With
such a vast ocean of music to traverse these days, it has become easy to
dismiss anything near the surface. The internet has provided easy access to all
kinds of experimental and progressive music that is often referred to as being
‘technical’ and ‘transcendent’ by critics and listeners alike. Achieving these
states in the world of metal is no mean feat and releases by groups such as
Opeth, Agalloch, Cynic and the like have all been rightfully lauded for their
accomplishments in these areas. But sometimes this search for transcendence can
grow tiresome and we just want something a little numb and mindless to tune out
for a bit to.
Over here in South
Africa I have for many years now only been able to imagine what it would be
like to catch one of my favourite bands live. Dreams of standing before the
almighty Mikael Åkerfeldt as he belts out one of his legendary death growls are
not uncommon for me, nor are thoughts of meeting a hero such as Devin Townsend after
one of his truly ‘unique’ performances. And yet I must admit to initially
having mixed feelings regarding UK metalcore act Bring Me the Horizon’s trip to
SA last month. While Bring Me the Horizon are a band I once truly admired, their
youthful and relatively immature brand of heavy music no longer struck the chord
with me it once did. I’d stopped listening to them, dismissing their music as
‘shitty mallcore’ without substance or deeper meaning.
And so I never bought
Ramfest tickets, opting instead to save the money for something more important (I
would later spend it on vegetables and a pack of rubber bands). But my fortunes
changed when I won a pair of tickets after a random entry to a competition
online. I thought it would be fun to relive a bit of nostalgia and to laugh at
the scene kids for a bit. Plus I would get to see Rise Against and watch them
play “Prayer for a Refugee,” another classic from my teens.
“This is sempiternal!”
Those words I screamed with Oli Sykes would come to define my experience that
evening. That memory of standing before Bring Me the Horizon, shouting out the
words to all their songs at the top of my lungs, will undoubtedly flash before
my eyes when I finally leave this cruel world. For the first time in years I
really felt like I was just where I wanted to be. I let go, releasing
everything from my inner-emo to my inner-hardcore kid to my inner-deathcore fan
(shameful, I know). It sounds corny but I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as alive
as I did during those nine songs; even Rise Against’s set couldn’t live up to
that adrenalin rush. And then I realised that my search for transcendence in
music had all culminated in that 50-odd minutes of just being. I wasn’t myself, nor was I anyone else, I was just there in
the moment and I was more alive than I’ve ever been before or since.
As I sit here typing
this I am listening to a collection of albums hailed as ‘life-changing,’
‘inventive,’ and ‘revolutionary.’ But none of them even comes close to the
transcendence of Bring Me the Horizon’s generic breakdowns. Not. Even. Close.
Shoot me.
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