One of the standards of social science research states that researchers ought not become emotionally involved in the topic of their studies. I can emphatically state that I failed miserably in adhering to this simple rule. In fact, it is only fair to divulge that I was personally interested in the Death Metal scene long before this study was launched. It was through this project, however, that I truly delved into the underground and explored the culture that had intrigued me as an outsider. In my explorations, I soon found myself enveloped by the atmosphere, by the camaraderie, by the sheer exhilaration of a true underground movement. Following bands on tour, listening to the breathtakingly powerful music in crowed halls night after night, wearing skimpy clothes to get backstage and on tour buses, and even occasionally growing enamored of dashing musicians, I lived the Death Metal life as deeply as any fan. As the months progressed, I had made significant emotional investments, found friendships and conflicts, allies and enemies, cooperation and antagonism, nobility and sexism, joy and pain in the Death Metal community. At the launch of the project, I had no idea what I was in for.
The thing that first drew me to “metal heads” was their complete lack of concern for what anyone thought of them—an escape from the teenage world of appearance emphasis and social hierarchy. Most people see this as a defiance of authority, but I tend to believe that the primary authority combated by the metal scene is that of the homecoming kings and queens, the cliques, and the rules of behavior that emphasize appearance over action. In the words of King Fowley of the band Deceased, “Metal ain’t meant to be pretty.” Metal is real.
And yet at the same time, through its lyrical content, Death Metal is inextricably tied to illusion. There is a surreal emphasis on rape, on murder, on war, on destruction. Cannibal Corpse and Macabre do not sing about the deaths that occur everyday on street corners. Instead, they choose the most horrific subject matter, emphasizing serial killers, pedophiles, necrophiliacs—in general the most demented persons and actions of all. How can this be the emphasis of a scene that supposedly combats the falsity and phoniness of society? Is it not even more misrepresentative of the world than Britney Spears’ sugar-coated pop? If taken literally, yes. However, a slightly deeper analysis may hint at something very truly human in these twisted words, sounds, and images—a search for answers.
Serial killers may not be an integral part of the social order, but they are an integral part of reality. They evoke morbid curiosity and force the world to wonder why. What in the human soul could provoke such sickness? If one listens to the lyrics of a Death Metal band, he or she will find a description of the acts of these people, but this is seldom unaccompanied by some psychological analysis, some attempt at comprehending the incomprehensible. Metal heads are not just gore fiends, although they do want to face the gore and to understand it. Often, this means making a joke out of it. However, most of the time, horror is graphically presented and analyzed. Cannibal Corpse—perhaps the only thing Congress’ Democrats and Republicans unite in despising—provokes questions with perverse lyrics and provides some hypothetical answers. Death Metal lyrics rarely display any literary value or showcase poetic talent, but they very vividly present a portrait of something most people would rather not think about, yet cannot help but ponder if seriously seeking answers about humanity. Who and what is a serial killer? However one chooses to respond to the question, it undoubtedly exists. Most people run from it. Metal heads seem to obsess over it. Where the more healthy response lies is anyone’s guess.
Metal is a philosophical response, whether conscious or subconscious, to terrifying questions about nebulous human nature. In this way, the fantasy of the metal realm is a response to reality. However, there are more concrete ways in which the most fantastic lyrics can be explained in terms of the psychological reality of listeners. Those bands that do not sing about murders and perverse human beings usually sing about a hostile and evil world. Bands like Deicide, Morbid Angel, and Mortician present a sort of dark metaphysics. Sometimes shadowy scenes of horror and destruction are attributed to real-life events like war and pollution. Other lyrics seem to discard reality entirely ... but do they? When listening to Deicide’s surreal album “Legion,” one is transported to some dark and frightening realm of “caco-demons” and Satanists. It is a lonely, hostile, and terrifying world. In fact, it might be even worse than the hallways of Anytown High, but the metal head, who feels lost and frightened while sitting alone in the cafeteria, can face the world of Deicide without flinching an eye. In this sense, the words are never without some true-life basis. Even the most far-fetched and fantastic content of a Death Metal album has some foundation in reality, be it physical or psychological. Metal heads can sing about the bizarre and the otherworldly while very firmly embracing, expressing, and examining their own reality.
