normally put out.
THAT BRINGS US TO YOUR SOLO RECORD. WHY WAS NOW THE RIGHT TIME TO RELEASE IT?
It's been a long time coming. When I moved to this part of California I had that drum record in mind. What I didn't know was I was going to be given all the time necessary to actually do it [without] having to leave and do a tour. The creative process isn't an easy thing to harness, at least for me. I have to be in the right headspace. Luckily, but unluckily, the pandemic hit and helped me focus on what meant the most to me, and that was this record.
WHAT WAS YOUR INITIAL CREATIVE VISION FOR THE RECORD?
I didn't know, really, what this was going to end up as. It was about three-quarters into the writing process that it started to become cohesive ... into a body of work that was unique. The drums needed to sound like drums. I didn't want them to sound like triggered, programmed [or] any kind of CGI drums. The ability to record at home — and have the home be a part of the ambient resonance of the body of work — also helped it all come together. I was always fascinated with that approach to engineering. So acquiring this house and being able to set up and run cables through the house was so awesome.
YOU'VE COVERED SO MUCH MUSICAL GROUND OVER YOUR CAREER. WHAT STYLES ARE STILL ON YOUR LIST TO EXPLORE?
There's a lot of genres of music that I enjoy that [might surprise] people. I really enjoy hip-hop; there's a constant evolution in that style of music, where they bring in some edge. I enjoy lo-fi drum-beats. Just very laid-back, chill-out music. Ambient music — even though it doesn't contain a lot of drums and rhythms — I'm into that. I'm into soundtracks, Cuban music, Afro-Caribbean music, world music.
And hopefully, I've established the kind of musical repertoire for myself to show that I am open to it all, and no matter what level. It doesn't have to be platinum-selling artists. It could be anyone or anything — as long as I love the music or I find the direction, or the approach, or the collaboration interesting. That's all that matters — and making sure that there's time.
