A Mouthful

Do you remember the first time you had coffee? Of course you do! Your tastebuds caterwauled in agony and asked your snout why something so sweet smelling tasted like a mouthful of piping hot soil. Do you remember the first time you heard death metal? Probably not. But you might recall the horrible cacophony of pots and pans banging together and the endless steel rain of a blitzkrieg of guitars that assaulted your ears while you envisioned a sweaty meat fisted man grunting and squealing what was most assuredly the praise of Satan and the occult into a microphone while a riptide of greasy bodies swayed in sync with thumping double bass tremblings tearing the wood floors apart of the local music hall that those nice Amish people built back in the 80's.

Well you drank that coffee when you grew up to be big and strong, and to be important enough to tie your shoes correctly. You might've eased in slurping a Latte or with a pouring of sugar and cream. You probably cheated though with your iced Largo black Puerto Rican, while mom and dad wiped the rock slides from their slumber rings and slogged down coffee black as scary closet spiders.

Well you might also like the heavier bits of your mellow album. You might like it when they scream on the radio a bit, and you even enjoyed hearing your brother's hard rock when Andy stood you up because your forehead was furled and fuming. It fit the mood. It fits the mood like a Triple Tall Red Eye fits finals week. It gets your body out of the ethereal mayonnaise of a TGI Friday's American lifestyle. Well so does death metal. It's a progression. It's a realization that core noises and tempos get you living in a Neolithic way. Its animalistic and pure like dirty hands and camp fires. It can and cannot be whatever you want. It can be dark and foreboding, but it can be about your sweet- potato-cream-pie girl that your sweetin' on. It can even be about worshiping God with a double capital G. I challenge anyone who has ever been bored at a concert. Who has ever asked, "Why is no one grooving?" Who thought a concert was worth it because they used smoke and mirrors. I challenge them to run off the edge of a stage and backflip into a crowd of people who are ready for your every action. To get lost in a moshpit full of friendly crowd goers who know how to use those meat staffs you call legs. To actually be able to shake the performer's hand at the end of the show and tell them it was just dandy.

Opera and classical music is arguably timeless. It transcends total absorption and demands savoring and contemplation. Like a fine roast. Like a fine Swedish Deathcore album.  "Well I can't understand what they are going on about!" Yeah well neither can most of people listening to Opera. I spent 10,000 years in the Fatherland studying High German and I can barely get 20% on Wagner's Götterdämmerung. Metal follows the same principles. I am listening to albums I bought five years ago discovering nuances while on my way to class. (*Side note: the novelty of everyday activities performed to a backdrop of death metal is infinite like the love of a She Wolf.)  Meanwhile, you have to steal the music you like because you chew through it like a little-league team at Pizza Hut.

So you might be on the precipice, but take a swig from the mug. As Mindless Self Indulgence once put it, "I like my coffee black, just like my metal."