A first today in the history of the BlastFurniss, to celebrate the S'March of Metal, the O.M.O.M. has been gracious enough to supply a few words. Enjoy!
The gatekeeper of all things BlastFurniss, E.S. Furniss, invited me to spew forth an essay for the S’March of Metal festivities at his always-entertaining blog. First off, I’d like to thank E.S.; his blog is a ray of stimulating ideas and thoughts in my otherwise cloudy workday of close-minded simplicity.
Some of you may have seen my asinine comments at this very blog. Others may know my photo/video/beer swilling arse and wonder just why I’m showing up here. I wonder that also and I’ll do my best not to drop the quality of BlastFurniss to unacceptable levels. The Metal genre is primarily a male inhabited domain and I realize that women tend to nod off, or flat out run the other way, when the topic of Heavy Metal is broached. I encourage the ladies of BlastFurniss to stick around today and maybe I can give you some insight to how the male mind works. It’s just my way of helping you understand the whole Men Are From Mars, Women Are From That Field Where They Filmed The Massengill Commercial phenomenon.
Metal is a very divisive genre; one man’s Slayer is another’s Def Leppard. Instead of discussing history, sub-genres or the dividing line between Hard Rock and Metal, I’m going to talk about the single biggest threat to Heavy Metal and those behind it. That’s right brothers and sisters; we’re going to take a peek at The Pussification Of America, or POA.
In the 1980’s metalheads cried that the PMRC (go google it, youngsters) were evil incarnate and would eventually wipe Metal from the record shops of America. Well the PMRC is an old ladies knitting club compared to POA. The PMRC focused primarily on music and movies that they deemed offensive or detrimental to 80’s youth. POA encompasses a much wider scope, going as far as even ignoring Metal. POA has adults worrying about rain and snow (Storm Team Alert!!) in way our parents never even thought about. POA has parents outfitting their bicycle-riding children like WWII soldiers hitting the beaches of Normandy. POA has our workplaces so politically correct that pretty much anything out of your mouth can send you walking the green mile to visit HR.
Thanks to POA, men aren’t allowed to be pissed off or angry anymore lest ye be deemed “emotionally unstable.” Try doing a home or auto repair project while a woman is nearby. Invariably, something will go wrong, a vital part will break, a wrench will slip or things will just not go at all how you expected. At this point, men of previous generations would throw a wrench, cuss for five minutes, have a beer and then reassess the situation. If the POA era DIY-er tries that, within the next 12-24 hours a woman will bring up the topic, “I think you have an anger management problem and should see a doctor…”
I’m sure you are wondering exactly what the hell my above ramblings have to do with Heavy Metal. Metal is the refuge of the pissed, Metal embraces you when you are angry, Metal cheers you up when you are depressed, Metal makes you raise your fist, shout and celebrate. Metal makes you feel alive. Metal takes aggressive emotions and distills them into music we can relate to.
Pissed, angry, depressed: terms that are considered undesirable or abhorrent in today’s world. Thanks to our fine pharmaceutical companies, our Oprah and Dr. Phil obsessed culture and doctors needing to pay for their BMW’s, you need never worry about displaying an emotion again.
Don’t mistake this for some kooky Tom Cruise-ian rant, I just think that our lives are over prescribed and over analyzed. I’m sure some pills might have kept good old Jeff Dahmer from drilling holes in his boy toys skulls. Mental health is a serious issue; I just don’t see where getting stressed, pissed or bummed out from time to time is a problem.
My last visit to the doctor, I sat in a waiting room full of C.H.U.D.’s for 30 minutes then was placed in a tiny exam room to sit for another 45 minutes in my skivvies. When the doctor arrived, I proceeded to rip his ass for wasting an hour plus of my time away from work, where I’m trying to earn money to pay his bill. He then had a 10-minute chat with me about how my getting aggravated isn’t healthy (or “normal”) and he could prescribe me with some wonderful pills that would keep me from getting upset over things. I just laughed at his suggestions, got in my car and cranked up Pantera’s Vulgar Display Of Power. In five minutes, I was bobbing my head and in a great mood. I guess I’m just an a-hole for expecting him to keep deadlines just like my employer expects me to. In POA, people aren’t supposed to be upset when kept waiting for long periods of time.
Walk around your local Wal-Mart and look at the lack of thought behind the eyes of the sheep, hell, drive around your local burg and count how long it takes people to respond to a green light. Thanks to POA and the happy pills that further the cause, we’ve become a nation of emotionless zombies who experience neither lows nor highs. Today’s youth are so jacked up on Ritalin and other mood altering drugs that Metal music is just noise to them. Who needs angry music when you are no longer angry?
Damn straight I’m angry, hell I’m angrier now than when I was a teenager. In my late teens-early 20’s I had no one to worry about but myself; it took little to get me by. If I didn’t like my job, I could quit at a moment’s notice. Now, I have a family to worry about; if I don’t like my job, tough cookies bub, you have others to provide for. Time to suck up to the teat of corporate America and take your beating. Metal keeps me going now more than ever. On your morning commute to a crap job? Crank up “Manowar” by Manowar and the day starts a little smoother. A rough week of dealing with teenagers, spouse, bills? Crank up some Slayer, it will make you coo like a baby and mellow you out more than a fistful of Prozac ever could.
Show me an adult male that lists Jack Johnson and John Mayer among his favorite artists and I’ll show you a medicated (castrated) man that has fallen prey to Pussification Of America. I see a Jack Johnson video and I dream of a 1970’s Robert Plant and Jimmy Page materializing to violate him with a mudshark (once again kids, google it). I hear a John Mayer song and I pray for Tony Iommi to drop a stack of Marshalls on John’s pouty face. I wouldn’t have these wonderful thoughts if I were doped up on happy juice, I’d probably get nervous and sick to my stomach if a Black Sabbath tune came out of the speakers.
Embrace your Metal, don’t pass it off as a teenage “phase.” Metal is fun, loud and immature. Metal will keep you from becoming your parents. Metal will make the crappy things seem less crappy. Metal will keep those POA bastards at bay for another day. So crank up some Judas Priest, let your kid take a lap without the bicycle helmet and live a little.
Hail And Kill,