It was a cold day in late January. Most days in Ohio are cold then. But there was a storm approaching and temperatures had been at frozen level regularly at that point.
Three days earlier, Liam Conejo Ramos was escorted by ICE to his front door, used as a decoy to arrest his father. The 5-year-old had been walking home from school and was still in his coat, hat, and backpack when agents forced him into this role and subsequently took him and his father to a detention center in Texas.
I posted something about it on social media. I couldn’t get over the image of this little boy being used in this way, let alone the thought of him being separated from his family. My outrage was enough to give light to it.
Most comments were sympathetic and equally outraged. But a small handful were supportive of what happened, justifying the agency’s actions or downplaying what Liam went through.
It was enough to enrage me all over again. And although I’d technically begun the conversation, I didn’t see any effort to argue beyond a few comments to be worth my time. And yet, I suddenly had an abundance of energy and nowhere to channel it.
So I drove to the gym, sat down at a weight machine, put on some of the heaviest music that I had on my phone, and turned up the volume.
I’ve been looking for God in the silence
To let me in
From the depths of a blackened horizon
My sweet redemption – Imminence, “God Fearing Man”
Catharsis. The strain of lifting heavy objects, the need to quell several bouts of being near tears, and the angry person screaming angry things over angry guitars into my angry ears, somehow soothing my angry brain.
Finally, my mind and nerves were satisfied. I could return home and re-enter life. But I also suspected that something had changed.
Metal music and its many sub-genres have always been a part of my palette. I’ve turned to it in times of anger or despair before. It has spoken my language most clearly in those times, and I’ve welcomed its presence, usually before returning to other forms when the moment has passed. I thought that it might be the case this time as well, though a part of me doubted that it would be so simple.
Turns out, it wasn’t.
I have spent my life, chasing things
That have only brought me pain
In the end, when I’m dead
Hope it was for something – The Plot In You, “Forgotten”
When is a phase not just a phase?
A phase indicates something temporal. It’s a momentary fascination that burns hot for a time. We invest energy and attention and money into it, immersing ourselves as much as we can. And then one day, it all burns out. Suddenly the fascination ends, either replaced by another, or we just move on. We may even look back asking ourselves what we were thinking, packing all the artifacts into a box for Goodwill, the entire thing relegated to a memory we share with embarrassment with friends.
I’ve known many phases, including musical ones. Contemporary Christian. Swing. Ska. Jambands. Electronic. They’re all still inside me with varying degrees of appreciation, and a few remain in my rotation. I’ve spent many a moment wondering if this new focus would be included on that list some day.
Then a new piece of news arises: another immigration raid, another institution related to my denomination shuts its doors, people stick up for a celebrity’s clear wrongdoing, seven fraternity rapists and dozens of their enablers barely face consequences.
And once again, I play Lamb of God or Lorna Shore or I Prevail or Motionless In White, and I know that the phase isn’t over yet. And given how long it’s lasted, it probably isn’t a phase at all.
You steal the echo from their ghosts
You pick your teeth with sacred bones
I hate the ones that love you
And those who profit from you
It’s time to reap the tide you sow – Spiritbox, “Soft Spine”
I went to see Spiritbox and Evanescence this summer. As soon as their tour was announced, I declared to my family that I was going, whether they came or not. It turned out that my wife was interested as well.
As much as I’ve appreciated Evanescence over the years, I was more interested in Spiritbox. They’d become one of my favorites, with songs like “Jaded,” “Holy Roller,” and “Soft Spine.” I wanted—needed, even—to see them live.
The evening was as meaningful as I’d hoped. As is often the case, hearing these songs performed deepened my love for the music. My workouts would feature these two bands in particular for weeks after.
The face behind the silhouette
In this world I made to be infinite
But within the expanse, I finally see
A world without you isn’t meant for me – Lorna Shore, “Pain Remains – Part I”
It’s been nine months as of this writing. The thoughts and emotions that this style of art speaks to have always been there. But now I’m giving in to more fully embracing the music that always offered to name it. Rather than a phase, this is full immersion.
It quiets my mind in ways that soft meditative styles don’t.
It makes sense for the moment that we’re in.
It names rage and depression and fear and doubt that often are beyond naming.
For me, it will keep doing so. For at least nine months more. And probably forever.
