Born Morgan Taylor Minton on the banks of the Coosa River admist one of the hottest summer's on record, Corpsehands Minton was far from the sleezy rock-n-roll eccentric that he would come to be over the course of the next two decades. He had a quite and comfortable childhood nestled in the Appalachian foothills of Northeast Alabama. But on his 15th birthday his father gave him his first six string guitar. And as legend has it, five weeks later he bought his first pair of creepers and first pack of Camel Filters. There was no looking back from there.The once cute and benevolent blonde-hair blue-eyed momma's boy would take another step down his dark and sinister path three years later on his eighteenth birthday. On a sweltering night in late June, Morgan, now going by the psuedonym, Corpsehands, found himself at the crossroads of US 11 & 278. He called out in the stagnate valley air like some nocturnal night fiend. Moments later a black-cloaked man,standing a little under six feet high in a pair of ostrinch-skin boots, appeared on the horizon. As the man came closer, Morgan called out, "Are you the devil." As the man came closer he replied, "As a matter fact, son, I am."Morgan new what was next. After haggling for nearly half the night, the young boy and the devil came to a deal. Morgan would recieve a life of endless booze, smoke and women. All Morgan had to do was pollute the youthful minds of Etowah County with his decadent rock-n-roll music. And Morgan did just that.For the next two years life was good for Morgan. Nicotine and whiskey pumped through his veins all day, and the women came and went all night. But on a fateful spring day, all the hustling and easy living nearly came to a tragic end when Morgan fell from his friends flat-bottom boat, while catfishing in a mill pond on Hinds Road. His body was never recovered and most thought they had seen the last of the young song-writing fiend, but of course true legends never die.The years of toxic waste and motor oil that had been dumped into the pond seeped into his pours and his body lied in the merky depths. One night under the shadow of the tall Lookout Mountain pines and the light of a harvest moon, the same toxic sludge that had made the mill ponds famous for their three-eyed carp, reanimated Corpsehands, bringing him back to life as a sex-crazed zombie. And now that this new undead King of Rock-n-Roll is out on the prowl for cheap whiskey and brains, you must ask yourself: Is anyone really safe?
Check out my bands site at www.myspace.com/nancyreagan
or www.../thereagansI don't blog on myspace i blog athttp://www.livejournal.com/users/dyingdegree87/b2Rlcy5jb20
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