Ozzfest
July 22 at
Starwood Amphitheatre
Aside from one instance of relatively upbeat pro-war jingoism, Superjoint Ritual's latest album, A Lethal Dose of American Hatred, seethes with violent rage. Yet while the band's leader, former Pantera vocalist Phil Anselmo, makes ample and graphic use of transgressive images of ritualistic abuse, self-mutilation, suicide, murder and torture (and even suggests group self-armament, militia-style), he never gets at the source of the feelings he so intensely conveys. In its bleakness, Lethal Dose points to an underlying despair that, in light of Superjoint's popularity, and that of other like-minded artists, raises important questions about collective unhappiness and the expression of violent urges.
Hank Williams III, who plays bass in Superjoint Ritual, recently referred to metal as "the new young man's blues music," and while he and Anselmo staunchly defend the cathartic value of aggression in music, neither offers much by way of insight into what's driving their feelings. When asked, in separate interviews, what their music is trying to say, each responds with a tentative, "I don't know." Even more telling, neither Anselmo nor Williams, both of them enthusiastic proponents of extreme metal, seems able to articulate what draws them to the aggressive music of their peers.
Certainly, songwriter Anselmo's choice of imagery will come as no surprise to anyone who's followed metal's trajectory over the past 20 years. This pervasive lack of introspection, though, is surprising. In contrast to many of their 1980s thrash and hardcore counterparts, many of whom, from Voivod and Napalm Death to Anthrax, Sepultura and Corrosion of Conformity, focused their ire on social issues, most of today's metal acts express an anger that's at once more frantic and less focused. Superjoint Ritual play an early slot on Ozzfest's main stage this year. With the exception of Black Sabbath, Judas Priest and Hatebreed, the bill, which comes to Starwood Saturday, reflects modern metal's limited emotional compass.
Take, for example, Today Is the Day, a band originally from Nashville, or Slipknot, who play Ozzfest's smaller second stage this year. Both acts betray a maniacal single-mindedness and traffic in hopeless, misanthropic lyrics that border on sociopathy. Both also receive fervent critical and peer acclaim and, to varying degrees, enjoy widespread popularity. And they are the rule. Legions of bands across the board espouse a similarly overt negativity.
What's driving this? Does metal's increasing resonance with listeners reflect heightened societal unhappiness, or is the trend simply the function of more permissive social standards? Are today's metal acts exploring feelings that until recently have been suppressed or repressed? One certainly could argue that there's an increased isolation and detachment in American life. But how does metal address this alienation constructively, if at all?
As rousing as Superjoint Ritual's abrasive blend of thrash, hardcore and stoner sludge might be, listeners must come to it free of expectations in order to enjoy it: The band offer no answers to life's problems, and raise few questions, for that matter. To be fair, Anselmo has consistently reached heights of intensity with his music rivaled by few of his peers. And he's done so while battling severe hereditary depression, a harrowing family history and a life-threatening heroin habit. He speaks of "black moods" that debilitate him for weeks but maintains a startling work ethic.
Rather forthcoming and even generous in conversation once he loosens up, Anselmo talks about feeling confined to deal with his issues in isolation. He's unable to find supportive people who are willing to confront him, he says. He also felt bitterly betrayed when, as a young man, a therapist in whom he'd confided over a long period failed to recognize him when he returned for counseling a year later. His lyrical choices, then, make a certain kind of sense. As clichéd as it might sound, music seems to be the only recourse Anselmo feels he has.
Be that as it may—and at the risk of sounding didactic—it would greatly benefit metal and its related subgenres if musicians like Anselmo and Williams began delving further into what's behind their darker urges and the society that begets them. Hopefully, some metal act will start setting a new standard for emotional complexity. To watch a veteran like Anselmo grinding the same gear while continuing to put out vital, progressive music is disappointing. With his considerable earnestness and depth of personal experience, he seems capable of more.
