I can feel the stage being set, as if something in the air awakens me to it. Among the ear-piercing drumming and shredding, the singer’s vocal cords fleeing from his throat screaming “NIGHTMARE,” the raven-black crowd starts backing away from one another as they create a semi-perfect circle. Everyone is stalking their prey across the circle as they wait for the chorus to start. Suddenly, I feel a sweaty grip pulling my left hand into the crowd away from the circle to the front rows. Startled, I tilt my head to see who is pulling me – it is my friend Essam, with his curly black hair and geeky-looking classes. His dorky-but-stylish look stands out among the black-clad crowd, so I am at once relieved and disoriented by his appearance.
“Let’s get out of the mosh pit and try to get a place in the front!” shouts Essam, as we squeeze our way toward the front rows. All around me, the crowd looks up to the lead singer, M. Shadows, eyes full of awe, completely ignoring us as we push and shove past them to get a closer look. Above us, standing like a god on stage, M. Shadows leans down to the front rows and croaks, “Ooh, It’s your fuckin’ nightmare!” At this point, I can see the spirit of Metal washing over the crowd, who starts running and pounding into each other as if possessed by some unknown force. Bodies shove, push, sweat and punch their way around each other, clusters of men and women with 9-to-5 jobs tearing themselves apart like animals.
Feels like Christmas.
My love for metal started on Christmas Day, when I was eight years old. Boom! Rockets flew as they slammed into and detonated other cars in a huge arena filled with the screams of heavy metal music and the whizz of laser beams. Ammunition flashed across the arena, rockets flying toward the back of my car as I rush through the sandy hills of this abandoned dirt track to avoid them. The rockets hit my car, exploding it in clouds of shrapnel. The words “GAME OVER” flash over the screen.
Looking back at my Twisted Metal game, I shrugged and set down the controller.
A moment later, my uncle walked in, holding up a brand new cassette. It shone with the reflection of the room’s lights, so I couldn’t see the title of the album. “Mohamed! Check out this new album! It’s super popular in Indonesia!” said my uncle as he walked over to the cassette deck. As I started another round, I wrinkled my nose in irritation – why did he have to go and block my view? I was just about to kick off Round 2!
Those thoughts disappeared as my ears perk up at the haunting violins that started playing from the cassette deck. I paused the game and turned to the speakers thinking, is it another boring Arabian song? It doesn’t sound like what I am used to. Once the intro finishes, it was followed by an old school drum cue, priming distorted heavy metal guitars to shred their way through the speakers and into my waiting ears. I hadn’t heard anything like this in my life. The blood in my veins rushes through my whole body, I shiver. Goosebumps. I suddenly felt the rushing emotions of joy and excitement – I thought to myself that my body wanted this, needed this. I unpaused the game and started the second round: This time, I managed to play the best game of my life, while listening to my new favorite song. At eight years old, I wasn’t old enough to know what kinds of music I even liked, but Linkin Park rocked my childhood. One song after the other, I found myself drawn to the hypnotic mix of Hip-hop and Rock that I found utterly enthralling.
In that moment, I knew I was, out of everything I thought I could be, a metal-head.
-
Sometimes, being a metal-bead can get you in trouble.
“What is your favorite kind of music?” she asked.
I shrugged as I looked at her wide, unblinking eyes waiting for my answer, and answered “I have always loved Metal, but I still enjoy other genres as well.”
The answer seemed to take her aback; she stared at me for a few seconds, or minutes I am not sure how long. After all, my mind had just gone into overdrive thinking about ways to take those words back. My eyes followed the sound of her vocal cords spitting out the words with a silly smile and wrinkled nose, “You don’t look like a Metal guy.”
What’s wrong with her? I thought. Does it have to do with me mentioning Metal? This is really weird. I have been listening to this genre and got all kinds of reactions when I mention Metal. Is she trying to make fun of me? I froze in my place thinking about how to answer her. I had been getting along with this particularly lovely girl so far, but as soon as I mentioned Metal, it all went downhill from there.
I was in Irvine, California, crashing a little pool party hosted by my friend Abdul. In front of me was this gorgeous German girl, her golden blonde hair caught the wind as she laid down by the pool, her white skin reelecting the sunshine of the breezy afternoon. We spent hours chit-chatting and laughing. I felt a stir with every effortless smile she gave me. She told me her name was Lora; like me, she was an exchange student at UCI. After I mentioned my love of metal, she asked me all these probing questions, investigating my knowledge to find out whether I was a poser or the real deal. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek, the corner of her mouth rising in a smug smile. I could tell she was about to make my hobby her personal punching bag.
As she kept verbally prodding me with insults, she spoke loudly to make sure everyone could hear her trying to humiliate me. Gradually, a few people around her started to turn to her and listen to the conversation. The sounds of the party faded away as I heard everyone giggling and laughing around me, exclaiming, “What the hell? You listen to metal?” “You’re weird.” It was tremendously embarrassing, and I felt alone, like a gazelle at the mercy of a pack of hyenas. I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by this beautiful girl whose attention toward me changed inexorably, simply because of my taste in music.
Before I could even think of replying to her accusatory questions, my friend Abdul came over, having overheard the conversation. To my relief he stood next to me and said the most inspiring words I will ever hear, “Just because he listens to Metal, it doesn’t mean he has to look like a Goth or a burnout kid.” After being on the spot for what seemed like hours, those words felt like a balm, an incredible breath of fresh air as I felt I could breath again. While the girl and her friends shrugged and laughed at Abdul as well, he took me away from the party right away and we went home.
Once we got back to my house, I hugged him. I offered meekly, “You got my back, bro. Thanks!” It felt inadequate for the service he did me, but I still felt so free after what he said. The relief that Abdul brought me from this huge conflict was too perfect to be described by mere words. In many ways, Metal has shown me who my true friends are; whether or not they are into that kind of music as well, it is their tolerance of what I like that shows me that they like me for who I am, and not just the hobbies we share.
-
Abdul was right in more ways than one – metal is a genre of music like nothing else, with an uncanny ability to bring people of different stripes together for the love of the guitar, the bass, the drums, the screaming. Whether it’s slamming in the mosh pit, or enhancing the mood of your favorite game, or bringing you and your friends closer together, Metal has this compelling talent for changing my life in ways I never expected. When I’m at a metal concert, all my cares and worries melt away. I feel like this is where I belong, as if people seem to be more open minded than others about what I love.
This wasn’t always the case, as I always viewed Rock and Metal as genres that would be impossible for me to listen to. The screaming, the gothic, creepy looks of the fans and the heart-slamming intensity of the music can be a lot for some people. However, as I grew to love metal, I learned how to challenge my own preconceptions – the kind Lora had about me. I don’t look like the stereotypical metal head: I don’t wear eyeliner, get into fights, abuse drugs, or get in trouble. I just love the music. That freeing, spirited, transcendent sensory overload that gets your adrenaline pumping and fuels your lust for life. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way about anything else in my life, and that is a reality in which I’m perfectly willing to live.
