74 HARPERS MAGAZINE / MAY 2014

C R I T I C I S M
DESTROY YOUR SAFE
AND HAPPY LIVES
A poets guide to metal
By Michael Robbins
In the beginning, William Blake
writes a gonzo mythopoeia called
Milton:
All that can be annihilated must be
annihilated
That the Children of Jerusalem may
be saved from slavery
There is a Negation, & there is a
Contrary
The Negation must be destroyd to
redeem the Contraries
The Negation is the Spectre; the
Reasoning Power in Man
This is a false Body: an Incrustation
over my Immortal
Spirit; a Selfhood, which must be put
off & annihilated alway
In another beginning, a bunch of
working-class drug users detune their
guitars and add some horror-f lick
spookiness to the blues. Metalno
one can agree on when or why the
heavy fell offis born, half in love
with easeful death and with Rim-
bauds chaos of ice and polar night,
which could describe the sound of a
record like the Norwegian black-
metal band Immortals Sons of North-
ern Darkness.
1
1
A note on terminology: the tag heavy met-
al was applied to various psychedelic and/
or blues-based rock bands throughout the
These two histories probably have
no connection besides the one they
spark in me, even if All that can be
annihilated must be annihilated
could be every metal bands credo;
its precisely because the line is a sort
of affirmationdestruction in the
Sixties and early Seventies, but it seems to
have stuck when Lester Bangs used it to de-
scribe Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, by
broad consensus the frst (and perhaps the
best) heavy-metal bands. As rock and roll
became rock, heavy met al yi el ded to
metalsplintering into a kajillion subgenres
ranging from cough-syrup slow to so fast
that drummers use electronic triggers to pro-
duce uniform beats at tempos faster than is
normally possible with human arms and
legs. Genre classification doesnt interest
me. Listen to Poison Ideas Feel the Dark-
ness followed by Repulsions Horrifed and
tell me the main difference between hard-
core punk and metal isnt that one has a
bullshit positive message and one has a
bullshit negative message. Hell, I think
Steely Dan is metal half the time. But for
the record, heres a breakdown of some of
the most popular metal subgenres. Thrash
metal is fast and angry; practitioners often
appear to have spent too much time lifting
weights. Death metal comes from Florida, is
superfast, and sometimes employs meters
more often associated with jazz, or at least
with Weather Report; lyrics tend to be
about death and dying and killing. Black
metal is from Norway, sounds like Joy Divi-
sion on Benzedrine, and wont shut up
about Satan; these are the idiots who
burned dozens of churches, some centuries
old. Doom metal is low and slow, some-
times to the point of sounding like Pauline
Oliveros, and mainly concerns the relation-
ship between despair and marijuana.
name of redemption.
2
But this is how
popular music works: in secret histo-
ries and self-contained channels. As
John Ashbery says, The songs deco-
rate our notion of the world / And
mark its limits.
Metal and poetry are, among other
things, arts of accusation and instruc-
tion. Together with Rilkes archaic
torso of Apollo, they say: You must
change your life. To see metal as de-
manding something of usa funda-
mental change, a shift in perspective,
an acknowledgment that we are head-
ed in the wrong directionis to admit
that when we listen to it, were recep-
tive to its message. (I beg you to lis-
ten, Ashbery writes. You are already
listening.) But metals message is not
the same thing as its rhetoric.
Metals most familiar trope is, duh,
Satanism, which might be silly
okay, its defnitely sillybut has a
distinguished literary pedigree. Ro-
mantic diabolism since the nine-
teenth century has taken its cue
from Miltons Paradise Lost. Miltons
Devil as a moral being, wrote Shel-
ley, is far superior to his God. Blake
2
Of course, Blake urges mental fght in the
name of an idiosyncratic militant Christiani-
ty, whereas metal tends to be Christ-centric
in, um, a slightly different way. But the mar-
shaling of spiritual resources against Reasons
temples of destruction fnds surprising reso-
nance in the visions of technocratic nightmare
common to certain strains of metal (e.g., the
Quebecois band Voivods entire oeuvre).
