by Niklas Göransson

In the still heat of Arizona, a desert witch conjured sounds only she could hear. Driven by a hunger to become something monstrous, Nuclear Death didn’t form so much as uncoil; the voice had found its music.

 

LORI BRAVO: Phil looked like a monster with his huge green eyes, strange hair, and long fingernails on one hand. He’s half Mexican, half white, just like me. He’d gone to Catholic school and was highly educated, super smart – and that really helped shape the lyrical side of NUCLEAR DEATH.

In December 1985, at nineteen, Lori Bravo met a young guitarist and aspiring horror fiction writer named Phil Hampson. Although he was a couple of years younger than her, they bonded over shared musical ambitions and intellectual interests. Soon after, Lori recruited Hampson to her band, NUCLEAR DEATH.

The phrase ‘many nuclear deaths’ had caught Lori’s attention in a newspaper article a few years earlier, lingering in her mind well before the project took shape.

LORI: Honestly, the name itself was helpful early on. We figured, ‘Alright, what does NUCLEAR DEATH sound like?’ It must be the fastest, most evil shit imaginable!’ – and that’s exactly what we aimed for. Phil and I were a couple at the time, and he wanted to please me, so we worked it out.

Who were your musical lodestars?

LORI: We were constantly spinning SLAYER’s “Haunting the Chapel” and “Infernal Overkill” by DESTRUCTION. Beyond that thrashy, metallic energy, I also wanted to incorporate a kind of hardcore sensibility – DISCHARGE, SEPTIC DEATH, DEAD KENNEDYS, BLACK FLAG, PLASMATICS. Those sounds were already in me.

Back in high school, a punk-leaning friend introduced Lori to bands like SEX PISTOLS, THE PLASMATICS, and DISCHARGE. She cites the latter’s 1982 album “Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing” as one of her all-time favourites.

LORI: Phil and I would cover “The Nightmare Continues” (DISCHARGE), and I thought, ‘What if we speed this riff up a bit?’ Like, <hums>. That became “Shrieking Terror”. I swapped out the chorus but totally lifted the track’s structure; no shame admitting it. Our goal was to take their riffing and make it sound more orchestral.

With chord structures influenced by the intensity of punk and the heaviness of German thrash, Lori began developing an unconventional picking style, aiming to fully capture the sound she envisioned.

LORI: I didn’t want our riffs to sound like guitars – I wanted violin, cello, or viola, because that’s what I heard in my head. If we’d had money back then, NUCLEAR DEATH would’ve been fully orchestrated, strings and all. Since we couldn’t afford anything of the kind, the question became: how can we make it more symphonic?

After considerable trial and error, Lori found an unlikely solution in Southern rock. By adapting the rapid, percussive strokes and dynamic muting of ‘chicken picking’ – a guitar style popularised by bands like LYNYRD SKYNYRD – she managed to give their punk-infused thrash riffs a buzzing resonance reminiscent of layered string textures.

LORI: Southern rock guitarists sometimes used a tiny shell – almost like a little puka shell – as a pick. That teardrop shape produced a distinctive sound when striking the strings. So, I got Phil some teardrop picks for his thin Fender guitar; he tried them out and said, ‘It sounds like a swarm of bees!’ And I responded, ‘Exactly!’ That became our template to launch from.

After finding the right picking style, Lori and Phil experimented with different sound textures. Drawing from the horror ambience fixation sparked by her childhood “Chilling, Thrilling Sounds of the Haunted House” record, Lori started studying film scores.

LORI: Alien was one of my favourites; we tried to weave its claustrophobic, suffocating atmosphere into our music. Soundtracks were essential in shaping NUCLEAR DEATH; that’s where a lot of the riffs came from. We borrowed from those scores constantly – not stealing but pulling ideas.

Besides Jerry Goldsmith’s Alien score, Phil has mentioned the soundtracks of films like The Omen, Psycho, and It’s Alive as particularly important.

LORI: Go back and listen to those scores now, and you’ll hear Phil Hampson’s guitar-playing echoing through them – it’s in there. You will find elements which could easily have turned into a NUCLEAR DEATH song. We’d listen, and go, ‘Let’s flip the riff, move that part here, stretch this…’

 

A few months after agreeing to collaborate musically, Lori and Phil started looking for a drummer. They placed an ad in Phoenix New Times, seeking a percussionist skilled in the ways of ‘speed, aggression, and violence’.

