So today I spent a good few hours on the phone and online applying for college to pursue my degree in photography and writing for my book. I figured what better way to celebrate this momentous occasion than by taking a beautiful picture of myself and sharing an exert for you all to ingest.
So, without further ado; my face, and the introductory pages of my book “Am I Insane?”.
Dear whoever the hell stumbled across my innate scribblings;
My name is Danny Worsnop. I was born on September 4th, 1990 in Beverly, England. I entered this world kicking and screaming, knowing nothing of how fucking important my being alive was going to be to so many people. I grew up as unimportant and insignificant as most in the small village of Gilberdyke (as far north of ‘middle-of- nowhere’ as you can go whilst still being a little south of ‘you’ve- never-heard-of-it’) by my forever supportive parents Philip and Sharon along with my younger sister, Kelly.
Now, at the age of 21, I have toured the world and sang my songs to enough people to populate a small country. I’ve overcome a cocaine addiction that should’ve killed me and alcoholism that almost did. I’ve loved, lost and loved again. In fact, I’ve fallen in love with almost as many women as I’ve fallen into bed with and we will for now, just file that under the category of “HOW MANY?!”
So I guess I’m a rockstar, “Living the life you can only dream of” as I once so eloquently put it. Danny Worsnop, the physical embodiment of sex, drugs and… What was that last part again? Rock and roll you say? Well, here’s where things get interesting. You see, I am and always will be, a rock and roller. I am and will from now until my terminal breath, be a rock and roll singer. But my music is not rock and roll, no. The band I ironically am the front and center, high and mighty, plump up my plumage and parade it around for is in every way, a heavy metal band. I am not talking Iron Maiden, ACDC, Black Sabbath, Ronnie James Dio heavy metal. This is scream till you spit blood, hate everything, fuck the world and burn its mother heavy metal.
At this point you may at this point be wondering what the hell I am doing here. Am I lost? Did I take a wrong turn? Surely I must be in the wrong place… Well, you are as wrong as wrong could be and then some. I knew what I was getting myself into and still, with a tip of my hat and a tap of my cowboy booted heels, cannonballed right into the deep end of the volatile, unstable ocean of insanity known as Asking Alexandria…
My uncontrollable passion for music began at a very young age. I remember all too clearly on countless occasions singing and dancing around to Michael Jackson’s “Bad” on this enormous stage to a sea of screaming fans, which, in reality, was a diarrhea greenish brown sofa that my father thought to be a fantastic addition to our living room, and a selection of stuffed animal toys strewn across the floor. I remember plugging a cheap karaoke microphone I got from Argos into the headphone socket of my stereo blasting out old INXS, Brian Adams and Bon Jovi albums out of it so as to provide what in my mind, was a far more believable lip-sync rendition of their hits. Pretty sure once or twice I fooled my sister into thinking I was actually singing them, not that she’d ever allow herself to admit it. In truth, I was consistently an offensively bad singer until puberty finally released me from it’s squeaky voiced, fluffy faced grasp. That never stopped my music though, I found solace in every and any instrument I could get my eager hands on. Age 7; Recorder, on which I distinctly remember being a genius. Age 8; Guitar, which lasted about as long as it takes to badly learn a G chord in my kitchen. Age 9; Violin, my first real venture into music, I even played in an orchestra a couple times! It lasted about a year, then it was to the big league. Age 11; Trumpet, at this point people were starting to not only acknowledge my natural ability with music, but also to encourage it. Age 12; My first guitar, a Squire Stratocaster starter set, complete with amplifier.
Holy hell was that guitar punished! First thing I did on Christmas Day when I tore off that paper was plug it in, crank it up, turn on Kerrang! TV. I was instantaneously convinced that I could already play along to Nirvana, Marilyn Manson, Limp Bizkit and whatever else happened to play. I was a natural. The reality for my family in the other room unfortunately, (along with the rest of the village) was that my relentless strumming away on an out of tune guitar that I had no idea how to even BEGIN playing was in fact nothing short of painful, it also hasn’t ever stopped!
These days, I reside happily in my Brobdingnagian world of beautiful music, beautiful women and a beautiful bank account, but it wasn’t always so… My family was a completely ordinary one. Average money, average house, average cars, average grades, average life… Average… If there’s one thing I’ve grown to detest more than anything else on this celestial orb we call home, it’s ‘average.’ Don’t get me wrong, I wish not for a past riddled with poverty, but there is nothing more dull and uninspiring than ‘average’ and anyone who has experienced it in large doses will verify that in a heartbeat.
So how, out of such ordinariness, did I become something so spectacularly not average and ordinary?
What the hell happens in brain, in my DNA, in my very soul, that separated me from everything I was expected to be?
Can it be that all that drink and all those drugs are to either blame and/or thank?
Truth is, I have no goddamn idea. This book is the collective insights of myself and those closest to me regarding my self proclaimed condition of ‘non compos mentis’ - adj. Not of sound mind… Often referred to as “FUCKING MENTAL!”