I would not claim that most metal heads are consciously seeking to come to grips with reality by listening to these lyrics. In fact, more often than not, lyrical content is not at all important to listeners. In light of this, however, two points must be made. Firstly, the music itself is meant to be expressive of the same dark metaphysics and longing epistemology that is expressed in the lyrics. Secondly, the authors and composers of this music are undoubtedly conscious of their own creations, and they are likely drawing their inspiration from experience and reality. It is difficult to deny that metal is the product of inspiration and is the true expression of the artist. This can be affirmed with more certainty when speaking of metal than when speaking of any popular music. Metal is not highly marketable. It is not made merely to lure an audience. The lyrics are thus derived from something more pure than marketability. It is my belief that they are drawn from real questions, real experiences. One does not sing about serial killers and demons to reel in a large fan following. One sings about serial killers because serial killers are on the mind. One sings about demons because they somehow reflect his life experiences. Thus, despite the seemingly escapist and fantastic nature of metal music, its source is perhaps grounded in actual reality. It is certainly more real than the proms and pageants of high school. Even Death Metal with its bizarre and surreal images is a means to stay true.
In a final word on the terrifying lyrics of Death Metal, I would like to challenge the assertions of Tipper Gore, Orrin Hatch, Joseph Lieberman, and probably a hundred other authorities who have declared emphatically that Death Metal lyrics glorify violence. They undoubtedly present it and they sometimes tell the stories from the point of view of individuals who derive pleasure from the pain that they inflict. However, these individuals are not glorified at all. They are not presented as heroes, but as demented freaks of human nature, to be pondered and examined. There exists in metal lyrics a preoccupation with violence, but not a glorification of it. These horrors are presented as horrors.
I remember that when I first became interested in Death Metal music, I was quite disturbed by the lyrics. Other than the few metal friends I had at the time, I wondered what sorts of people were attracted to this music. I thought perhaps the ethically upright and relatively well-adjusted Death Metal fans with whom I was associated were the exception rather than the rule in the scene. I was very apprehensive when, as a young teenager, I decided to attend my first metal show. I will never forget that night although I never actually got into the 18+ show. I learned a great deal about the metal scene in those few hours of waiting outside with other disappointed teens too young to enter the building. I had traveled two hours to get to a hole-in-the-wall club, The Saint, in the rundown ghetto of Asbury Park, only to find out that minors were not allowed to see Cannibal Corpse that night. My older friend got into the club, but I sat down on the filthy sidewalk, prepared to wait outside for the next few hours. It was not long before I began conversing with the other kids outside. I found them very friendly and nice people, even in the midst of their great disappointment. (After all, some had traveled over three hours just to see this band and had already purchased tickets to the show.) Like me, they were probably stuck waiting for others who had managed to get in. They were relatively optimistic despite the night’s letdown, and were ready to strike up friendships with one another. We chatted about music and a few other things. It was a genuinely pleasant experience. When the first band came on, we tried to peer through the tiny windows high on the wall, and boosted one another up to catch a glance at the show inside. We finally gave up in that endeavor and simply sat, backs against the outside wall of the club, listening to the muffled sounds that reached our ears.
That was when a well-known figure emerged from the bus parked near the sidewalk. It was a member of Cannibal Corpse! Starstruck, none of us approached him. But we did not need to—tall, lean guitarist Pat O’Brian caught sight of us and walked over to greet us! “Why are you guys out here?” he asked, brushing his long black hair out of his eyes. We explained that they would not let us in. He told us he would see what he could do. The impressive figure dressed in black from head to toe went into the club and came back out a few minutes later saying that there was no way that the club owners would let us in. Pat apologized and expressed his sympathies before returning to the bus. A few minutes later, a diminutive man with long, blonde hair wearing ripped jeans emerged from the bus. It was Alex Webster, the bassist and the author of most of the band’s lyrics. One boy approached him, telling him how much Cannibal Corpse’s music meant him. Alex Webster smiled a boyish grin and reached out to shake his hand saying, “That really means a lot to me.” His blue eyes shone with gentle sincerity as he thanked us for coming and said he was very sorry that we could not enter the club to see them play. Yet somehow I think most of us were plenty satisfied with the experience we had out on the sidewalk.