LORI: NUCLEAR DEATH had to be the worst, most feral and vicious thing imaginable. My favourite drummer has always been Neil Peart (RUSH), but Dave Lombardo (SLAYER) was the fastest guy around, so he became our benchmark. I wanted someone who could lift ideas from Peart and then play them faster than SLAYER.

In March 1986, one week after placing the ad, Lori and Phil heard from a young, classically trained jazz drummer named Joel Whitfield. They met up to jam, trying out a song from SLAYER’s “Haunting the Chapel” EP.

LORI: Joel nailed it. Everything clicked right away, especially our personalities. I’d also envisioned a certain image for my band, and he fit that too: good-looking, knew lots of people, had a reputation for getting around. Perfect in terms of finding gigs, house shows, whatever. Joel brought access.

This addition sealed the original NUCLEAR DEATH power trio: Lori Bravo on vocals and bass, Phil Hampson on guitar, and drummer Joel Whitfield.

LORI: You must understand – I loved playing guitar. I didn’t want to switch. We searched for months for a bassist but got nowhere; finally, I just said, ‘Fuck it, I’ll handle the bass.’ I’ve always had a sense of urgency, like I’m racing against something.

Had you paid much attention to bass as an instrument?

LORI: My main influence would’ve been the original ANGEL WITCH bassist. Their song “Baphomet”, one of my favourites, has a part where the basslines sound more like guitar chords. And the guy from RAVEN was wild – I’d hear him and think, ‘Alright, when in doubt, just slide your fingers across the strings.’

Known for a hyperactive stage presence and aggressive technique, RAVEN’s John Gallagher played his bass like a lead instrument – full of slides, bends, and spontaneous flourishes.

LORI: I knew I wasn’t Geddy Lee (RUSH) or Steve Harris (IRON MAIDEN), so the question became: what can I do? I gravitated toward the likes of Cronos (VENOM); his style felt more relatable. He played like a rhythm guitarist, while Mantas was leading with all those pedals – his Echoplex, phasers, plungers – and I thought, ‘I could do this, too.’

Appropriately, it was precisely through discovering bands such as VENOM, RAVEN, and ANGEL WITCH a few years earlier that Lori developed her preference for power trios.

LORI: Yeah, I love that there’s no keyboardist or second guitarist to hide behind. Either you hold your own, or the whole thing collapses. You’re only as strong as the people around you. But again, I never intended for NUCLEAR DEATH to be a trio; it happened by accident. Switching to bass was a sacrifice – a big one – because I loved playing guitar.

 

NUCLEAR DEATH started out jamming in the Bravo family home. Lori’s father attempted to soundproof their garage and even bought his daughter some gear.

LORI: I had a big-ass Harmony bass, a Peavey rig with two cabinets, and a head. Then, for vocals, my parents got me a nice Electro-Voice PA as a graduation gift. But we didn’t know it needed a preamp, so I was constantly drowned out. Joel kept suggesting, ‘Why don’t we just turn down a bit so we can actually hear Lori?’ But Phil wouldn’t budge.

A preamp amplifies a microphone’s weak signal to a level strong enough for the PA system to process – without it, vocals tend to get buried under louder instruments.

LORI: Looking back, maybe that was also a blessing because it forced me to get louder. And I am loud – everybody knows that. Lori Bravo doesn’t shut up <laughs>. But seriously, I learned how to really project my voice. Later, I could sing off-mic and still cut through.

What were your vocals like at this early stage?

LORI: Still experimental. At first, I tried singing like Schmier (DESTRUCTION) – from the throat, way up here <snarls>. Same as VOIVOD’s original vocalist, whom I also loved. That song “Nuclear War”? Incredible. It works for men, sure, but I’m not a guy, so Phil and I agreed I should go as low as possible. That wasn’t typical for a woman, and we liked the contrast.

After a few weeks, the young band discovered the limitations of rehearsing at Lori’s parental home, opting instead for a place where they could drink, smoke weed, and work undisturbed at night.

LORI: My folks were completely supportive and always wanted me to succeed. But I’m a bossy bitch who hates being told what to do – I need to be in charge. At nineteen, I walked out the door, and they didn’t say a word. I moved in with Phil and his family. We secured our own space, got to work, and that was it.