Michael Robbins is the author of the poetry
collections Alien vs. Predator (2012) and
The Second Sex, which will be published
this fall by Penguin.
CRITICISM 75
said Milton was of the Devils party
without knowing it. In the twenti-
eth century, this view of Milton was
charmingly defended by William
Empson, who argued, more or less,
that if by the end of the poem Satan
is a rather unsympathetic character,
its only because Gods such a jerk.
Whatever one thinks of this
interpretationand most modern
critics reject itits clear that Satan
has the best lines:
That we were formed then, sayst thou?
and the work
Of secondary hands, by task transferred
From Father to his Son? Strange point
and new!
Doctrine which we would know
whence learned: who saw
When this creation was? Rememberst
thou
Thy making, while the Maker gave
thee being?
We know no time when we were not as
now;
Know none before us, self-begot,
self-raised
By our own quickening power. . .
For Shelley, it is Satans energy
and magnifcence in such passages
that mark his superiority. A similar
energy inspired Lord Byron, whose
epigones Robert Southey dubbed, to
Byrons evident delight, the Satanic
School. And a bit later, in the France
of the Second Empire, Charles
Baudelaire would write a prayer to
the loveliest angel, a God be-
trayed, to whom no anthems rise: O
Satan, take pity on my sore distress!
3
Well, Old Scratch has more an-
thems by now than he knows what to
do with. And of course Satanism in
metalfrom Black Sabbath (some of
whose early lyrics are actually kind of
Christian) to the goofy Swedish pop-
metal band Ghost, whose members
dress as skeleton popesis just the-
ater, a metaphor for nonconformity
that affirms dark, creative energies
that orthodox political-religious-
scientifc thought would repress. A few
black-metal bands profess a dully lit-
eral belief in Satanism, but Im not
convinced theyre actually interested
in anything besides adolescent provo-
cation. As the poet Brandon Brown
writes in his obnoxious pseudo-
translation of Les Fleurs du mal: Id
worship Satan/ if only I werent so al-
lergic to the monochrome/ gloomy sar-
torial orthodoxy/ and Nordic vibrato
of its brutal / soundtrack. Thats a lazy
reading of black metal, but Browns
point is well taken: Sa-
tanism is boring.
More seductive is another
trope derived from Romanticism,
metals enthralling evocation of na-
ture as a sublime and eerie prophy-
lactic against killing technology, as
Voivod has it. This can get silly, too:
when I saw them in the summer of
2012, Agalloch had little shrines of
animal bones set up on their merch
table. Aaron Weaver, the drummer
and songwriter for Wolves in the
Throne Room, once said that the
groups black metal is inspired by
the moss, the roots and the trees,
and the animals that live around
here, and the weather and the natu-
ral forces that human beings en-
counter. You expect him to try to
sell you some beads. But when, on
the bands Prayer of Transforma-
tion, Nathan Weaver screams out of
a shoegazing guitar haze, Lay your
corpse upon a nest of oak leaves . . .
3
To whom no anthems rise is Richard
Howards version of Baudel aires more
straightforward priv de louanges. Rise
is a nice touch.
Nattefrost of the band Carpathian Forest, Oslo. Photographs by Peter Beste,
from his monograph True Norwegian Black Metal, published by Vice
76 HARPERS MAGAZINE / MAY 2014
A vessel awaits built from owl feath-
ers and moss, its no longer merely
silly, because the sound is overpow-
ering, majestic, soothing, and threat-
ening all at once, like a pretty den-
tists assistant slipping the mask over
your face. I imagine a band playing
in some natural old-growth cathe-
dral, overtones crashing into boul-
ders and echoing off ferns.
The apotheosis of this pagan cur-
rent is reached in the video for Im-
mortals The Call of the Winter-
moon, which suggests an infernal
collaboration between Caspar David
Friedrich and Walt Disney. The
band members, dressed as wizards,
scamper about in an impossibly
green forest, breathing fre and pos-
ing dramatically in time with the
songs relentless clatter, which
sounds a bit like one of those apps
that play rain sounds while you sleep,
except with someone croaking semi-
comprehensibly about winterwings
and Northern darkness. Its both
embarrassingly inane and, somehow,
genuinely evocative of an eerie wil-
derness sublime, a hokey reminder of
why the Puritans of early New En-
gland associated the forest with the
devil. These corpse-painted Gandalfs
are late for a black mass with Haw-
thornes Goody Cloyse.
