There’s a rare kind of moment when an interview turns into something more — when it stops being about the questions and becomes a shared ritual, two people unspooling memories and meaning over distorted signal and digital static. That’s what happened when I sat down — well, Zoomed in — with Brandan Schieppati, the iconic voice of Bleeding Through, a band that shaped a generation of hardcore kids and gym-rat riff freaks.
What was supposed to be a 20-minute chat about guitars, good times, and The Misfits turned into something far more human. And yeah, I was ready for chaos — I had my notes, I had my references, but what I wasn’t ready for… was the emotion.
“There was a show in London,” Brandan said, “I thought it would be the last time we played there. And the crowd… man, the reception… it was overwhelming.”
And then, he broke. Just for a moment. A tear. The kind of thing you don’t fake. Not for a camera. Not for clout.
This wasn’t a frontman flexing ego. This was a man, grateful to the bone, ripped wide open by the love of the fans who’d been screaming his words back to him for decades. It floored me. Because when someone like Brandan — whose band has soundtracked the rage, loss, and triumph of thousands — shows you that raw heart? You don’t forget it.
GIBSONS, FLOOR SHOWS, AND FISTFULS OF MEMORY
When we weren’t talking ghosts of gigs past, we dove deep into the riff trenches. Brandan’s still got the two Gibson SGs that shaped so many Bleeding Through records — one of them, a crimson-red battle axe he picked up off Tommy Love from Throwdown. A guitar with grit and blood in its woodgrain. You don’t just play a guitar like that. You bleed into it.
We also got talking about floor shows — those wild, sweaty punk-as-fuck nights where amps teeter on milk crates and bodies fly like chaos incarnate. And when I asked if he’d still throw down at one?
“People think that’s not something we would do because we’re ‘Bleeding Through’.
I’m just like — fuck you. That’s awesome.“
Yeah. That’s the spirit.
He spoke about fans with genuine reverence. Not the “we love our fans” throwaway line — but the real kind.
“We fucking love our fans.”
And you could tell he meant it. Every word.
BROTHERS IN MUSIC, BONDED BY AGE
Brandan and I are close in age — a pair of elder Deathmetal fans and lifers from the hardcore trenches. We share a lot of the same influences, and as we traded stories and talked about bands we both grew up worshipping, it stopped being an interview and became a conversation between two fans who never stopped believing in the power of the pit.
THIS MEANS SOMETHING
This wasn’t just another content drop. For me, this was a moment. A validation. Brandan Schieppati — someone I’ve watched tear apart stages for over 20 years — trusted me enough to be real, to be vulnerable, and to reflect with honesty.
It meant everything.
This is the start of something. I can feel it. The door’s cracked open, and I’m charging through it with camera in hand and a throat full of screams.
Watch the full interview on KillerTube. No clickbait. No fluff. Just real talk, riffs, and memories from one of metalcore’s most defining voices.
Truth, if it wore a leather jacket and carried a switchblade
This is gospel
I bite crowd surfers.
killer.