A local crossover band called DESECRATION took it upon themselves to show NUCLEAR DEATH the ropes, introducing them to the idea of rehearsing in a storage unit. This space was where their early material took shape.

LORI: Since Phil hadn’t been playing very long, he didn’t have any established habits – good or bad. By habits, I mean when musicians start imitating other people. He was tone deaf and lacked any kind of formal training, which left him creatively flexible and easy to work with.

By ‘tone deaf’, do you mean he played without regard for traditional musicality – or was he neurologically incapable of hearing pitch?

LORI: Phil was pitch deaf; I even had to tune his guitar. He wasn’t wildly off, but always slightly flat – I could hear it. But this also worked in my favour because it made him mouldable. I used to say, ‘Give me the most terrible chords imaginable, riffs no classically trained guitarist would dream of playing’, and we’d shape that into something unique.

What was the first song you finished?

LORI: Phil and I completed “Shrieking Terror” just before Joel joined. Around then, I probably also came up with “Lockjaw” – not the greatest song, admittedly, but I liked pirates, and that was my take on it. I hadn’t quite learned how to write music and lyrics yet.

From the outset, Lori saw NUCLEAR DEATH not just as a band, but a narrative vehicle. Inspired by acts like RUSH and IRON MAIDEN, she approached lyrics as storytelling – avoiding clichés and striving for literary depth.

LORI: Phil wanted to be a writer, so I suggested he try his hand at lyrics. I was initially supposed to handle them myself, but once I read… I’m trying to remember the first one he wrote. Maybe “The Seventh Nun”? Anyway, I went, ‘Okay, this is great. You’re the lyricist now.’

 

With conceptual weight established, the madness needed scoring. In the fall of 1986, NUCLEAR DEATH entered Joe ‘Crow’ Correo’s home studio to record their first demo, “Wake Me When I’m Dead”.

LORI: I don’t even remember how we found him, but Joe Crow turned out to be a true devilsend. We started with “The Seventh Nun”, and I just couldn’t nail my vocals. When stepping into the studio, I had no idea how I was gonna sing. Phil kept being mean, saying ‘You don’t sound harsh enough!’ and coming down on me while I tried to figure shit out.

Correo not only embraced NUCLEAR DEATH’s unconventional sound but also played a crucial role in helping Lori develop her signature singing style. As she struggled in the vocal booth – which was basically a carpeted closet – he offered some advice.

LORI: Joe said, ‘Look, Lori, I want you to take all that anger and channel it straight into the microphone. I’m going to shut the door; just give it everything.’ Then I sang the first line you hear on “The Seventh Nun” – and that’s when the voice was born. It came from utter rage and exhaustion after being belittled all day.

Riding on newfound confidence after pulling off “The Seventh Nun”, Lori began experimenting, drawing from her extensive vocal training. Songs like “Shrieking Terror” and “Nuclear Death” even have moments of clean singing and vibrato.

Thus, “Wake Me When I’m Dead” saw the light of day. For a first demo, the production is surprisingly clear, granting full insight into the band’s early punk-infused thrash foundation. Musical innovation aside, its initial impact was negligible.

LORI: No one in Arizona cared. The only people to give a shit were DESECRATION – they’re the ones who said, ‘You need to start tape trading and promoting yourselves through underground fanzines. It’s a good thing.’ And I’m glad we did. But at the time? Zero response.

Joel, Phil, and Lori even took a road trip to El Cajón, California – five hours away – just to drop off a few copies at one store.

LORI: This record shop had written to me about a consignment deal, which we didn’t even understand until they explained it. Joel said, ‘Okay, let’s go!’ so we crammed into the front of his little white truck, packed tight, demos in hand. We dropped off maybe ten copies, and that was it. Never heard a word back.

 

The earliest NUCLEAR DEATH show I’ve identified took place in the fall of 1986, at The Metro in Phoenix, with DARK ANGEL.

LORI: Early on, we mostly played warehouses, basements, all kinds of wild shit – everything was filmed, recorded, or photographed. That DARK ANGEL show would’ve been our first big one, but I don’t even know how we got it. Maybe Joel talked to a promoter?

Regardless of how it happened, opening for DARK ANGEL – who were about to release “Darkness Descends” – must’ve been exciting.