Black metals romantic fetish-
ization of nature islike Satanism,
reallyan angry lament for human
folly, as Erik Davis put it in an arti-
cle for Sl at e on Wolves in the
Throne Room. (Evil is the nature of
mankind, the devil tells Goodman
Brown.) Its a mystic-igloo version of
Wordsworths The world is too
much with us
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a
sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the
moon;
The Winds that will be howling at all
hours
And are up gathered now like sleeping
fowers;
For this, for every thing, we are out of
tune;
It moves us not
and just as didactic-mournful in its
way as the sardonic eco-rage of a
poet like Juliana Spahr:
We let the runoff from agriculture,
surface mines, forestry, home
wastewater treatment systems,
construction sites, urban yards,
and roadways into our hearts.
We let chloride, magnesium, sulfate,
manganese, iron, nitrite/nitrate,
aluminum, suspended solids, zinc,
phosphorus, fertilizers, animal
wastes, oil, grease, dioxins, heavy
metals and lead go through our
skin and into our tissues.
We were born at the beginning of
these things, at the time of
chemicals combining, at the time
of stream run off.
These things were a part of us and
would become more a part of us
but we did not know it yet.
Still we noticed enough to sing a
lament.
Metals iconographydevil horns,
pagan altars, blood on the forest
floorembraces the dark and pri-
mordial; its a rebuke to our soft
lives.
4
We are, metal says, out of
tune. Deathspell Omega, a wonder-
fully pretentious French black-metal
band (their latest record titles are in
Latin), quote Georges Bataille: Ev-
ery human being not going to the ex-
treme limit is the servant or the ene-
my of man and the accomplice of a
nameless obscenity. Which sounds
like a translation back into English of
a bad translation into French of one
of Blakes Proverbs of Hell. Im sur-
prised more bands havent plundered
this treasure chest: Sooner murder
an infant in its cradle than nurse un-
acted desires; The lust of the goat is
the bounty of God; The road of ex-
cess leads to the palace of wisdom;
The tygers of wrath are wiser than
the horses of instruction; Drive
your cart and your plow over the
bones of the dead. Sounds
pretty metal to me.
Although metal lyrics provide a
trove of such sentiments, no one
should listen to metal for the lyrics,
which are mostly unskillful. Theyre
also mostly indecipherable, so no
matter. (Yes, there are plenty of
exceptionssmart lyrics, clear vocals,
both at the same time. I said most-
ly.) Metal makes its argument viscer-
4
The German philosopher Peter Sloterdijk
paraphrases Rilkes directive as Give up your
attachment to comfortable ways of living.
ally. Its a triumph of vulgarity, veloc-
ity, says the music critic Chuck Eddy,
with no redeeming social value.
Erik Danielsson, front man for the
Swedish black-metal outft Watain,
told me that metal is the form of
music through which diabolical en-
ergies fow with the most swiftness
and potency. All metal is a varia-
tion on two themes: loud and fast.
Some songs are quiet and slow, but
always against the background of
normative loudness and speed.
(Punk and free jazz are loud and fast,
too, but metal is louder, faster, and
less wholesome.)
That said, what always has to be
emphasized to metal skeptics is that,
as Eddy writes, it really doesnt all
sound the same. . . By now its more
varied than any other white-rock
genre. If you never listen to some-
thing, its easy to say it all sounds the
same. But Guns N Roses tuneful
boogie doesnt sound at all like Con-
verges war punk. You can hear Iron
Maidens guitar trellises in Carcasss
jet-engine revs, but youd never mis-
take one for the other. Kvelertak and
Baroness throw pop hooks; Gorguts
have more in common with Scott
Walker than with Metallica. Caul-
dron and Hammers of Misfortune
geek out on Eighties power chords;
Grave Miasma and Nile flirt with
Middle Eastern modalities. Corsair
are obstinately pretty; Incantation
are ugly as sin.
