Don't simply demonise death metal
September 29, 2005
This music may have inspired violence, but it also preaches tolerance, writes Chris Johnston.
The burning of churches - such as the sad case of Melbourne teenager Novak Majstorovic, who was sentenced this week for razing a Uniting Church in Moonee Ponds last year - obviously can't be condoned. The damage bill was $3 million; the church was 135 years old. It has not been rebuilt. Parishioners have had to find somewhere else to worship. Luckily, the fire didn't spread and, luckily, no one was killed.
Majstorovic has been painted as an unhinged fan of "black metal" or "death metal" music from Scandanavia, particularly the one-man Norwegian band Burzum, who no longer operate because the sole operative, Varg Vikernes, is in jail for murdering a musical rival and the arson of three churches in 1993. Vikernes is clearly a dangerous, despotic individual; he peddled neo-Nazi literature to his impressionable young fans, inciting violence and rabid hate. The man he killed, over some petty business-related dispute to do with a CD Vikernes had made, was stabbed 23 times. Police also found enough explosives to blow up Oslo in his apartment.
Majstorovic, however, who the court heard was the sole carer of his schizophrenic mother, had no such demonic agenda. The court also heard he had renounced Burzum; he had stopped listening to its music. Indeed, black or death-metal bands worldwide renounced church-burning as a worthwhile activity after the Vikernes case 12 years ago. And the truth of the matter is that most of these bands, who operate in a claustrophobic niche market way too far away from the mainstream for the mainstream to ever bother with them, would never advocate such a thing anyway, not literally. When they do, it's either bluff, bluster or boast, in the same way that a hip-hop performer such as 50 Cent can appear to advocate violence.
Majstorovic is not a neo-Nazi, as continual headlines in the Herald Sun read; he's just a kid who made a mistake, for which he will now pay by way of three years in youth detention. He was in fact a musician himself (although some would debate that definition), the guitarist in a band called Schwarzreich, that toy with Nazi imagery in a vague and undefined way, not because they believe in an Aryan race, but rather as an immature way of identifying themselves as outsiders. It's a dangerous ploy, for sure, this rebel stance, and one that can easily be misread, but it's only a ploy all the same. Like the guns and trigger-fingers in hip-hop, which is mainstream, thanks to 50 Cent and Eminem, it's pure make-believe. In Majstorovic's case, his action was prompted by half a bottle of bourbon more than sheer hatred.
And while I'm not a fan of this music, there's certainly more to it than most people realise. It's too easy to demonise an art form which, superficially, appears to celebrate the demonic. But within the context of black metal and death metal - "black" being the more theatrical, showy offshoot of the pair - Satanism does not mean worshipping the devil. It more often refers to anarchistic beliefs, based on paganism and Norse myth. They believe that Satan is a Christian construct, and as they reject Christianity, they also reject Satanism. In a recent posting on an internet forum, where his actions were being discussed, Majstorovic, using the pseudonym Desolitary, says: ". . . in my inebriated state, the choice of burning down a church was more than likely influenced by the AESTHETIC of black metal. The ultimate meaning at the base of this AESTHETIC is not unique to black metal, it is a superficial choice, I could have gotten the same message across by burning down a McDonald's, or an educational facility, or even the headquarters of The Age."
The poor kid. It got out of hand. It gets out of hand. If anything, he thinks too much. That's the danger with the nether-regions of these heavy metal subcultures - there's too much room for misinterpretation, too much risk of vulnerable minds getting carried away. It can be a kind of fundamentalism, a set of rigid strictures, spread like propaganda. Most followers are smart enough to know it's mostly nonsense, and, like all extreme art forms, it shouldn't be taken literally.
Some years ago I was researching a story on the Australian death metal and black metals scenes and was struck by the intelligence of most fans and musicians. While they might consume horror, gore and fantasy, they don't swallow the devil-talk. They merely use it as a way of expressing their distaste for what they see as a shallow consumerist society. I spoke to a Canberra metal musician, Rod Holder, who organises the biggest annual death metal festival in the southern hemisphere, at the Australian National University, every November. He gives all his proceeds - $10,000 - to the National Brain Injury Foundation and the family of a local fan, Alec Hurley, who was bashed by drunks for looking "different" in 1990. The bands play for free. Holder explained death metal as a "horror story with a soundtrack - we're dealing with the sadder, darker side of humanity".
Hurley is brain-damaged; he can't feed himself or speak. His mother Liz told me: "The scene isn't as bad as it appears. Just because they're weird-looking with their hairdos and gross T-shirts."
There are always exceptions - extreme metal CDs are regularly banned from sale in Australia for offensive lyrics and gratuitous, ultra-violent, stupid artwork. But plenty more actually promote peace and understanding through their music. Most, if you bother to actually look behind the shock headlines, promote tolerance; a case of "let me be who I am and I'll let you be who you are".
Unfortunately, in these intense teen subcultures, where there is so much at stake and young emotions can run at fever pitch, some can be led astray.
Chris Johnston is a staff writer.
