I’m a metalhead. I love shit like Pantera; Dimebag’s crunchy timbre and ear-splitting solos, KoRn’s powerful riffs, Lamb of God’s equally-as-powerful vocals, Till Lindemann of Rammstein’s heart-grabbing voice and haunting lyrics, La Dispute’s poetry screaming, hitting you in the face with their realism… they grab hold of me, beat the shit out of me, and remind me that I’m here for a reason, be it to fuck shit up, fuck you up, or get fucked up. it doesn’t matter. and I love it.

but artists like Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, the Doors… they truly are artists. they have a way of transporting you to places you’ve never been before - places you’ve never imagined - introducing you to new perspectives, ways of thinking. they bathe you in the ambience, offer you consolation… they make you feel complete. they don’t sound good, no; they don’t rouse you with the catchy familiarity of Ozzy’s ‘Crazy Train’, or please you with the easy-to-sing factor which made Lady Gaga popular; they sound extraordinary. phenomenal. extra-terrestrial and out-of-this-world.

it even introduces you to people you love, people with the same passion for music as you. and when you listen to different peoples’ different interpretations, it’s like being intertwined with them at a much deeper level. the feeling is indescribable. but that’s another thing that makes those artists so great; they have a penchant for describing the indescribable. and it’s all in the way we interpret. I’ll listen to a song and I don’t know who the hell wrote it, and it’s probable that I never will, but it doesn’t matter. the effect is the same, and I love it. it’s so much different from any other music, or anything in life. it’s the closest thing we’ve got in this world to magic.