“Wow!” exclaimed one fan, “He’s exactly the kind of guy you want to bring home to your family for Thanksgiving dinner!” Everyone was reveling in the kindness and humility of these band members, who have repeatedly invoked the wrath of politicians and other social leaders by simply producing their music. I could not help but remember a study I had read, where psychologists lamented that most metal heads were so enthralled with their favorite music that they named metal musicians as their role models. Is that really so terrible?
Remember that most youth do not have role models. In fact, I recall searching for one as a kid and feeling very let down. In an age of divorce, broken families, and day-care, most children are not presented with heroes in the family. As a generation left home alone and raised by the TV, many are incapable of seeing the economically successful as their heroes because they witness the vacuous and alienating consequences of that economic success. If they look outside the home and family, who are they to admire? George W. Bush? Bill Gates? My point is made. Yet kids need role models, and they will find them. Where do most kids find heroes to worship? Television. The child who grows up with Britney Spears or Justin Timberlake as his or her hero will inevitably be disappointed. Statistically speaking, it is nearly impossible to emulate the success of these stars, and it is often unhealthy to try. Britney and Justin are on MTV because they are very attractive and, in the opinion of some, their voices are pleasant to listen to. The average kid cannot, no matter how hard he or she tries, ever become a Britney Spears or a Justin Timberlake. Secondly, Britney and Justin are not going to return the gratitude and love with which their fans deluge them. These stars will not step off stage and have a conversation with a fan. They will not establish communication or join the unit that they have created. Their fans are essentially leaderless.
These are typical role models, and yet psychologists and politicians are concerned that metal heads look to metal musicians as role models? Contrast a musician like Alex Webster with a typical pop star. First of all, a fan can attempt to follow in the footsteps of Alex Webster, hoping to attain moderate success through personally fulfilling work. Alex Webster is not on stage because he is extraordinarily good-looking or because he was born with an incredible talent. He is on stage because he worked very hard to become the accomplished musician that he is. His success is a measure of how much time he put into his work and how much devotion he has to the music. Alex Webster and other metal musicians present realistic models for fans to aspire to. Just about anyone who works hard enough in the metal scene could find himself or herself on stage. In metal, success is a function of effort, not beauty or luck. More importantly, heroes like Alex Webster are real. They are not unattainable, media-produced images of perfection. They are a part of the scene that they have created. They actually care about their fans. They want to converse with them, to learn from them, to be among them. The appreciation and the adoration are reciprocal. This seems a much healthier sort of hero.
In my experience, the members of Cannibal Corpse are not atypical. In fact, I have met a friendly “star” at almost every show I have attended since that first one years ago. The producers of this “filth,” as Senator Hatch likes to call it, are generally really nice guys. I saw Origin three times one summer, and at the last show, one of the band members went of his way to thank me for coming to support them so many times. I have had similar experiences with all the musicians I interviewed and with Sean from Impaled, George from Skinless, Karen from Crisis, Ross from Immolation, Chris from Internal Bleeding, April from Dark Supremacy, Josh from Cephalic Carnage, and many, many others. The American Death Metal scene is not a place of vicious hostility; it is a place of brotherhood, camaraderie, and fun, tempered by the darkness that forms the backdrop of the metal reality.
The shows themselves are ground-zero of the metal scene. You could own every metal album on the planet, and still not be truly metal if you have not attended a show. Metal shows are a place to lose yourself in the crowd and in the darkness, to become a part of something exhilarating and communal. No one cares what you look like, because it is probably too dark to tell anyway. There is no pressure to come up with the right words during an awkward conversation, because the boisterous music itself provides the conversation. There is complete freedom to be yourself and to lose yourself at the same time. Dress, dance, and sing as you wish. No one will judge you the way you are constantly judged in outside world.
