Hollywood (May 21, 2008) - On May 18, Michelle Meldrum, leader of the band Meldrum and former Phantom Blue guitarist, was rushed to St. Joseph's Hospital in Burbank in critical condition. She passed away late afternoon Wednesday, May 21, 2008 as a result of a cystic growth on her brain that had restricted oxygen and blood flow to her brain rendering her brain dead. Meldrum had just completed writing and recording the bands soon to be released album with drummer Gene Hoglan, along with the new lineup Michele Madden (vocals) and Laura Christine (bass). The surviving band members plan to release the album later this year in tribute to their fallen band-mate.

Those who knew Michelle recognize that she lived every moment for the music, and was regarded as both an exceptional guitarist and a nurturer by her associates, friends, family and son. Meldrum, 39, is survived by her parents' and three year old son, Jake Thomas. Her family and band members appreciate all the support that has been shown over the past few days through this trying time. A memorial tribute benefit will be announced in the following weeks. Michelle Meldrum was born on Sept 28, 1968 in Detroit, Michigan to a family of musicians and actors.

At 13, Meldrum moved to Los Angeles, California and started her career in music by forming the thrash metal band WARGOD with drummer Gene Hoglan (DARK ANGEL, DEATH, and STRAPPING YOUNG LAD). When WARGOD disbanded Meldrum continued her search for a band and become both co-founder and lead guitarist in all metal/rock band PHANTOM BLUE. PHANTOM BLUE released their self-titled debut album on Shrapnel Records as well as Roadrunner Records, and eventually landed a deal with major label Geffen. 

Once PHANTOM BLUE disbanded after a successful run at fame, Michelle Meldrum moved to Sweden and formed her current band MELDRUM. After many triumphant tours with such acts as MOTÖRHEAD and BLACK LABEL SOCIETY, she reunited with Hoglan in 2006. Hoglan had appeared as a special guest on the MELDRUM album prior and played several events. Inspired to once again collaborate, Meldrum moved back to America where she and Hoglan began writing the aforementioned third MELDRUM album together.

Death is the professor on campus that bitch-slaps the student's sense of balance. His lore is well known. The lectures, the exams, endless essays, are all long, confusing and exhausting. He's terrifying. But his classes are packed. Why? The lessons. My fourth blog eulogy in the past six months; Lorian Elbert, Tawn Mastery, Jerry Mangalos and now Michelle Meldrum. What a beautiful foursome. I can see them now on the 18th tee at Pebble Beach, 500 yards of emerald solitude laid out before them, the land married perfectly with a slice of the Pacific sweet and comforting as a warm cherry pie off grandma' Kansas window sill.

As referenced in the Metallica chapter of Life on Planet Rock, I picked up James Hetfield one evening during Metallica's Black sessions and while he was cracking my windshield with a rough mix of "Holier Than Thou," I suggested we check out this all-girl metal band, Phantom Blue, playing at the Roxy. Former Elektra Records publicist, Byron Hontas, PR point man on Ride the Lightning and Master of Puppets, touted them.

What I have never written anywhere are the circumstances under which Byron and I met. I was an editor at HUSTLER, not sure what my exact title was at the time but I had my content hands in just about everything (except the photo shoots – I know…lame). I get a call from the Elektra publicity department which was perhaps the first time I ever spoke to someone who worked at a record company. I had longed to share time and ramble with musicians. During the HUSTLER days, I met and befriended Ultravox's Warren Cann, who picked me up on his Harley from Heathrow Airport in October 1985 and drove me through High Gate Cemetery where Karl Marx is buried at one o' clock in the morning. And lest I ever forget Marillion's magnificent, Fish, six foot eight Scotsman whose band tracked to this day one of the finest concept LPs in the history of prog, Clutching at Straws. My interview with Fish in New York on his swan song tour with the band became my debut published feature for RIP. He introduced me to Guinness and fish and chips when Anthrax and Living Colour hit Edinburgh in the winter of '88. I digress a bit more…

Bryon pitches me this idea; "Metallica, a big thrash band from San Francisco, and has a new LP coming out called Master of Puppets," says the man nicknamed Poca Hontas. "I was thinking how cool it would be to shoot the band with four hot HUSTLER models on strings." Get me more chips, I'm all in. Fortunately for the legacy of the band I would later come to know as 'family' (or fairly close), Q Prime management put a screeching halt to our misogynistic marionette fantasy. The project's death birthed a friendship with Byron that's thrived to this day.

