Sunday, April 7, 2013

Cold nights.

It's been a bad week. There's no use going into particulars. No one wants to read your sob story, they're too preoccupied with writing - or weathering - their own. Family stuff, man. It's hard. It's hard to think about, let alone write about, and this isn't the place to spin my own tale of woe and the backwoods. I'm not sure what that place might be, but I'm pretty certain that it's best kept locked away, stored in living room conversations and quiet bedside chatter. Writing that story about my mom was hard enough; I'm glad I did it, but it took awhile. This fresh heartache is too raw, too ragged around the edges, and too goddamn confusing to touch. It still stings, and I'm still wholly lost, and there's no room for that stuff on a metal blog (if this even qualifies - it's more of a graveyard/half-baked resume by now).

Sorrow, alienation, impotent rage, creeping uncertainty - extreme metal has a lot of time for these loathsome emotions, and the darkest hours often call for the most punishing soundtracks. It's always been that way for me - the harshest black metal tore through the asphyxiating paralysis, and lit a torch to illuminate the path out of Hell. Not this time, though. I've spent the last week wrapping myself in Order From Chaos, Teitanblood, Obituary - old friends, old favorites, a warm woolen blanket of hate to hide beneath. It doesn't feel right, though. For whatever reason, this latest struggle calls for something different.

Common Eider, King Eider and Steve von Till have been offering a great deal of solace. The Moon Lay Hidden Beneath a Cloud, the acoustic Royal Thunder tunes, Hexvessel, Southern Isolation, and Purson have resurfaced on my playlists, keeping me company while night falls and I'm alone, waiting for my man to come home from work and hold me tight. Being so far away from home makes dealing with family pain so much harder, given that my dad and granddad aren't the most computer-savvy. They tend to give up on emails after three lines, sending cryptic messages and leaving holes to worry into. Having A. here is the next best thing, better really, because he's not as jaded to the madness that we've grown accustomed to and knows when to hug tightest.

That's probably why I've been so drawn to these haunted, half-whispered songs - they sound as lonesome as those empty hours can feel.

Common Eider, King Eider:

Steve von Till:

Southern Isolation: