You see that title under my name? That’s unadulterated theft.

It comes from my brother Jimmy Bower. He’s a high-school dropout, has tattoos from head to toe and Willie Nelson’s taste in hair and drugs. And he’s from the West Bank.
He sounds just terrible, doesn’t he? But since his Wikipedia page says he’s the
“Godfather of Southern Metal,” I guess someone digs his style.

He’s toured Japan, Australia, Russia and most of the continental United States with the band Down, a once pet project for Pantera singer Phil Anselmo that has turned into a 13-year run. The band is a blend of Black Sabbath and Pantera. Their songs feature waves of heavy, suffocating guitar riffs that push down on an audience, prompting chaotic mosh pits that would make Ozzy Osbourne smile.

What has been interesting to me, as someone who has always been outside the metal scene, is interacting with the fans. You can’t miss them. They’re not the brooding sort who personify the “emo” image, mind you, but boisterous guys who love to jump around and talk about how much Dio sucks.

One of my favorite examples comes from a Down concert at the Howlin’ Wolf. Just before the show this dude with a biker goatee went up to my brother and decided to show off his tattoo. He unraveled his shirt and unveiled what looked like an MS-Paint reconstruction of my brother’s face on his arm. It was the Mona Lisa of atrocious tattoo art, a perfect disaster.

And then there was Voodoo Festival 2002, when I met the most famous Down fan at the time, then-New Orleans Saints offensive lineman Kyle Turley. I was lucky enough to stand backstage and shake his hand. I was in awe. Then the bum blew the perfect memory the next season by playing poorly and then declining a contract extension.

Loyola fans, though, are the ones I interact with the most. I’m great friends with a couple of them, and they get a hoot out of going to shows with me and meeting Jimmy. Most of the time they ask me if I play anything myself, to which I say no, since my dad has always had an embargo on any music composed by me.

But I don’t see Jimmy as the “Godfather” of anything, or even as a fantastic musician. To me he’s that chubby, smelly dude who gave me one of my first beers. To me he’s the guy who shows up late to Christmas and hands me $100 in an envelope.

To me he’s just my brother, the guy with the cool riffs.