Four songs into the Phantom Blue set, the mighty Hetfield giggles, "Chicks shouldn't play this sh*t." No one heard the comment, especially the blonde on lead guitar named Michelle Meldrum.

As time and tide passed, chops were honed, new bands were formed, and life in studio and on the road was experienced full scale. As Michelle's rock got harder and more focused on her 'shred', she caught the eye of her testosterone driven peeps. Opinions on the woman's role in metal have evolved. Didn't Avril Lavigne perform at Metallica's MTV Icon ceremony? The shift is on. Hillary may not get the nomination but the goddess has never possessed a more vibrant set of tonsils. She will ultimately save our collective civilization assess when the dick heads finally reach their 11th hour. And trust me, fellas, our time has come.

One special man (speaking of icons) took an abiding interest in Michelle's most recent self-titled incarnation and that was Lemmy Kilmister. This eternal warrior of consistency and truth became a mentor for the entire band, getting romantic on the lead singer, even placing Meldrum on the bill under Motorhead for a considerable run of dates where they reportedly burned it up, each and every night.

I recall one of those incendiary evenings; Motorhead at House of Blues in the spring of 2006, two months or so prior to the release of my memoir. I had a galley (uncorrected bound proof) of my book to give to Lemmy in hopes he'd offer a quote for the back cover of the proper edition. Sitting in his dressing room pre-show, he scanned the pages, read some, skipped around, grabbed a sheet of paper and delivered the epigram that appears on the rear of Planet Rock. "Okay, Lonn, there's your quote, now get your ass out of here and watch Meldrum!" What was my comeback? This is the man who wrote me a personal check for a thousand bucks when I hit the desert floor during my divorce.

Post their savage, sweaty set, Michelle and her shrapnel sisters piled into Lemmy's lair. "Lonn f**king Friend!" roared the phantom princess, grabbing me for a squeeze, and I mean, a real squeeze, not those half-cocked Pooh-bear anemic hugs you get from gals going through the motion who really don't dig you enough to body press. "You're in my book, Michelle," I smiled. "Indirectly." She laughed, and fired back something clever, cool, and kind…cause that was Michelle to a ripped tee-clever, cool and kind. Was. What an odd word. I always took grammar for granted, never studied the dynamics, just went with what felt right. Sort of how I've done everything. You're alive, you are. You IS. You're dead, you were. You WAS.

January 2007, Meldrum did a 40-minute set during the NAMM show in Anaheim. A crushing cover of Pantera's "Walk," encore homage to Dimebag Darrell, highlighted the ballroom blitz. Michelle bloodied her digits, going to the nth rung of the ladder to let her heavenly partner in six-string crime know that sh*t was good and rockin' down here among the living. It was Meldrum's way of sending a message that although he was gone, Dime was not forgotten. The elephant memory of the metal fan cannot be compromised. Not in this world or the next.

Messages from fans and friends have been floating in, remembrances, accolades, notes of love for someone who, like Dime (though not violently or by the deranged hand of another), departed suddenly, without a warning shot. "Michelle's thing was just too sudden, it feels like yesterday when we last spoke," wrote Rusty Eye drummer, Juliet Randall. "We went together to see Opiate for the Masses at the Roxy in April. She bought me a drink to cheer me up cause I was a bit down. We went to a strip club on her birthday last year (her and my first time!!!). Girls Girls Girls. We had a blast. We were thinking about jamming and stuff... (and you know how I feel about jamming with other chicks, but Michelle was not like any other "chick." She was one of the guys, she was a trooper. I loved her, I love her, and her memory remains vivid and very alive with me."

Is metal with its dark attitude and often-bellicose imagery the mouthpiece for death? Separate the siren from the song, and behold the humanity beneath the bravado, the angel who dances with the devil and never thinks twice. Fearlessly she rocks 'til her last breath, whenever that comes. Death needs no mouthpiece. We give it power, each one of us. Does the brightest light really burn half as long? Who the f**k knows? Michelle was a badass chick who wielded an axe like a master not a missy. She was also, as James might say, 'hella cool.'