Post by Deleted on Sept 18, 2009 23:37:11 GMT -5
For starters, my essay.
In defense of metal
Anyone who was socially aware in the year 1983 more than likely knew about Mr. Dee Snider being questioned by Mrs. Tipper Gore and a whole menagerie of "professionals." Anyone watching would also agree that she and her little commitee were slashed to pieces from this supposed idiot rock star, who was, in fact, a very intelligent and fluent young man.
The case in question was very tame compared to the broad spectrum of death and chaos inherent in metal, which I think requires a deeper examination other than the argument of lyrical interpretation. To begin with, I will present the craving for death that all human beings share, acknowledged or not.
Yes, every last normal human being, has an unconcious love of death, chaos, destruction, and violence. It's almost like a sex drive for individual and societal survival, rather than racial survival, which is obviously accomplished through reproduction. Why are explosions so exhilarating? Why is any sort of killing such an entertainment?
In the days of thick brows and flint spears, death was no more uncommon than birth. You never knew if you were going to wake up after that cold night under the mammoth hide, or if anyone else would, for that matter. You got together with your friends, heard about how Mungo and Urgo got killed by a Sabre-toothed Tiger, and went off to, if you were male, kill another mammoth.
Over time, this somewhat slowed down with increased agriculture. But even as recently as the turn of the century, we can see death very pervasive in lives. You ate a cow you likely killed yourself with a relative dying the next room over from the flu. When you were at your two cents a day job, you saw people eaten alive by a relentless machine, their remains recovered as unrecognizable gore.
And in this age? Death is oddly rare. It is present, but in a reduced state. Medical care has exponentially increased in ability, and "experts" warn us from "dangerous" actions at every which way. In other words, we are being sheltered from our own human nature. I do not mean to say that we should slaughter like madmen, but that deathly element is missing, and like the ugly puzzle piece, it must fit, no matter how disgustingly.
With the explosive violence of metal, people have been pampered to the point of thinking is brutally insane. Now, of course it is exciting and violent, and any proper metalhead would agree with how bombastic it is. Indeed, a metalhead would embrace the comment of brutal insanity.
Without that violent release, without that destructive empowerment, we lose our humanity.
Insofar as roots of metal goes, it is the child of the raging energy of classical composers such as Richard Wagner, Giacomo Puccini, Giuseppe Verdi, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Gaetono Donizetti, and the misery and frustration of the old American blues, such as Robert Johnson or W.C. Handy.
Here's a piece that blends both almost seamlessly. listen to it once, and try to imagine an orchestra playing it. Then do so again, but replace the orchestra with a blues man.
Slayer - Angel of Death.
Now, to conclude, a seperation of the two into sort-of subcategories: blues variants and classical variants.
Classical: Children of Bodom - Northern Comfort
Blues: Black Sabbath - War Pigs
I hope you enjoyed reading, and maybe learned a little something.
In defense of metal
Anyone who was socially aware in the year 1983 more than likely knew about Mr. Dee Snider being questioned by Mrs. Tipper Gore and a whole menagerie of "professionals." Anyone watching would also agree that she and her little commitee were slashed to pieces from this supposed idiot rock star, who was, in fact, a very intelligent and fluent young man.
The case in question was very tame compared to the broad spectrum of death and chaos inherent in metal, which I think requires a deeper examination other than the argument of lyrical interpretation. To begin with, I will present the craving for death that all human beings share, acknowledged or not.
Yes, every last normal human being, has an unconcious love of death, chaos, destruction, and violence. It's almost like a sex drive for individual and societal survival, rather than racial survival, which is obviously accomplished through reproduction. Why are explosions so exhilarating? Why is any sort of killing such an entertainment?
In the days of thick brows and flint spears, death was no more uncommon than birth. You never knew if you were going to wake up after that cold night under the mammoth hide, or if anyone else would, for that matter. You got together with your friends, heard about how Mungo and Urgo got killed by a Sabre-toothed Tiger, and went off to, if you were male, kill another mammoth.
Over time, this somewhat slowed down with increased agriculture. But even as recently as the turn of the century, we can see death very pervasive in lives. You ate a cow you likely killed yourself with a relative dying the next room over from the flu. When you were at your two cents a day job, you saw people eaten alive by a relentless machine, their remains recovered as unrecognizable gore.
And in this age? Death is oddly rare. It is present, but in a reduced state. Medical care has exponentially increased in ability, and "experts" warn us from "dangerous" actions at every which way. In other words, we are being sheltered from our own human nature. I do not mean to say that we should slaughter like madmen, but that deathly element is missing, and like the ugly puzzle piece, it must fit, no matter how disgustingly.
With the explosive violence of metal, people have been pampered to the point of thinking is brutally insane. Now, of course it is exciting and violent, and any proper metalhead would agree with how bombastic it is. Indeed, a metalhead would embrace the comment of brutal insanity.
Without that violent release, without that destructive empowerment, we lose our humanity.
Insofar as roots of metal goes, it is the child of the raging energy of classical composers such as Richard Wagner, Giacomo Puccini, Giuseppe Verdi, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Gaetono Donizetti, and the misery and frustration of the old American blues, such as Robert Johnson or W.C. Handy.
Here's a piece that blends both almost seamlessly. listen to it once, and try to imagine an orchestra playing it. Then do so again, but replace the orchestra with a blues man.
Slayer - Angel of Death.
Now, to conclude, a seperation of the two into sort-of subcategories: blues variants and classical variants.
Classical: Children of Bodom - Northern Comfort
Blues: Black Sabbath - War Pigs
I hope you enjoyed reading, and maybe learned a little something.