Are metal shows violent? Usually. Of course, that depends on your definition of violence. Metal shows are very physical, and the dancing looks like fighting. However, there is no hostility involved. If someone falls to the ground, anyone standing nearby immediately helps to lift him or her back up. Does anyone hurt another person intentionally? With very few exceptions, absolutely not. Even in the course of the rough-housing, people are only very rarely injured, and I have never witnessed a severe injury at a Death Metal show (one that would cause someone to get out of the pit). At a metal show, no one enters the infamous mosh pit unless he or she chooses to. Bystanders are not drawn in unwillingly. As previously mentioned, if violence is defined as physicality, then shows are violent. However, if violence is defined as the hostile attempt to injure another person, then Death Metal shows are overwhelmingly nonviolent. I feel safer standing on the outskirts of a typical mosh pit than standing outside on a typical street corner.
Mosh pits are crucial to metal. Their physical, perhaps furious, nature is an unsurpassed agent of aggression-release and expression. They are emblems of freedom and passion. If you want to know what it is to be alive, step into a mosh pit. Mosh pits are about human contact and animalistic release. In the pit, touch is electric, and bodies are no longer restraints. Slayer’s advice to “step outside yourself and let your mind go” is taken. What could better express the paradox of simultaneously being supremely alive and yet separated from the self as a part of something shared? These experiences are essentially united. A true pit is pure exhilaration.
Lest my words sound entirely too optimistic, I must temper them with a call to reality. My boundless praise of the Death Metal scene should not obscure imperfections and problems in the scene. I’ve certainly experienced them, first-hand on several occasions. I started my research of Death Metal as a naïve college student who had spent far more hours with her head in the books than her feet on the ground. Many of my innocent, rose-tinted notions of the world and its people were shattered during the time I spent in the Death Metal scene. At times, I learned far more than I cared to. Placing trust in the wrong persons and taking risks based on idealistic assumptions about other human beings landed me in more trouble than I care to discuss. The Death Metal scene is by no means a scene devoid of self-seeking and cruel individuals. It has its fair portion of untrustworthy villains like every other group, scene, or culture.
Yet the villainy of a few cannot suppress the goodness of the masses in the Death Metal scene. In fact, the togetherness of a tight subculture serves as an antidote to a “real world” where self-interest outweighs camaraderie. Granted, part of this impression is illusive, for the scene is host to many less than decent people. Nonetheless, as a whole, the scene represents an attempt on the part of the vast majority to reject the selfish, negative elements of contemporary western society. Having endured deception and hurt in the course of my involvement in the Death Metal scene, I, as much as anyone else, would be predisposed to emphasize its negative elements. Nevertheless, I confidently and sincerely proclaim that the Death Metal scene, in itself, is a positive force in contemporary society.
In short, Death Metal is a group or a scene much like any other group or scene. It has its negative elements and certainly possesses quite a few of those individuals who lead Senators McCain and Byrd to proclaim that a cultural crisis is on our hands. However, there are probably quite a few such individuals in the ‘NSYNC fan club. Metal heads on the whole have not acted to warrant the hatred that they receive. Yes, our culture is frightening, but that keeps it safe from infiltration and dilution. Yes, our culture emphasizes violence, but that is a reflection of social reality. Most fundamentally, our culture provides us with an identity and helps us to feel joined in a brotherhood where we are neither judged nor held to social standards. It is a powerful means of expression. Americans are very worried about what Death Metal will do to American culture. I am very worried about what its absence could do to the thousands of youths who find identity and expression in its harsh chords.
The Death Metal scene does not harm American culture or values. It does not lure youth into a life of debauchery and hopelessness, or present tempting images like most popular entertainment forms. No one becomes a fan unless he or she feels naturally drawn to it. If these inherent tendencies are stifled, what will become of the youth who feel outcast and alone? Does it make sense to destroy a viable form of expression in hopes that expressions of actual violence will decrease?
I feel confident in my defense of the Death Metal scene because I have been personally transformed by my experience of the scene. I have encountered its best and worst elements. I spent a few of my formative years in the midst of the bustling underground and learned valuable lessons about myself and about other human beings. In many ways, I began this project as a child and finished it as an adult. I am pleased with the role that Death Metal has played in what I have learned and in who I have become.