MADE OF METAL: The Final Chapter

Yo. So my tenure at the Justice is done, and with it I lay to rest my first darling column. For your enjoyment, I reprint it here, now. Enjoy.


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Though it may surprise you to read that this is Made of Metal's final installment, remember that it is the nature of tragedy to strike without warning. Yes, it seems the time has come for me to step down from my throne and assume a civilian role; however, before you weep for me, remember that figures as powerful as myself often do not leave office in once piece. Hitler had to blow a chunk out of his own brain, William Wallace was drawn and quartered (Look it up. Very metal way to go), and Slobodan Miloševi? reputedly cannibalized himself while waiting for officials at The Hague to cook him dinner. All things considered, I've gotten off pretty easy, having made only one mortal enemy: Nine Leaves (You still suck).

But, in all seriousness, my timing couldn't be worse. Just as your guide must depart, metal stands on the cusp of a defining age in its existence. Metal, as we have known it, is slowly, begrudgingly headed once again into mainstream acceptance. The evidence is all around us. Metal has sprouted from basement shows to arena tours in the harsh light of day while backyard black metal videos (please do yourself a favor and watch Immortal's "Call of The Wintermoon" video online) are turning into high production pyrotechnic nightmares.

Likewise, TV shows like Adult Swim's immensely popular animated series Metalocalypse, which chronicles the misadventures of the international superstar death metal outfit Dethklok, have exposed the genre's more humorous side and made it more easily digestible (My sister Lily is now a devout fan of Dethklok). Metal is even making headlines in high society media; The New York Times runs frequent coverage of Metallica's ongoing drama. (For the record, I hate Metallica. As the public face of metal, the way most extreme metal fans feel about Metallica can be likened, I imagine, to the way modern Germans feel about the Nazis.)

Now, more than ever, there's money to be made in metal as well. High-profile package tours criss-cross the country with the backing of some pretty impressive corporate sponsors: Just to name one, the upcoming annual Summer Slaughter tour is backed by no fewer than 17 sponsors, among them being dickhead outfitter giant Affliction Clothing. Metal labels are boasting bigger corporate structures as well, with some of the larger labels like Century Media, Roadrunner Records and Nuclear Blast showing imprints on multiple continents.

All this leads us to wonder: What will happen when a genre that is essentially defined by its sense of deliberate otherness, abrasiveness and outcast nature becomes accepted and even enjoyed by the rest of society? Will fans stand by their beloved genre because they truly love the music, or will they abandon it once more when fair-weather trend fans enter the fold? Extreme metal is also branching out in such different directions that we have to begin questioning the legitimacy of the term itself. What does the caveman production and ethos of black metal have to do with the bouncier, commercialized tones of metalcore? All this and more I would have loved to explore with you, had I only another thousand years on the Made of Metal throne.

With my final words, I just want to offer my thanks to the people who deserve it the most. First and foremost, I thank my few faithful readers, without whom I would have no reason to even write these nonsensical volumes in the first place. Thank you to everyone at the Justice, past and present, who believed in my ability enough to let me near a computer (P.S.: I have been eating directly from the office peanut butter tub. Sorry.) Thank you to all the bands that have inspired me along the way and continue to do so. Also, a big thanks to my sister Lily, whose repressive older sibling tactics spurred me to find solace in the metal realms. I will convert you yet. And thanks to my parents James and Tina for threatening me with financial independence if I didn't join the school paper. Finally, eternal hails to the realm of metal. My heart forever belongs to you.

I leave you now to seek my fortune in the realm of harsh reality. One might say there's no place for a metal heart in the real world, but whenever I doubt that which pulses inside me, I will remember the words of my hero : Cowboys. Never. Quit.