Phil Anselmo Remembers Dimebag Darrell: ‘I Think of Him Every Day’
I remember Dimebag as a warrior. He was not only an incredible guitar player and personality but also within the Pantera gang of band members and road crew, he was a very dynamic personality, always very demanding of everybody. And he had a magic way of showing you his appreciation.
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The way he went out, using the word “murder” is always a stark, cold, hideous thing. None of this shit gets easier for me. It actually keeps getting tougher and tougher. For me, personally, I’ve yet to come to terms with it. I don’t see the sense. I don’t see the everything-happens-for-a-reason attitude. This year is the toughest yet.
But when I think about Dimebag, 99 percent of the time, it’s always the hilarious great times, and then one percent of the time it’s regrettable times, on my part. I think of Dime every day of my life. I’m a vivid dreamer and he’s in a lot of my dreams. When I dream about Dimebag, it’s always good times back when we used to travel in the blue van or his souped-up yellow Camaro, where he would just terrorize his little Arlington, Texas, neighborhood. He was just fucking hilarious, tearing into people’s lawns or smashing into fucking mailboxes. He was a fucking wild man.
The first time I ever laid eyes on Dimebag was in 1987 when I tried out for the band. I said, Jesus Christ, look at this skinny guy with this Afro playing guitar. His hair didn’t quite reach his shoulders, because he had this real long-ass neck, and it had this bounce to it. Later, I told him, “Dude, you look like a ruffled-up, fucking old Q-tip.” And he laughed.
When I joined the band, he was going by “Diamond Darrell.” I was always in the process of morphing the band into what we eventually did become, by controlling the cassette deck and turning them guys onto early Mercyful Fate, Slayer and shit like that. After awhile, I was like, “This ‘Diamond’ shit ain’t gonna cut it anymore. Brother, you ought to change that shit to ‘Dimebag,'” and the look on his face was priceless, ’cause I could tell he loved it right off the bat. It just cracked his ass up and he went with it from there.
Dimebag was really a big advocate of all things fun. A lot of touring bands will tell you life on the road isn’t always a smooth operation. There’s hard times, there’s mishaps, and it ain’t always rosy and pretty; Dimebag was one of those guys that could make a not-so-perfect situation into something special and hilarious and actually fun.
I remember him doing that once toward the end of the Vulgar Display of Power tour. There was this cat who used to come out to shows in a certain town and he was a nice enough guy, but he wanted to hang out a little too much and kind of got on everybody’s nerves. The day we got to the town was one of those days where I rolled over on the wrong side of the bunk thinking the worst. I head to my dressing room, and there’s this huge, two-page letter from this guy that says, “For Phil.” The guy’s saying, “I hear you guys have some time off, so I’m planning on coming down to New Orleans and visiting your house. I’ve got your address, and I’m going to bring my wife with me and she’ll give you special favors.” And I’m going, “Motherfucker, man. This is a nightmare.” I’m furious. I’m beside myself all day long. And about an hour before the show, as usual, Dimebag kicks the door open on my dressing room with a couple shots of whisky in his hand: “Time to get going, motherfucker. Let’s go.” And he goes, “By the way, that letter, that was total bullshit. I wrote the whole fucking thing.” God damn it. I grabbed him and I said, “You motherfucker!” He had me wound up all fucking day long. It made the rest of the night a blast.