Narcotic Wasteland has carved out its place in death metal with uncompromising precision and raw intensity. Led by Dallas Toler-Wade — the former longtime Nile guitarist/vocalist who helped shape classics like Annihilation of the Wicked — the band has become his full-time creative focus since 2016. Joined by drummer Joseph Howard and bassist Kenji Tsunami, the trio delivers a technical and ferocious sound that’s as unrelenting as it is honest.
This fall, Narcotic Wasteland will embark on the Annihilation of the Wasteland Tour, celebrating the 20th anniversary of Nile’s Annihilation of the Wicked while unleashing both new and familiar cuts from their own catalog. With a reputation built on Toler-Wade’s exceptional technical skill, Joseph’s powerhouse drumming, and Kenji’s dynamic low-end attack, the band has become a relentless force in the modern death metal scene.
But behind the speed, technicality, and aggression lies a deeper conversation. Their music doesn’t shy away from themes of addiction, mental decline, and human struggle — and neither do they. I sat down with the Dallas Toler-Wade to discuss not only the tour and their musical evolution, but also the heavier issues that fuel their art, from the toll of life on the road to the importance of mental health in extreme music.
ME: Thanks for taking the time while you’re on the road. Before we dive in: today is 09/11—a day of remembrance and reflection. With that, let’s jump in. You shifted from your time in Nile to making Narcotic Wasteland your full-time project. How did that transition shape your songwriting?
Dallas Toler-Wade: I’d actually started Narcotic Wasteland while I was still in Nile—writing goes back to around 2010–2011. I had ideas that didn’t fit Nile’s context, so I started recording on the side. Before long I had three or four songs I really loved, and thought, “Let’s put a band together and do this sometimes.” When I left Nile, I already had several songs for the second NW record, so the transition was pretty seamless.
Also, tuning was a turning point—after years of going lower and lower, I picked up a regular guitar a half-step down and ideas just poured out.
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ME: Your music hits heavy themes—addiction, corruption, mental decline. How much comes from personal experience versus observation?
Dallas: Both. Personal experience, observation, and a lot of reading on human behavior/true crime. You see real patterns when you look closely. But it’s not all we talk about—“Barbarian” is my life philosophy: living free, not being controlled by the grind. Some call that escapism; I call it reality.
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ME: Do you see metal as both a warning and a safe outlet for fans?
Dallas: Absolutely. I’ve had people tell me the songs helped them with demons and addictions. Mental health is real, especially in a negative world. But there’s accountability too—don’t justify shitty behavior; figure out why it happened and grow.
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ME: Touring is grueling—what’s hardest about keeping mental/physical health in check?
Dallas: Sleep and food. Exhaustion brings negative thinking; hunger makes you pissy. Plan rest, especially on long drives. I warm up 20–30 minutes, stretch, even treat load-in/out like a workout. At 51 I’m grateful I can still bring the heat—broke a string last night from bringing a little too much heat (third on-stage break in ~35–37 years).
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ME: After Nile and now leading NW, has your perspective on mental health shifted?
Dallas: Expanded. I’ve always aimed to be better. Working closely with people reveals the truth over time. What you see is what you get with me—same fundamentals since I was 15, just learned more. Be honest, reliable, and keep the focus on music.
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ME: The industry glamorized excess. Is that pressure still there, or is it moving toward sustainability?
Dallas: I never cared about rock-star image—grew up punk/thrash/skater; “image” was poser talk. It’s entertainment, but glorifying self-destruction isn’t my thing. I write against it. “You Will Die Alone” and “Morality and the Wasp” call out narcissism and condescension—it’s everywhere, including politics.
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ME: Performing songs about addiction/struggle—do you ever reopen wounds? How do you protect yourself?
Dallas: Sometimes it hits so hard I’ve shed a tear on stage. When it all clicks, it’s spiritual—hair standing up, pure feeling. Creation is a release: you may resist starting, but once you do, you feel better—like lifting weights.
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ME: Ever felt completely alone in the tour cycle? Or punished for prioritizing mental health?
Dallas: I’ve felt overlooked before, but my current guys check in. I can’t say I’ve been punished for taking care of myself. Life changes—people come and go—you deal with it and move forward. I’m in a good place now: recently married to someone who’s been in my corner from day one. A real support system helps.
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ME: Do you feel a responsibility to fans who see you as someone who “gets it”?
Dallas: Yeah. I’ve lost people close to me; some songs are tributes and for anyone who’s been there. Fans reach out online and at shows. I also taught more guitar students this year and post playthroughs/reviews on YouTube. I’m adding my music and tabs (including Guitar Pro) to my site—starting with the two Nile songs on Monuments of the Wicked.
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ME: For fans who idolize the self-destructive artist image, what’s the hard truth?
Dallas: Don’t buy the justification for being a lush. Do what you want, but I don’t have to listen. Focus on the music—when we’re gone, the recordings are what remain.
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ME: Song recs from your catalog that best capture those themes?
Dallas: “You Will Die Alone” and “Morality and the Wasp.”
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ME: Any fan interactions that really stuck with you?
Dallas: Plenty—people telling me the songs helped them face their demons. That connection is real.
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ME (Quick-fire): What’s most likely to start chaos in the van?
Dallas: “Emergency stops” and bodily needs—let’s just say a regular van is not hot-bag-friendly.
ME: If Narcotic Wasteland were a horror movie—title and who dies first?
Dallas: Narcotic Wasteland: Don’t Mess with Texas (kidding). And it’s always the bass player… though ours is a ninja/wizard.
ME: One word for each bandmate?
Dallas: Kenji: Disciplined. Joe: Creative. Me: Asshole (with a grin).
Joe calls me Pick Machine. We joked Blasterbater is either a drummer name or a single.
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ME: When crowds go off to heavy-theme songs, does that energy feed you?
Dallas: Totally. Fans say they haven’t felt anything like that in a long time. We’re bringing the heat—that’s the point.
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ME: Most rewarding part of making NW your full-time focus?
Dallas: Watching steady growth, having the right lineup, and feeling the next record will be fantastic. Post-pandemic, live interest spiked and we hit the road hard.
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ME: What’s next?
Dallas: First-ever Europe run in November. We’ve mapped a game plan for the third album with a realistic timeline—it won’t take another year. After Europe, studio time. Also eyeing early next year for more North American dates, including farther west (we skipped most of the West Coast this run).
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ME: What do you want the next chapter of NW to stand for?
Dallas: Metal. Keep putting out the heaviest, most honest stuff we can and keep chugging.
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ME: Biggest resilience lesson you’d pass on to fans (or your younger self)?
Dallas: Never stop believing in yourself. On the bad days, pick up the guitar—you’ll wonder why you put it down. Don’t cheat yourself; do the thing you’ll thank yourself for later.
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ME: First-timers at a NW show—what do you hope they walk away feeling?
Dallas: Blown away. Like they haven’t felt anything like that in ages.
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Our conversation wrapped, it was clear that Narcotic Wasteland is more than just a relentless force in death metal — it’s a vessel for honesty, struggle, and survival. Their music doesn’t just crush sonically; it cuts to the bone of human experience. Whether on stage or off, the band continues to prove that out of darkness can come resilience, connection, and some of the most uncompromising music in the scene today.
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