Metal doesnt sound evil. Evil has
no particular sound. Metal doesnt
sound fascisticthe camp comman-
dant listening to Beethoven in the
evenings has become a clich. If you
read about metal, youll learn that it
often employs Aeolian harmonies,
staccato articulations, perfect ffths,
and other things I but dimly appre-
hend. What metal sounds like is the
biggest rock and roll youve ever
heard. I have the TV on as I write
this, and Im half-watching the
cheesy postapocalyptic drama Revo-
lution, in which the world has gone
dark, when a scene catches my atten-
tion. A band in a bar is playing Ozzy
Osbournes Crazy Train as if it were
a My Morning Jacket song. The bar-
tender is telling a story about the day
the power came back on unexpected-
ly for a few minutes after ffteen years
CRITICISM 77
of candlelight: That Wurlitzer over
there roars to life, plays Ramble On
for like four whole minutes, then
goes dark. People cried. They said it
was like hearing the voice of God.
5
It is, of course, the voice of a god,
Apollo, that issues the imperative
from Rilkes stone.
6
Somehow this wouldnt work as
well with Gimme Shelter or Born
to Run. Greil Marcus wrote that
Zeppelins music meant to storm
Heaven, and it came close. Thats a
defnition of metal I can live with, or
5
The scene also demonstrates an important
difference between a popular art like rock
music and an elite one like poetry: the possi-
bilities each offers for communal or collective
experience differ in kind and degree. Neither
the bartender nor I need to identify Ramble
On as a Zeppelin songpart of the point is
everybody knows that. At least in America,
there is no recent poem everyone in a bar
would recognize.
6
Another of Sloterdijks paraphrases of
this imperative: Seize the chance to train
with a god! He also offers an intriguing
defense of the popular tendency, which I
follow in this essay, to divorce the closing
lines of Rilkes sonnet from their context.
at least of metal at its best: Deaths
The Sound of Perseverance, Con-
verges Jane Doe, Mercyful Fates
Dont Break the Oath, Mastodons Re-
mission, AC/DCs Highway to Hell,
Van Halens 1984, Atheists Unques-
tionable Presence, the last two and a
half minutes of Black Sabbaths
Heaven and Hell, when Terry But-
lers throbbing bass line doubles in
tempo and Tony Iommi solos in a
blizzard of notes and Ronnie James
Dio sings about the lies of this world
like hes running along a collapsing
bridge, one step ahead of the cre-
vasse. They mean to storm heaven.
They come close. Go and speed,
Chaos tells Satan in Paradise Lost;
Havoc, and spoil, and
ruin, are my gain.
Rock and roll says: Why dont
you take a good look at yourself and
describe what you seeand baby,
baby, baby, do you like it? It says you
must change your life. But rock and
roll, like all art, lies. Publishers Week-
ly closed a review of Edward Snows
translation of Rilke with the claim
that readers will be helpless, after
passing through this book, against
the command that closes Archaic
Torso. But no one has ever changed
his life because of a poem or a song.
Changing your life is for Simone
Weil or the Buddha. The rest of us
need German poetry and Norwegian
black metal because they provide the
illusion that we are changing, or
have changed, or will change, or
even want to change our lives.
This is one of many points at
which punk and metal dovetail.
7
I
just picked up my old copy of Greil
Marcuss Lipstick Traces (a reading of
punk in the light of Dada, Adorno,
Lettrism, and the Situationist Inter-
national) to see if Marcus might
have used Rilkes lines, only to fnd
7
When I interviewed Jonah Falco, drummer
for the Toronto hardcore band Fucked Up
(currently the planets best band), he told me
that punk and metal have been these paral-
lel yet constantly diverging paths. They
seem to me even closer, in spirit and sound,
than that paradoxical metaphor implies. As
the groups guitarist Mike Haliechuk said
during the same interview: I think I just
like loud music.
