Friday, October 25, 2013


One of the traditions held dear to the Sepultura camp, in the 90's was the birthday bucket! This concoction was as loved as it was reviled. One would sweat in misery as the big day approached...what unGodly mix would be projectile vomited on your Fresh Prince of BelAir Head this year?

The bucket started out innocently enough, one tour. Just a slimy batch of leftovers and old half drank beers, jellied in whatever container was available for demolition. As the tours passed by and the fun increased, the bucket began to age and I wouldn't say gracefully!
Paulo Bill and Nino

Me, Bill the driver and Nino

One year, in Italy, Paulo's birthday bash popped up on the calendar. We were nestling ourselves in, on a long forgotten beach village, on the northern coast of Italy, when we decided to get to work on the bucket. It was time for our driver, Bill, to take a 10 hour break, anyway. Plenty of reasons for some fun!

One thing lead to another. We romped through the village for a bit, visiting some local bars. The sight of my green hair was too much for the local Grammys. Two different Grandmas approached me and crossed, muttering something.... When I caught myself grabbing a one piece, old fashioned, light blue, butt flap buttoned, men's underware off a clothesline strung across a balcony, I decided it was time to head for the sanctuary of the bus.

When everyone regrouped, the bucket came out of nowhere. The recent German tour had left us with an excess of mustard, a very recommended bucket ingredient.  

This was quite tame, and in future years the bucket received cigarette butts, a bit of spit and even a drop or two of the yellow snow substance. The most sanitary bucket I ever saw was Zyon's one year bucket. It was a tiny little cup-bucket meant to dump a chubby pink toe in! And in Texas, the award for best bucket stampede ever, as I walked into a dressing room holding Zyon, at the precise time the bucket was sloughing about and a herd of laughing band and crew stormed out like a herd of Brahma Bulls!

The bucket tradition was retired on one of the stairs of Max's career. In all of our 'bucket memory dialog,' it will always be accompanied with a smile and a "phew.'
Class dismissed...