September 29, 2005
This music may have inspired violence, but it also preaches tolerance, writes Chris Johnston.
The burning of churches - such as the sad case of Melbourne teenager Novak Majstorovic, who was sentenced this week for razing a Uniting Church in Moonee Ponds last year - obviously can't be condoned. The damage bill was $3 million; the church was 135 years old. It has not been rebuilt. Parishioners have had to find somewhere else to worship. Luckily, the fire didn't spread and, luckily, no one was killed.
Majstorovic has been painted as an unhinged fan of "black metal" or "death metal" music from Scandanavia, particularly the one-man Norwegian band Burzum, who no longer operate because the sole operative, Varg Vikernes, is in jail for murdering a musical rival and the arson of three churches in 1993. Vikernes is clearly a dangerous, despotic individual; he peddled neo-Nazi literature to his impressionable young fans, inciting violence and rabid hate. The man he killed, over some petty business-related dispute to do with a CD Vikernes had made, was stabbed 23 times. Police also found enough explosives to blow up Oslo in his apartment.
Majstorovic, however, who the court heard was the sole carer of his schizophrenic mother, had no such demonic agenda. The court also heard he had renounced Burzum; he had stopped listening to its music. Indeed, black or death-metal bands worldwide renounced church-burning as a worthwhile activity after the Vikernes case 12 years ago. And the truth of the matter is that most of these bands, who operate in a claustrophobic niche market way too far away from the mainstream for the mainstream to ever bother with them, would never advocate such a thing anyway, not literally. When they do, it's either bluff, bluster or boast, in the same way that a hip-hop performer such as 50 Cent can appear to advocate violence.
Majstorovic is not a neo-Nazi, as continual headlines in the Herald Sun read; he's just a kid who made a mistake, for which he will now pay by way of three years in youth detention. He was in fact a musician himself (although some would debate that definition), the guitarist in a band called Schwarzreich, that toy with Nazi imagery in a vague and undefined way, not because they believe in an Aryan race, but rather as an immature way of identifying themselves as outsiders. It's a dangerous ploy, for sure, this rebel stance, and one that can easily be misread, but it's only a ploy all the same. Like the guns and trigger-fingers in hip-hop, which is mainstream, thanks to 50 Cent and Eminem, it's pure make-believe. In Majstorovic's case, his action was prompted by half a bottle of bourbon more than sheer hatred.
And while I'm not a fan of this music, there's certainly more to it than most people realise. It's too easy to demonise an art form which, superficially, appears to celebrate the demonic. But within the context of black metal and death metal - "black" being the more theatrical, showy offshoot of the pair - Satanism does not mean worshipping the devil. It more often refers to anarchistic beliefs, based on paganism and Norse myth. They believe that Satan is a Christian construct, and as they reject Christianity, they also reject Satanism. In a recent posting on an internet forum, where his actions were being discussed, Majstorovic, using the pseudonym Desolitary, says: ". . . in my inebriated state, the choice of burning down a church was more than likely influenced by the AESTHETIC of black metal. The ultimate meaning at the base of this AESTHETIC is not unique to black metal, it is a superficial choice, I could have gotten the same message across by burning down a McDonald's, or an educational facility, or even the headquarters of The Age."
The poor kid. It got out of hand. It gets out of hand. If anything, he thinks too much. That's the danger with the nether-regions of these heavy metal subcultures - there's too much room for misinterpretation, too much risk of vulnerable minds getting carried away. It can be a kind of fundamentalism, a set of rigid strictures, spread like propaganda. Most followers are smart enough to know it's mostly nonsense, and, like all extreme art forms, it shouldn't be taken literally.
Some years ago I was researching a story on the Australian death metal and black metals scenes and was struck by the intelligence of most fans and musicians. While they might consume horror, gore and fantasy, they don't swallow the devil-talk. They merely use it as a way of expressing their distaste for what they see as a shallow consumerist society. I spoke to a Canberra metal musician, Rod Holder, who organises the biggest annual death metal festival in the southern hemisphere, at the Australian National University, every November. He gives all his proceeds - $10,000 - to the National Brain Injury Foundation and the family of a local fan, Alec Hurley, who was bashed by drunks for looking "different" in 1990. The bands play for free. Holder explained death metal as a "horror story with a soundtrack - we're dealing with the sadder, darker side of humanity".
Hurley is brain-damaged; he can't feed himself or speak. His mother Liz told me: "The scene isn't as bad as it appears. Just because they're weird-looking with their hairdos and gross T-shirts."
There are always exceptions - extreme metal CDs are regularly banned from sale in Australia for offensive lyrics and gratuitous, ultra-violent, stupid artwork. But plenty more actually promote peace and understanding through their music. Most, if you bother to actually look behind the shock headlines, promote tolerance; a case of "let me be who I am and I'll let you be who you are".
Unfortunately, in these intense teen subcultures, where there is so much at stake and young emotions can run at fever pitch, some can be led astray.
Chris Johnston is a staff writer.