The audience at Inferno Festival, Oslo
78 HARPERS MAGAZINE / MAY 2014
them quoted on the inside cover, in
Robert Walshs blurb. Destroy your
safe and happy lives before it is too
late (the Me kons) is the punk ver-
sion. No one ever has. The Me kons
know this, just as the grind core band
Liber teer dont expect anyone to fol-
low up lyric exhortations like To be
happy, god damn it, kill those who
own property.
A pop songand metal, for all its
fuck no, is pop musicis a commod-
ity, and its market conditions are
written into its chord structure. It is
caught up entirely in capitalisms
circuits. A wash of guitars and a
blast beat do not have the power to
resist the contradictions they expose
and express.
Imagine if, after passing through
[a] book, presto, we were helpless
to avoid changing our lives. Some-
times I wonder what metal would
sound like af ter capitalism, or
whether we would even need metal
then. I wonder the same
about poetry.
The fnest of the frst generation of
rock criticsMarcus, Robert Christ-
gau, Robert Palmer, Ellen Willis
ignored metal almost entirely. (Willis
raved about Black Sabbaths Vol. 4,
but only after claiming that the frst
three records are mostly awful,
which is blasphemous.) Their hostil-
ity makes a rough sense. These were
people whod grown up on Elvis and
Chuck Berry, had their brains rewired
by Beatles-Stones-Dylan, were on the
scene for punk and young and smart
enough to write terrifc things about
it. They had to make the case that
rock and roll was worth writing
intelligentlyeven intellectually
about. William Shawn had to be per-
suaded that popular music was some-
thing The New Yorker needed to
cover, and that a young woman who
had written for Cheetah was the one
to cover it. These critics werent
about to squander their hard-earned
cultural capital on an avowedly anti-
intellectual genre known primarily
for its cartoon ish demonology. I
mean, the Ramones were too dumb
for Marcus.
This critical negligence means that
metal has had the freedom to develop
from its bluesy origins in En glands
working class into one of the most
vibrantly imaginative and complex
genres of popular art without a lot of
outside interference or notice. (Thats
changed relatively recentlyBen
Rat liff, for instance, writes about
death metal and black metal for the
New York Times; the metal faithful
predictably cry hipster incursion.) I
invite anyone whos dismissed metal
from afar to check out Gor guts Col-
ored Sands and Deaf heavens Sun-
bather, two of last years most cele-
brated releases. I doubt theyre what
youre expecting.
I dont promise youll like them,
though. Kant claims that aesthetic
judgments contai n an implicit
oughtI feel that a person ought to
agree with my judgment of the beau-
tiful, even though I recognize he
may, foolishly, dissent from it. This is
not how I feel about metal. I can un-
derstand why a person would not
care to devote much time to music
that involves a lunatic growling,
Colon, cry for me! over an unre-
mitting tornado of guitars and drums
(not that you can really make out
what Lord Worm is growling about
on Crypt opsys Slit Your Guts).
But I do think its a shame to
spend your middle years listening to
the same old Game Theory records.
The summer I was twenty-three,
stumbling around Europe, I listened
to the Stones Exile on Main Street on
my Walk man at least once a day.
Those songs slide right off me now.
They gave me everything they had
in them, and Im grateful.
I didnt get into metal until I was in
my thirties, and then only because
this is really embarrassing to admit,
but as they say in A.A., were only as
sick as our secretsI was flipping
through one of Robert Christ gaus old
Consumer Guide collections and saw
that hed given Slayers Reign in Blood
a B+. Every time I think Ive got a
handle on it, I turn up some unsus-
pected star chart that leads me off in
search of ever more distant constella-
tions. Its like being seventeen again,
perusing the testimony of Christ gau
and Marcus, scouring every record
store in town for some out-of-print
Adverts album I just had to hear.
Except, of course, its not like be-
ing seventeen at all. That out-of-
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E-mail:
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Hike
the
Alps.
