by Casey Rea
I spent a good deal of the weekend (the part not involved in mixing a record) considering that beautiful bastard of musical genres, metal.
Brooke & I have cable TV now, which to me means really only one thing: VH1 Classics! Viewers of this fine station are probably aware of the show Metal Maniacs, which broadcasts antique videos from yesterday's hair 'n' hammers set.
In addition to the old-school attack, I checked in with some of the latest crop (crap) of sonic savages via Fuse, sometimes referred to as "the Canadian MTV."
I saw a bunch of wussy screamo/emo stuff, only "metal" due to a few halftime breakdowns and harmonized Iron Maiden-style guitar figures. Every Time I Die, I'm looking at you, you skinny-tie wearing, mascara muddled chumps. Since when did this once proudly outsider music become a haven for whiny rich kids with nice haircuts? I did enjoy Between the Buried and Me, though. Their music was an interesting mix of knuckle dragging hardcore, nerdy prog and math-metal. Trying to follow the drummer was next to impossible, and I like that.
I saw the tail end of an Opeth video, as well. They're one of my favorite metal bands, if you can even call them that. They may be Scandinavian, but they're all over the musical map. Let it be said: From Ingmar Bergman to Meshuggah, I love Swedes.
It seems like every time I spotlight or feature an artist in Seven Days, The New York Times runs something along the same lines within a month or so. Not that anyone notices around here. This town is still discovering hip-hop! I've come to the conclusion, after nearly 15 years here, that Burlington is an oddly livable yet remarkably out-of-touch little burg.
Anyway, see you in the inferno.