From the Kettle onto the Coil

Too much pink is turned into black. What was payable is now priceless. Optimism vanished through the velvet blackness of oblivion. Marketing trick? Only the band knows.

I know that I love “true” black metal, but when it comes to the new experimental forms, simply avoid connecting them with the previous pattern. Black metal has been developed from trash metal and now something is dividing from black metal itself, both aesthetically and ideologically. Deafheaven seems problematic for some people because there is a great similarity with already mentioned genre: blast beats, tremolo picking, high-pitched vocals. They feel like this band has stolen basic elements from “their music” for mainstream purposes. To be honest, From The Kettle Onto The Coil is pretty extreme track and I don’t believe rockers are listening to it (the same case with Cradle of Filth).

The only real issue is whether these guys created mainstream tendencies intentionally or unintentionally. The only clear argument is that they perform live and earn money. Many so called true black metal bands are doing the same; everything became business and the stories about art for art's sake are nothing but a legend (with a few exceptions like studio band An Autumn for Crippled Children).

Back to the song! The destructiveness of love has been represented with great sensibility, but ménages to stay universal. Christians and other believers glorify love; black metal is fighting against them, mocking and bashing to the limit. Deafheaven came up with a different approach by showing (rather than telling) ordinary, modern human as a degenerated branch of evolution and weak product of social influences. We suffer, cry, love and hate, we dream of warmth and love despite the pain of idealism - this is what’s all about. There’s no better way to write about miserable, pathetic and trivial state of mind than with skilful usage of slightly pathetic tone.

Besides from horrible hipster look on the stage, their music is remarkable. On this track everything is synchronised perfectly: lyrical prose, vocals, composition and performance. It starts aggressively but quickly becomes playful when George sings: My shades of blonde dancing in the high sun. Then we can hear a breakdown that corresponds with the desperate departure in the lyrics. Drums and guitars accelerate, but never reach the speed they had at the beginning; little solo evokes sorrow and regret and finishes suddenly leaving the listener in emptiness.