LORI: Nah, more of an ‘Okay, whatever.’ We already knew we were better. Their lyrics are weak as shit. I’m not sure if NUCLEAR DEATH was technically superior yet, but I knew we’d blow them out of the water eventually. Period. I mean, DARK ANGEL? One-note wonder. Who cares? They should’ve been opening for us. That’s how I felt.

Did the crowd agree?

LORI: Not at all <laughs>. People screamed, called me a whore, threw bottles – Blues Brothers style. They couldn’t handle a woman up there yelling at them. Phil and Joel were pissed, but I found the whole thing hilarious. I figured, ‘Oh, everyone hates us? Great!’ I didn’t need appreciation; I wanted to be feared.

The following weekend, NUCLEAR DEATH returned to The Metro and played with two local acts, SACRED REICH and PEDIFILE. Then, as their final show of 1986, they opened for EXODUS – another prestigious slot for a demo band.

LORI: Same as always: we opened, no one cared or talked to us. Business as usual. EXODUS never came out. I doubt we even stayed for their set; I’m pretty sure we just left. That’s how memorable it was. Honestly, I never liked EXODUS – they simply didn’t do it for me.

Did you ever play with a band you found tolerable?

LORI: Nah. We were never offered gigs with bands I wanted to open for. Instead, we’d end up on bills Joel probably wrangled through some promoter chick he was fucking or manipulating. That’s how we got most of those shows. NUCLEAR DEATH didn’t play live very often, unfortunately.

 

“Welcome to the Minds of the Morbid” – NUCLEAR DEATH’s second demo, recorded at Vintage Studios in April 1987 – marked a departure from their thrash roots to something altogether more unhinged. The music enters proto-deathgrind territory, with frantic tempo shifts and riffs swirling into a chaotic blur of tremolos and bends.

LORI: By then, I’d noticed several other bands trying to sound brutal, so I pushed our music to even crazier depths. The thing is, and most people don’t realise this: women are way more evil than men could ever hope to be. I’ve always known that and made damn sure to use it.

Worth noting is that “Welcome to the Minds of the Morbid” came out three months before NAPALM DEATH’s “Scum”, widely credited as the birth of grindcore – a record on which the British band fused DISCHARGE’s primal urgency with the sinister heaviness of HELLHAMMER and CELTIC FROST.

LORI: While we used SLAYER to set the pace, I didn’t want us sounding like anyone else. People would write and say, ‘Have you heard NAPALM DEATH? They’ve got a two-second song and are much faster than you.’ And I’d be like, ‘No – that’s shorter, not faster. So shut up.’

This time around, Joe ‘Crow’ Correo was unavailable. The production ended up murkier than “Wake Me When I’m Dead”, though still clearer than future LPs.

LORI: None of us were comfortable in the studio yet; we just fumbled around, trying to figure shit out. As the vocalist, I’d have to sit there forever, head in hand, thinking, ‘Oh my God, hurry up!’ I’m a one-take kind of girl. I don’t do fifty attempts. By then, it’s dead – no soul left.

If “Wake Me When I’m Dead” was Lori finding her voice, then “Welcome to the Minds…” was where she fully locked into it. The vocals are exquisitely vicious and disturbingly theatrical: raspy, psychotic, peppered with bursts of falsetto shrieks and frenzied growls.

LORI: I’m a natural actress, so I’d step into whatever roles Phil gave me, thinking, ‘How do I become this character?’ Take “Necrobestiality” – <sings> ‘Copulate with the dead animal lying in the street, sickness swells within his soul to consume the flattened beast…’ Embodying this rabid madness required transforming into something else.

“Necrobestiality” introduces NUCLEAR DEATH hallmarks such as the slowed-down melodic interludes, sudden tempo spikes, unnerving pacing, and advanced structural fragmentation. Musical innovation aside, it’s even more renowned for its thematic content. Rather than crude shock tactics, Phil Hampson’s lyrics are vivid and oddly literary, written like short stories in diseased verse: ornate, atmospheric, and utterly deranged.

LORI: Some of the stories Phil came up with… damn, they were brilliant. Funnily enough, people would constantly confuse me with the songs’ protagonists, as if I was the person living them. Really, I’m more of a narrator – or an observer. Depends on the piece. I’ve always been the woman of a thousand voices; every project, character, or creature I touch has its own voice.