Yes, William Brent Hinds was the former guitarist of Mastodon. But I knew him as my friend who gave the best hugs and said “Man, Benchpress, it feels like you are going to crush me, that’s awesome!” 

“Benchpress” was his nickname for me. He will never call me that again, after the driver of a BMW SUV struck and killed Brent, who was on his Harley, when the driver failed to yield at the intersection of Memorial Drive and Boulevard on the east side of Atlanta, GA.

 

Brent loved motorcycles in equal measure to his guitar. The last time I checked on him to see how he was doing post-Mastodon, he said he was focusing on his bands Fiend Without a Face and West End Motel, along with riding a lot to get his head straight. It was more than a means of transport but closer to meditation for him. 

Brent and I met at a Four Hour Fogger show, when the band opened up for Today is the Day and Unsane at the Point. During Unsane’s set, we shared a joint on the steps to the apartments where he would later sleep on my futon nine years later. This apartment is in the heart of the Little Five Points Community of Atlanta, which was also the location of the only time I raised my voice at Brent when I reprimanded him for doing cocaine off a first edition Dungoen Master’s Guide, which he placed over my ferret’s cage. He apologized and relocated, and we were good for another 19 years. 

 

In the press, he was often depicted as a rock n’ roll wildman, and like anyone, Brent had his issues he struggled with. We would sit on the back Patio of Joe’s Coffee in East Atlanta Village, not far from where he was killed, and talk about what we were going through and how things like alcohol no longer worked for me, but we also spent equal time talking about horror movies, toys we used to have as kids, Tom Waits, George Jones and me trying to convince him Kiss’s disco era was underrated. 

You might read this and think of all the great music you are going to miss hearing from him. I’ll miss knowing that I have this friend I can text and ask if they have heard the new Sturgill Simpson, or if they would be willing to play guitar for a Smiths cover band I was starting up. Moving to Florida put distance between me and my Atlanta friends, but he understood why I needed to get out of the city; he was hoping to do a similar move one day. 

 

So forget the persona you knew online, and know the music world lost a solid dude with a big heart. He might not have had all the answers for his problems, but I judged him by how he treated me, a dude, he met at a show, and was always happy to see when our paths connected. I hope his spirit is still riding on an infinite highway where he did his best thinking. 

 

WIL CIFER