Brann Dailor is one sick dude. The Mastodon drummer sits in the back of the Atlanta metal band’s tour bus, face pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He’s nursing a VitaminWater with his elbows on his knees.

“The other night I got one of those deconstructed gyros,” he slurs out. He wanted the regular one, you know, the one with the pita. But after eating the deconstructed gyro, the gyro never reconstructed itself, as it were. And so in the middle of the night above bumpy New England roads, Dailor suffered his decision for hours in the tour bus bathroom. This is just one of the more unglamorous parts of being a rock star drummer and singer in one of the more famous metal bands going right now.

“I haven’t puked like that since I was, like, 12. It was fourteen or fifteen times. I was the only one, the unlucky one.”

He looks at the drink I’m holding in my hand.

“Are you drinking throw-up?” I say no, it’s just a some fancy heath drink that’s supposed to make you feel better.

“Does it work?”





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