Black

I don’t really listen to heavy metal. I know very little of it. It overwhelms my senses and I tune out more than tune in. But I do know heavy metal people tend to be elitist in terms of music manifestation – technique, lyrics, performance, arrangement… A song by Don Williams on a six-string feels too simple for them. 

But to each their own. 

I know for myself that if my heart were to break over a song, chances are exponentially higher that it would be over a country song on a hollow guitar than it would be over a Superman-strong rhythm blasted out of a thorny electric guitar, a bass guitar, a fancy keyboard, and a set of loud drums.

I do listen to a few rock songs. Not usually of my own volition but lowkey forced on me by older cousins, older boyfriends and good old millennial culture of trying to fit in. A good lesson that good music is good music. I did grow to love a lot of them. Queen, for example. Or Eagles. Even pop rock like Bon Jovi.

On a tangent, I learned to give a lot of genres and languages a chance. This is how I love songs today of languages I do not speak. 

Good music is good music.

Continuing on, my younger siblings listened to punk and I shared music system with them growing up so I learned to love some punk and emo songs as well. Not regrettable. There are some very good ones out there.

I list out these genres because of black, the colour. It is a unifying factor between them. Different genres although not entirely strangers to each other, I suppose. Perhaps you can lay them out in a spectrum. Whatever that spectrum is, black goes hard with them. It is their visual identifier.

There is something about black, the colour. So many layers to it. Mystery, elegance, rebellion, minimal and yet pregnant with meaning, darkness, depth. No wonder the at-times politically charged genre like punk and heavy metal should lean into it so much. Tormented souls – the romantic tragics, the political despondents, the angry rebels – all immerse themselves in the colour.

Black is very accepting. Formalities would even demand it of people at times. But tear up the elegance and you have a sub-culture, the colour of vampires, of demons, and all the creatures of the dark

Black is promising. It is the colour of the life-giving alluvial soil and the night sky that promises you the stars and the moon, even of the nothingness that is peace and calm. 

Music genres that associate themselves with black the colour tend to go hard on their lyrics. I think sometimes that this is also one of the reasons of the elitism. The arrangements and the technicalities aside, these songs tend to reflect poetry at the level of the tortured artist. The sorrow and pain is real, the anger palpable. 

Little wonder such depth would scorn at the sweet little almost-jingle-esque formulaic pop songs characterised by bubble gum pink and/or bright primary colours if not outright neon altogether. Or find the sepia tones and blue jeans of folk and country simple. Or consider the satin and velvet vibes of blues, jazz, orchestras and operas too conforming. Confining, maybe. 

Black is freeing. A blank canvas. A fertile ground.

Plus, everybody looks good in black. You can’t go wrong with it. I mean an Eva Longoria would look better in red than black but you can’t say that of many people at all. That’s really neither here nor there, my apologies. I digress.

Not sure how to end. Maybe here.