RIP Dimebag Darrell

Heavy metal music fits an odd period of my life. After Kurt Cobain killed himself I looked for something else to fill that teenage angst/ennui. For about a year, I discovered the wonders of Slayer and Pantera, the heavy guitars and constant aural assault. Part of it was the adrenaline rush from listening to it. Then there was the subversiveness of the genre. And I can’t leave out the occasional hot guy (Phil Anselmo in his hey-day was absolutely fuckable!) Soon I became enraptured in goth and industrial music, then indie, then whatever I listen to now. But I would always go back to listen to my metal albums and just rock out. You know. Headbang and yell at the top of my lungs in the middle of traffic. No one can tell me that screaming along to “Fucking Hostile” while going 2mph through Downtown LA is not cathartic. Blah. That’s why hearing about Dimebag Darrell’s murder is really a bummer for me. I’m not crying about it nor am I going to set up a candlelight vigil. But Pantera was (and still is) a moment of catharsis for me. So it’s a little upsetting. Of course the media is going to go crazy with the safety of seeing bands play in clubs. Blah blah blah. For every show I have gone to, not once did I think my life was in danger. But I can only imagine what will happen. When the Great White show disaster happened, the ensuing crackdown forced the closure of The Smell for several months. I really hope that doesn’t happen again. What really baffles my mind is that people don’t belive in “isolated incidents” anymore. Everything begets something else, which in turn begets something else, &c. Whatever. In the end we still have the music and the memories. That will never go away.