CRITICISM 79
print record is a Google search away,
and music cant ever again be as im-
portant to me as it was when I was
young. Emerson wrote that After
thirty a man wakes up sad every
morning excepting perhaps five or
six until the day of his death. This
ishow shall I put ittrue. Listen-
ing to most rock and roll now in-
volves remembering what it used to
do for me that it cant anymore.
Recently I took my writing stu-
dents to see Converge at the Metro
in Chicago. It wasnt like seeing Son-
ic Youth in Denver in 1990. For one
thing, I was in the balcony rather
than pressed up against the stage
like a pilgrim on the hajj. For anoth-
er, I had to keep my eye on a bunch
of college kids to make sure they
werent drinking alcohol on school
time. But Converge (who arent
much younger than I) took over that
space like a bellowing woolly rhino
crashing into a Pleistocene clearing.
The enormousness of that sound, its
rooms and crevices. The nearest ob-
jective correlative I know is in
Christopher Logues All Day Perma-
nent Red, which takes as its subject
battle scenes from the Iliad:
Think of a raked sky-wide Venetian
blind.
Add the receding traction of its slats
Of its slats of its slats as a hand draws
it up.
Hear the Greek army getting to its feet.
Its war music.
At one point the band lurched into
a slow, martial burner I recognized
from the new record, which I was still
getting to know. I listened to it again
when I got homeEmpty on the
Inside (as opposed to being empty
on, like, the outside?). The studio
version is good, but the song had
been something else on stageferal
and free, the reverberation of de-
creation. I googled the lyrics. And
was reminded that the frequent inde-
cipherability of Jacob Ban nons vocals
is a blessing. One line struck me,
though. You can barely hear it on the
albumBannons not singing, just
kind of muttering to himself, a per-
vert on a park bench watching girls
walk home from school.
I cant shake these beasts from
my bones. n
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ACROSS: 9. nihilum (hidden), or-in-O(c)O, Italian/American; 10. sage (two mngs.), E-s-me (even
letters), Herb/Salinger; 12. roost*, agape (two mngs.), torso/with; 13. r(a)id, Im-re, a/Hungarian;
16. li(p)o(rev.), O-tis, inserted/oh; 18. look up (two mngs.), arr.-ear, Google/hearing; 20. Trieste*,
garrote*, testier/or; 25. tong (two mngs.), zero (hidden), arm/zip; 26. peavey*, St.-I.G.mA(rev.),
manipulated/returning; 27. tent(D)ress*, instances*, $500/occasions.
DOWN: 1. an-atomizer, moralistic (hidden), bottle/term; 2. mighty (homophone), ironic (pun),
strong/dry; 3. riposte*, in shor*-T[anzania], entanglement/briefy; 4. ile (even letters), cot (hidden),
water/bed; 5. Acular*, cu(P-O)la*, a/caul; 6. a(M-1)go, [e]mo(to)R (rev.), friend/drive; 7. Is-a-(a)-k,
ram-i.e., a/maker; 8. m(ed)s, see(m)s, manuscript/dates; 11. greatness*, minute-men (pun),
sergeants/toy; 15. l[ength]-eg rest*, outhunt*, traveling/Hutu; 17. point*-e, iatric (hidden),
energy/in; 19. Orsini*, re-earn*, I/make; 22. nene (hidden), moor (rev.), partially/tie; 23. red-O,
etaT (rev.), over/upcoming; 24. syst (homophone), S-ass, vesicle/curve.
SOLUTION & NOTES FOR THE APRIL PUZZLE, TWOFERS
Puzzle editing by Dan Asimov. Note: * indicates an anagram.
A slash indicates the division between the two parts of the clue. In 15D, the right-hand
letter count was reversed; it should have read (3,4). We regret the error.
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E E
E E E
E
E
E
E
E
G
G
G
H
H
I I
I
I
I I
I
I
I
I
I I
M
M
M M
N
N
N
N
N
N
N
V
O
O
O
O
O
O O
O O
O O O
P
P
R
R
R
R
R
R R R
R R
R
R
S
S S
S S
S
S
S
S
T T
T T
T
T
T T
T
S T T
U
U
U
Y
L
L