When I was a child I had no musical tastes of my own. I more or less listened to what my mother listened to, with the odd compilation of whatever was popular thrown in. Even in my early teens this didn’t really change; when everyone else was obsessed with C&C Music Factory and Guns ’N’ Roses, I continued to listen to Queen and The Beatles. I can remember having a mix tape in my car (which meant I had to be at least 17) that contained everything from ‘Opposites Attract’ by Paula Abdul to ‘Come Together’ by the Beatles to ‘The Imperial March’ from the Empire Strikes Back soundtrack. The concept of defining who I was via music was foreign to me.
Then something happened. In 1994, The Offspring released Smash. This album contained the single ‘Come Out and Play’, and when I heard it for the first time it was as though some vital fuse had been inserted in my brain to complete a circuit. I had enjoyed songs in the past, of course, but this was something else. This was music that I needed, the way I needed food or water.
A short time later, someone played me the song ‘Killing in the Name’ by Rage Against the Machine. That was like having an alternating current fed directly into the new cables The Offspring had laid in my mind. I began to explore plenty of other bands in a similar ‘alternative’ vane, not least Nirvana and Nevermind (which has now developed retro chic among today’s teenagers – how old do I feel?).
Then, sometime in 1995, I was at a mate’s house and we were sitting in his brother’s bedroom. I happened to notice a CD by Pantera, a band I recognised as metal, although I knew nothing about them. The album was called Vulgar Display of Power, and its cover art, which shows a man being punched in the face, appealed to some part of the testosterone-charged 18-year-old I was at the time. Also, with my tastes tacking towards heavier and heavier rock (and each successive band seemed to turn up my dials higher than the last), I figured metal might be the next logical step, even though the closest thing to true metal I had listened to at that point was ‘Enter Sandman’ by Metallica. I slotted the CD into my mate’s stereo.
Those first five seconds of ‘Mouth For War’ would change my life. This wasn’t just wall current running through my brain; this was high voltage. You know how people sometimes talk about not knowing they were missing something until they found it? That’s what heavy metal music was to me. I had found a missing piece of the ‘me’ puzzle. This was my music.
My CD and digital music collection today is almost exclusively metal. That’s not to say I don’t like other music; many of my favourite songs are in other genres. But I don’t actively seek those out. I don’t own them. And when it comes to full albums, only metal can convince me to part with my money.
What’s the appeal? It’s difficult to articulate. I love the aggression. I love the impact. When I’m feeling good, metal music amplifies that feeling into euphoria. When I’m feeling bad, it blasts away at that feeling like a stick of dynamite. During one of the most stressful and angry periods of my working life, ‘Pure Hatred’ by Chimaira became a kind of anthem for me. It expressed in music all the things I had to keep bottled up inside.
I did wonder, some years ago, whether I would grow out of metal. But it hasn’t happened and I don’t think it ever will. As former Pantera front man Phil Anselmo once said in an interview, “I’ve been a metal kid all my life.”
Looks like I will be, too.