The Merits of Metal

I don't "get" quality music. Okay, sometimes I do. But I don't look at music (or listen to it) and pick out the reasons why it's "good." I just know what I like.

I have this same problem with food. I might even know that part of the reason I like a food is the subtle hint of some flavor or other, but what has made this a truly outstanding rendition of spaghetti, or what distinguishes it from other gourmet versions, well, that's beyond me.

It's worse with music, though. Especially since most of the stuff I personally find exceptional causes the majority of the rest of the population to cringe (at best). And since I can't talk about the artistic merits (harmony, rhythm, whatever the hell else there is) with even a small semblance of authority, it's even more difficult to describe the beauty in what other people seem to only hear as dissonance.

There is, of course, more to it than that. There always is.

Music is more than the combination of notes that comprises it, more than the various instruments on which it is played, and more than the words that may or may not accessorize it. Music is the vehicle by which a minimum of emotion and a maximum of a complex story, complete with moral, are transferred from one person to many. Music is a multifaceted language, and what it communicates are the triumphs and tragedies of existence.

Now how can that be done with just happy little pops or sappy old twangs? How can that be done with an orchestra and no voice? The full range of life experience requires some heavy bass and at least an occasional scream.

Not that there's anything wrong with preferring one musical genre over the other, even if it is country twangs. But if YOU can see beauty in something that honestly makes my skin crawl, you must accept that I can see beauty in something that makes you shudder.

But I digress.

Something else that seems to call me to the musical realm of heavy metal is the simple fact that it's hard to get depressed when surrounded by the sounds of loud guitars, driving beats, and the occasional devilish-melodic shriek. Country lyrics are—by and large—not especially cheerful. Take the award-winning duet "Whiskey Lullaby" (Brad Paisley, with Alison Krauss) for an example. It's not enough to lose true love forever, no, people are drinking themselves to death in this one. And while "popular" love songs may have carried many a beautiful melody to the world, I, for one, can't listen to stuff like "All Out of Love" (Air Supply) with a smile on my face. Your mileage may vary, and probably does.

But take something like "Free Fall" (In Flames) or "Wasted Sacrifice" (Killswitch Engage): there's just too much going on for you to get sucked into a sad lyrical story, or remember your own associated tale of woe. The music itself would have a hard time bringing you down; it's way more about cranking you up. You might not get happy, but you're not going to get sad. You might get pissed off, but at least you're not going to wallow in it ... it's an immediate, living thing, this music known as heavy metal, but if you don't "get it," that's fine.

I feel sad for you, though, if the only chills you've ever gotten from music are the bad, "I don't like this!" kind. The kind that rush through you and give you goose bumps and make you feel alert and alive and THERE in the moment, like you almost forgot you could be ... now THAT, my friend, is music that truly SPEAKS.

If it takes screaming to get the message across, then by all means, let the guitar and the guitarist scream as loud as they possibly can. I'm listening.