Shakespeare And Metal: Part I

I recently went to a kick-ass lecture delivered by Sir Christopher Ricks, and it blew my mind.  He's a freaking KNIGHT. And have you seen his credentials? This is an exerpt from the memorandum:

Christopher Ricks is the co-director of the Editorial Institute and the William M. and Sara B. Warren Professorof the Humanities at Boston University, having formerly been professor of English at Bristol and at Cambridge. He is a member of the Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and Writers, of which he was president (2007-2008). He has edited and also teaches in the Core Curriculum. He was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford in 2004, and is known both for his critical studies and for his editorial work.

He's a total badass, right? So I made him sign my denim jacket right below Abysmal Dawn's autographs. That was pretty sick. Anyway, so much for introductions. Here's the stoner epiphanies I had that (k)night.

The entire high-octane hellride started out with a monologue from Othello, wherein the titular character eloquates thus:

Soft you; a word or two before you go.

I have done the state some service, and they know't,

No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,

When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,

Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,

Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak

Of one that loved not wisely but too well;

Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,

Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,

Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away

Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,

Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees

Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;

And say, besides, that in Aleppo once,

Where a malignant and turban'd Turk

Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,

I took by the throat the circumcised dog,

and smote him- thus.

The lecture was not just on Shakespeare, but on T.S Elliot's criticism thereof. To quote Elliot from the essay Shakespeare And The Stoicism Of Seneca, "He is endeavouring to escape reality... Othello succeeds in turning himself into a pathetic figure, by adopting an aesthetic rather than moral attitude, dramatising himself against his environment." This critique was similar to my musings on the psychological aspects of mosh pits. Sometimes the only way to feel better about your situation is to exaggerate it to the point of melodrama.

Such exaggerations may reflect realities that would otherwise remain concealed. For instance, after losing a close friend to cancer, I realized that mosh pits were my only true catharsis. If such a purgation was not a "constructive outlet", it was at least close enough. Similarly, Othello had suffered a loss, and repaired the damage by indulging in a different kind of pain. It's like a spiritual version of "hair of the dog". You take what hurts you and remedy it with a controlled dose. Such is the act of self-dramatization.

At any rate, I appear to be rambling. I adore Sir Christopher Ricks and his brilliant observations, but I don't want to just parrot him.  

I fear plagiarism laws, and I also know that knights tend to be armed to the teeth.

Huh. So that's how knights work.

... Wait, is that how Sabaton really got their name?!

Ahem. Stay tuned for Part II.

To Be A Rock And Not To Roll

Like Metal itself, the origin of skateboarding is disputable. However, even their debatable beginnings were around the same generation... the late 60's. For example, it was at this time that a bunch of California surfer dudes wanted to ride sidewalks instead of waves. I will never tire of harping on this point: The surfer lifestyle is intertwined with the story of Metal. (Thanks, Sam Dunn!) An extreme sport needs extreme music, a soundtrack to your athletic exploits. Surf rock was an influence on heavy Metal, with twangy guitars cranked high enough to simulate the thrill of riding a killer wave.

This symbiotic relationship eventually evolved into huge events such as Vans Warped Tour, where an insane rock concert was sponsored by a skater company. This may not be related exclusively to Metal, and in fact is more affiliated with Punk, but the fact remains that crazy stunts deserve some crazy tunes. Before Warped Tour and other giant festivals, skater punks ran rampant throughout the west coast during the 80's. The style of skate rock was more thrashy and aggressive than it's surf rock predecessor, which makes sense because wiping out on asphalt packs more punch than wiping out in water.

 Like Metal, skating is cathartic. It is the synthesis of control and pain. The skater's balance (or lack thereof) is the only factor on which the pain depends. Like the teachings of Eastern Philosophy, the act of skating forces one to aknowledge only the current state, the "now", the immediate surroundings. The sketchy sidewalk behind is as irrelevant as the unleashed German Shepard ahead, especially when the present has you sliding into an impending sixteen wheeler. What a semi-truck was doing in a residential area, I have yet to understand. I don't understand the Bhagavad Gita either. My only understanding is the empirical knowledge of gravity, sinister though it may be. Without gravity, I have nothing against which I can rebel. Except maybe death...

Which brings us to the Yin-Yang. It is a notorious symbol of balanced yet opposing forces, famous almost to the point of cliche`. But like the fusion of Metal and Punk, the fusion of Death and Life combines into an artistic rebellion against established rules. Just like a Yin-Yang, my skateboard embodies this harmony between extremes. The relationship of instability to balance is a balance in and of itself. Constant awareness is necessary to maintain constant equilibrium. Rogue gravel on the sidewalk, like eternal truth within the world, is invisible to those who do not seek it.

With Dio's namesake etched in my griptape, this is my blood-letting ritual to appease him. No, I am not over his death, and I don't plan on getting over it any time soon. My deck is a hand-me-down of a hand-me-down, abused and weaponized almost to annihilation. I have the motor skills of a twelve-year-old on amphetamines. The streets and sidewalks of Santa Fe are a cruel and pitiful mockery of the pavement industry. I am caught in a rolling death-trap. I've never been happier.  \m/

Metal Mythos Part 3: Brave New World

     Metal, like the Opera, has evolved from lurid melodrama to a profound narrative delivered by music and theatrics. By no means am I implying that Power Metal is not without it's allure. It exemplefies the Dionysian indulgence which defines the very genre, with a raw edge of which the polished artists of today are incapable. However, guilty pleasures such as Manowar lack something profound which can be found elsewhere, such as (for example) Amon Amarth. Early metal incorporated mythology in a campy manner, but now mythology is more than a mere gimmick. Now the myths are at the forefront, and theatrics take a supporting role (heh.)

      Immortal prophecies, existential tragedies, and metaphorical fables flavor the contemporary manifestation of Metal. Viking Metal in particular is characterized by dark personal tragedies, almost nihilistic in nature. Symphonic Metal is essentiallly a modernization of ancient Operatic themes, ranging from betrayal to mercy killings to perpetual vendettas. Artist such as Nightwish have incorporated elements of fantasy into their orchestral compositions, as an onslaught of Pathos can be hard to bear without a unicorn or two to lighten the deal.

     Even when the storylines themselves are not true to their origins, the themes of Metal still borrow from the mysticism of elders and ancestors. The phemomenon of Folk Metal is a testament to this fact. This musical movement features native acoustic instruments, otherwise known as "Grandpaz Guitarz", and utilizes them in conjunction with thrashy electric guitars and pounding kick-beats. Eluveitie are masters of this art, using bagpipes to accentuate the harsh melody. Such is the brave new world of metal and mythology.