Chris Adler Admits Leaving Lamb of God for Firstborne Cured His Depression
The look on Chris Adler’s face says it all. One of the best rock drummers known to man is sitting in a tranquil environment in his studio, located in his family’s awe-striking home in Richmond, Virginia. It’s the same general vicinity where the 52-year-old Adler grew up and where he and a few pallies developed so-called “American Made Metal” purveyors Lamb of God.
In fact, one could argue that the drummer’s ardent fans are currently witnessing Peak Adler, who found inner peace during a meditation retreat. He has a new record coming in less than one month—Lucky, the first created by the new configuration of supergroup Firstborne. Adler is not about to, isn’t currently and doesn’t face any prospects in the near future of throttling himself to death like he used to during his Lamb of God days.
“I stopped listening to music,” Adler divulges in a mid-June conversation.
As someone who also became perilously close to losing his life due to a severe motorcycle accident in 2017, Adler can’t afford to risk pushing himself too hard even if he wanted to. He has a wife, three kids, two dogs and a cat. Doctors have warned him that playing as hard as he did in Lamb of God again could spell the end of it all for him. Although it’s obvious, Adler acknowledges that was drawn to Firstborne because of their lighter sound—well, lighter, that is, compared with one of the heaviest mainstream metal bands ever.
“It’s still hard rock, but metallish,” Adler sums up tidily. That said, he’s quick to insist: “But Firstborne didn’t have a mission statement when I started working with (one-name guitarist) Myron.” The band is rounded out by Megadeth bassist James LoMenzo and Girish and the Chronicles vocalist Girish Pradhan, who launched the ever-evolving project in 2020. (For his own part, Adler played for Megadeth from 2015-16, and performed on that band’s album Dystopia.)
Adler’s sturdy gaze—which, c’mon, you gotta admit, looks pretty damn close to Brad Pitt—is clear evidence that Adler is fully immersed in the moment and ready for whatever you might decide to say. Like a great pro pitcher who only tosses balls two ways—fast as hell and as a split-finger knuckleball, for example—he grants no easy cues as to what he may be thinking.
Except, in talking with a rock critic, he keenly smells something fishy when this writer decides to get to know his subject a bit before diving in and scaring Adler with smash, crash and thrash questions. (Not that he does anyway, but you get the drift.) Adler seems to have also forgotten that journalists aren’t really allowed to ask artists to answer tough questions these days. “Badgering” musicians with questions appears to be part of the PR rep’s jurisdiction these days, apparently.
As Adler’s facial looks vacillate ever-so-slightly—surely they must be called “micro tics,” yeah?—he’s dancing between sheepishness to befuddlement to nervousness. It’s as if he’s flipping through the pages of a self-help book and trying to recall the frame of mind with which one starts discussing trauma in the most careful way possible.
Of course, it’s Adler who is now practically begging to be asked, “So man, what really went down when you split with Lamb of God?”
This writer’s response is something of an echo of sorts, with—one hopes—none of the recklessness that can kill a craft like some younger dude barging into the art room and incessantly breaking shit as he tends to himself.
We chat a bunch more about the surgical setbacks that Adler suffered through and almost claimed more than just his participation in one of the best rock bands in the word. He is afflicted with musician’s dystonia—specifically task-specific focal dystonia in Adler’s case. It’s a permanent condition, with no remedy, in which the wrong muscles fire at any given point in time.
In other words, see doctor’s orders as described above.
And then we finally drill down to discuss the most painful topic a musician could ever face: “Why didja leave the band, man?”
Playing as he did in Lamb of God “became physically impossible for me to do, which was heartbreaking and disappointing. Honestly, it took me a long time to come away from that disappointment and not feel bad about myself. But I’m at the point now where I do enjoy playing again, and I’m able to do what I’m able to do.”
As if adding a flourish to a statement in which Adler declares, “I am the best version of myself!” he leaves us, in classic Adler form, with less cliched and thus more powerful reflections. When asked what quality or aspect of making Lucky makes him most proud, he replies:
“I’m proud of the fact that I got through the heartache and the real depression that came on when the departure happened (apparently around June 2020). It was pretty bad. I was so jaded by what had happened, both with my condition and how the whole thing went down (with band infighting making its way into the tabloids, weirdly enough).”
Adler continues: “I was really depressed for a long time. So what I’m proud of is really working on myself, getting to the point where I can accept where things are, working through my own things that may have contributed to that, my resentments towards that, and getting to a point where I wanted to play again. To me, (in listening to Firstborne), it’s so much more of a positive vibe.”
He elaborated: “I don’t mean to say that anything that I did before wasn’t potentially uplifting or motivating in any way. But even in the tones, the keys (that we would) play in, it’s just slightly more …
Adler looks up with a grin:
“… happy.”
The Bad Penny (beta) 
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