Mother Metal

A few years back, I interviewed the lead singer of a Swedish death metal band on his tour bus. I don’t remember all of what we talked about, but I do recall discussing Guinness at some length.

Afterward, we took the whole band up to the office for pictures. They all gravitated toward our Street Fighter 2 arcade machine while my photographer set up. He took solo portraits of each band member. He tried to get them to do some lighthearted poses or give different looks, but they were only capable of grim death metal faces. The photos came out great regardless.

Later that night, I watched as the band took the stage and changed our town’s grand old theater into a war zone.

I stood near the front until I couldn’t take the noise and chaos any more and headed to the back where I could observe seated and at a distance. It was a very memorable performance. They were one of the few bands I saw play there who were able to conquer the venue’s suspect sound and acoustics.

In the back was a middle aged woman. She smiled at me because I probably looked almost as out of place as she did. I asked if she was a fan, and she answered no with a laugh. She was there with her son, she said. I guess it’s true that a mother will do anything for her child—even brave a Swedish death metal concert.

We managed to talk a bit between songs. She said, “I don’t understand why they have to sound so mean and wear all black.”

I told her it was just cathartic, even that I spent some time with the band and they were really pleasant (despite the grim portraits). It’s just a way to release anger, I said. It’s healthy.

She thought about it for a second and then said, “I still don’t like it,” before the band launched into another loud fit of rage.

7 months ago  /  2 notes  /