Erik Holcombe (left) playing with Hans Condor at The Stone Fox, 1/23/2015
Nashville’s punk and metal scenes lost one of their most ferocious and dedicated exponents this week. Eric Lee “Erik” Holcombe, who led or played with some of the loudest, most intense bands to come out of Music City in the past quarter-century, was found dead at his home in the early hours of Sunday, April 1. Sadly, he had taken his own life. He was 37 years old.
Holcombe’s family moved to Middle Tennessee from Alabama when he was a child. When he and his brother Roger were students at Mt. Juliet High School, they started a hardcore band called Fecal Matter. Erik went on to lead Asschapel, the extremely heavy and much-loved band whose complete discography was reissued in 2016 by premiere heavy music label Southern Lord. Among others, he also played in High Strung, Snakeskin Machinegun, and Booby Hatch, the latter of which played the final show at Lucy’s Record Shop in 1998.
Those newer to Nashville music might best remember Holcombe as the bassist in brash and thrashy Mötorhead-inspired trio Hans Condor, which went on hiatus when frontman Charles Kaster went into training to become a police officer. The band made a glorious return in 2014 with Ryan Sweeney (who had played in Cheap Time, as well as with Holcombe in an incarnation of Snakeskin Machinegun) on drums.
As news of Holcombe’s death began to spread on social media Sunday night, friends and fans recalled a passionate and dedicated musician, friend and artist who never gave less than every ounce of energy he had to his projects. Kaster tells the Scene that there will be a private funeral service in Alabama on Saturday, but there is an informal gathering to celebrate Holcombe’s life beginning at 6 p.m. on Friday, April 6, at The Cobra (2511 Gallatin Ave.), where some of Holcombe's visual art hangs. All are welcome.
Kaster and Sweeney kindly offered the below remembrances of their friend and bandmate.
Erik and his brother Roger are pretty much considered rock ’n’ roll legends to longtime Nashvillians pushing 40. They've been touring and recording since they were in high school. Erik used to tell me stories about how he booked their first tour using the payphone at school during the lunch hour with a copy of Book Your Own Fucking Life in his hand. When spring break rolled around, they hopped in a van and took off. He never really stopped in the 20 years following.
Erik started playing in Asschapel in 1996, and they thrashed the globe for a solid decade until 2006. I was lucky enough to see them a few times at long-gone venues like Guido's Pizza and Red Rose Cafe.
Because Erik wanted to play as much music as possible, he also formed bands including Booby Hatch, High Strung and later on Snakeskin Machinegun, the latter two of which included his brother.
After Asschapel broke up and those other bands were pretty much long-gone, it was just a couple of years before he would join up with Charles Kaster and Hans Condor. They went through various drummers before going with what they know and picking up Erik's brother, Roger. That lineup ran all over the U.S. making a name for themselves.
In 2012, the year following the sudden Condor breakup, Erik and Roger teamed up and reunited Snakeskin Machinegun. They recruited me on drums, as their original drummer (John Roberson of Asschapel) had moved far away. We did a few local shows here and there for fun and to play with our buds, Guitar Wolf. That fizzled out again.
Then, some time in 2014, I got a text from an unknown number asking if I wanted to play drums. I responded: "Possibly. Who is this?" The reply was, "It's Charles & Erik of Hans Condor fame." I gave something of a "fuck yeah" and we started jamming a day or two later. Originally we weren't gonna call it Hans Condor, but it just came naturally, and they had already made a name for themselves. Our first show was to a verrrry empty Hi Tone in Memphis, where we kicked off a quick Southeast tour with Japanese wildmen King Brothers. That tour ended with a raucous show in Fond Object's Rags & Digs room. We traveled the eastern half of the U.S. and all over Japan over the next two years supporting bands like Guitar Wolf, King Brothers, Protomen and Dirty Fences. Then everything came to a halt, much like it did with the "classic" lineup in 2011. Life happened, depression happened, and the band was too strained to carry on. Charles moved to Iowa, I became a dad, and Erik disappeared.
I haven't seen or talked to Erik since December 2016.
Erik was depressed and had struggled for a while with addictions. It was sad to see him in the shape he'd get himself into. He was one of the most intelligent and hilarious people I've ever known. He was so quick-witted and loved a dumb, smart-ass joke. We laughed ’til we were in tears all the time in the Condor van. We had the best time together. I really hate that the band imploded and that Erik went down this spiral.
I wish his paintings and art were more of a centerpiece to what people know about him. He was always doing some really creative things.
Erik will always be my brother in rock ’n’ roll, and I will miss him dearly. —Ryan Sweeney
I watched a strange creature with long, scraggly hair, pants held up by safety pins and an old band T-shirt so thin I could see his nipples walk into Z's Deli (where Duke's is now), carrying a brown paper sack with a 24-ounce PBR in it. It was his first day of work. I thought, “Shit, I vouched for this guy.” We split another PBR tallboy in the back, and spent the day talking endlessly about our love for Slayer, The Germs, Black Flag, ELO, Warren Zevon, funny black metal logos, etc., etc., etc.
Inevitably, we joined each other’s bands. We eventually quit that job on the same day when we failed to show up to open the shop. We were driving to Birmingham, Ala., to play a show.
I had no idea this would be the beginning of a wild and wonderful friendship. We lived through a 100-mph white-knuckle ride into Las Vegas, burning the tour van in a Pizza Hut parking lot, fending off rabid animals with flaming tree branches, throwing up fish beer on the streets of Japan, Yahooing "coffee garlic" on a trip through the Badlands, rescuing fellow rock warriors from the clutches of a pimp, eating pizza out of a garbage can, empty gas tanks, full tour schedules, numerous trips to the emergency room, stitches and broken TVs. We left a trail of sweat, piss, jizz and blood.
Erik fixed every broken guitar, every broken amp and every broken van, and never complained about it one bit.
When he talked, when he worked, when he toured, when he wrote, when he played the bass “like a fat boy fartin’ through a hollow log,” I was a sponge, learning all I could about how to be more like him.
As I write this, I am crying, fighting against the black hole of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.
He was my friend, rock ’n' roll brother, and most importantly, my mentor. I love you Erik Holcombe. God damn it man, I hope you know I love you. —Charles Kaster
