Heavy Load

Mark Tremonti

Alter Bridge guitar slinger Mark Tremonti on crap jobs, obsessed fans, losing an appendage and having an extra one.

At a time when the guitar hero feels like an endangered species, Mark Tremonti is the cavalry. Born in Detroit on April 18, 1974, he had an itinerant childhood, but music was a constant, with the young guitarist developing virtuoso metal chops and forging a partnership with Scott Stapp that led to the multimillion-selling band Creed in the late 90s. The relationship had soured by

2004, but Tremonti moved seamlessly into the acclaimed Alter Bridge, and has scratched his own itch over the last decade with a solo career, the latest instalment of which is this year’s A Dying Machine.

What can you do that no one else can?

I can hear at another level because I was born with three ears. Me and my brother were both born with the beginnings of three ears. That’s really true. It wasn’t a fully developed ear, it was a tiny little thing. They cut it off when I was a kid.

What’s the worst physical pain you’ve ever been in?

When I was young, I was fighting a friend and I broke my hand. Then a few weeks later I was messing around with another friend and I re-broke it. So at the hospital, when they set the bone that had already been broken twice, that was pretty painful.

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? Working at the Octopus Car Wash for four years. That was tough. I was about sixteen years old, and the people I worked with were mostly on work release, in and out of prison. Very busy, very hot, and not a lot of money.

Are you technically a better guitarist than Jimi Hendrix?

Hell, no. It’s not about technique. It’s about being able to put your heart on the strings.

What were you like as a schoolboy? I was always the new kid. My parents moved me from Detroit to Chicago, back to Detroit, down to Florida. The hardest time was when we moved to Orlando. My two older brothers didn’t come with us, so for the first time in my life I was alone. I didn’t have brothers, I didn’t have friends. I was at a tiny private school where they were all little rich kids and I was the poorest kid in school. It was strict. I used to smoke at lunchtime in the parking lot, under my car. I’d act like I was working on the car, but I’d be smoking cigarettes.

If you had to lose one finger, which would it be?

I would lose my right pinkie. For guitar playing, you need every finger you’ve got on your left hand. But that pinkie is probably the least used. Where do you stand politically?

I kinda stand the same way I stand religiously. I don’t believe in structured religion or politics. I’m definitely not a Republican or Democrat.

How did you spend your twenty-first birthday?

I was at Bullwinkle’s, a bar in Tallahassee where I went to college. When you turn twenty-one, people buy you the grossest shot they can think of. The one thing I can remember about that night is my friends buying me cement mixers. It’s a shot with different kinds of alcohol, and they congeal when you mix them and turn into a solid paste in your mouth.

What’s the strangest experience you’ve had with a fan?

Scott Stapp lived on the end of my street in Florida. This woman came to his front door when I was over there and she said she was his sister – and their father was Jim Morrison. She was definitely high on something.

Can you remember what it feels like to be broke?

Oh yeah. I was dead broke until I was twenty-six years old. I put myself through college and I could live off ten dollars a week. I worked at a restaurant, so I’d eat there. Then I’d buy a dozen eggs, a gallon of milk, I’d get a loaf of bread and make myself French toast every day.

What’s the biggest misconception about you?

Back in the Creed days, it was the whole ‘Christian band’ thing. Like I said, I’m definitely not an organised religion guy. I grew up listening to speed metal: Slayer, King Diamond, Mercyful Fate, all these bands that people would consider satanists or whatever. To be considered a Christian band after all that was a weird thing.

What question would make you walk out of an interview?

I dunno. Throw something at me. I mean, if somebody was just negative, like, “How did you write such a bad record,” I’d say: “Alright, interview over.”

When death comes, how do you want to go?

Jeez. In a perfect world, I’d go in my sleep with some kind of brain aneurysm or something, so it’s over before I know it.

What will be written on your tombstone?

How about the lyrics to Night Shift by The Commodores? That’s my jam.