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It was a winter night, 1983. Christmas vacation was in full force, which as a UW student, meant two things: it was cold outdoors and there was plenty to drink indoors.

That meant a night at Headliners, to catch a band I had heard about called PREDATOR. They were the competition at that point, since I was still slogging it away in TRAXX, having important arguments as to why doing an OZZY song was a better idea than doing a Sammy Hagar one. Had to check them out and see what the hub bub was about, quietly hoping they might need my services.

Headliners had an antechamber where you paid your admission and then you pushed through two huge barn doors into the stage area. TRAXX hadn't played there yet. We weren't good enough and we really needed to play on the biggest stage in the capitol. I heard the band through the doors and was impressed with the vocals. The guy was doing really difficult stuff: DIO, Maiden, Priest and of all bands, STYX.

He was vaulting through Suite Madame Blue while I waited. The more I heard, the more impatient I became. Once in, the band had hit the the guitar solo, and the singer had wandered offstage. Great. Now I had to wait through a long guitar solo to see who this guy was.

When he came back on, I couldn't believe my eyes. Here was a guy over six feet tall and pushing 300 pounds so hard it was creased. He couldn't possibly possess that voice, though it certainly had enough room to move around. He grabbed the mic, finished off the song perfectly and the band segued into Denim and Leather, a Saxon chestnut. He tore that one up too. I couldn't understand why this band was letting a man-mountain front them. This was the shallow 1980's after all, when image was everything. Were they nuts? The song crashed to an end and he spoke to the crowd.

Then it became clear why he was in front. Gonzo handled the crowd like they were sheep. He just thought out loud and it came across as:  Hey, it's just you and me here tonight. Doesn't this band rule?

Unreal. I had to be in this band, somehow. Six months passed, and TRAXX was starting to cause giant headaches. The constant in-fighting blew up in Sauk City one summer night, and the PREDATOR door opened as the TRAXX one slammed shut. I called Gonzo the next morning and asked him for a gig. They were on hiatus, had lost a guitarist, and there was an opening.

I got to fill it.

We went right to the top of the Madison band heap, filling up the clubs and giving a college town a fair dose of Metal when it was used to stuff like the Human League. We sported a twin guitar line up, with Gonzo at the helm and a rumbling, triplet fueled rhythm section. The set list was a potent mix of our favorite metal and rock bands: Sabbath, Priest, Scorpions, and some PREDATOR-penned tunes as well.

After a while, tastes and outlook started to wander. Mine were heading towards more eclectic rock, and they were looking at the blossoming "epic metal" approaches like the recently released Powerslave album. It was a good time for my exit, as I needed a change and it was clear that Lonnie was a better guitarist than me; more schooled, better ear, and cleaner technique. And being an insecure twenty-one years old, I couldn't have that...so I moved on.

It was a powerful band, because our approach was so direct. We played what we liked and that was that. It was loud, it was fun, and it got us locally famous. PREDATOR became the opening act du jour for bands that would stop in Madison on tour. Years later it was a blast to tell guys like Rudy Sarzo that we opened for them on the Metal Health tour. I would remind them where the gig was, and they'd say, "OK, now I remember Madison. What were you guys called again?"

Even if the band's name escaped them...they always remembered Gonzo.