I am excited to introduce a friend of mine from school
to all you wonderful readers today. Udayan is a comic artist. He has two comics
up on comicfury, and is always working on more. He is currently interested in
fantasy and surrealism in art, and listens to a lot of experimental music that
fuses psychedelic, drone, symphonic and jazz elements. But, before all this, he
was what is I believe referred to as a “metalhead” and it is through him that I
was introduced to metal. The following piece is the result of a telephonic
discussion with Udayan and he talks about a journey of self discovery here.
Have a read!
The Bilge Master
Summer, 2012. The microwave heat of Delhi beat down on the city’s
inhabitants, an unceasing presence in all the hustle and bustle of the national
capital. There was no getting away from it. You either got your skin burnt to a
fine crisp in the sun, or drowned in your own sweat in the metro.
While the brightest young minds of the country shuffled into class to check their Facebook, something incredible was happening. Unbeknownst to society, a revolution was taking birth.
I plugged in my Vox digital amp. Hands almost shaking with excitement, I put the cable into my guitar. Reaching for the volume knob, I turned it clockwise, further than I had turned in a long time. The guitar came to life, its distorted roar driving deep into my brain. I looked at the face behind the drum kit. The sticks clacked together. One. Two. Three. Four. On instinct, I grabbed a familiar power chord and hit it. The familiar jam of the sound was comforting. It was a simple pattern, and as the groove set in, my nervousness faded away and I could focus. Playing with others was still something very new to me, and I was quickly finding out that it was a whole different ballgame from practicing alone in my room. A few seconds in, I went for a solo. Tensed up, I ran through the notes as fast as I could make my muscles go. The jam soon came crashing to a halt. As satisfied as the ego was, a part of me knew that it sounded like shit. I had a long way to go.
“Dude, let’s go grab a smoke.”
A minute later we were near the local shop. I inhaled, feeling a burn in my throat. Breathing the grey wisps out, I said, “Well, how was that?”
“It was all right.” The tone said otherwise.
That was how it was, beginning to make music. I was nineteen years old, and it had been three years then since I had first heard it. Since I had first heard metal. For the past two years, I had dedicated myself to the old gods and the new. Maiden and Sevenfold. Priest and Lamb of God. Pantera and Children of Bodom. Metal was an essential part of my life. I had heard the solos. I had heard the riffs. I was obsessed with the speed, the heaviness. If I couldn’t play fast, what was the point of playing at all? Looking back, that state of mind represented a fracture, a gulf if you will, between music as I listened to it, and music as I played it. A compulsive habit was clouding my mind and heart.
At that point, listening to metal was an experience that was worlds apart from playing it. It was intense. Cathartic. Every note, every word, every beat seemed to be saying all the things the naïve young boy couldn’t. So he gave in to the emotion, allowed himself to be swept away by the sound. It was a safe place, far from the dangers of the real world.
But I didn’t quit.
Breaking the ego’s hold on the self takes time. I had to learn to view life and reality from different perspectives. A lot of the change happened through practice. Constantly having external voices comment on my playing, and tell me what to do. That’s what happens in a band. And of course, playing in college means people hear you. And they have things to say too. It gave me at least some idea of what I sounded like from outside myself.
This was how I developed my aesthetic sense. Whether it was visual art or sonic, I needed something to guide me towards the right path. Things automatically sounded and looked better if I ignored the monster in my head that wanted to bathe in glory. Whenever I followed the monster, my work never left an impression on the people around me. So I needed another guide. There was a kinder voice inside me. It communicated more through feelings than words. And following its path was fun. The search for external approval had led me to the only voice that mattered. My own soul. This was where the real journey began.
I found myself drifting further and further away from the artists I once listened to. Pearl Jam, Tool, Alice in Chains. Certainly a far cry from Megadeth and Metallica. And yet, the word metal still meant something to me.
I paused. I had reached the edge of the desert. I took not a single look back at the dreary sands I had left behind me. Out ahead grey marble covered the ground, and beyond that, green. I thought I could see the likeness of the nebulae etched into the ground. The Eyeless Saint stood in front of me.
“You’ve made it through. But the person standing here is not the same person who began this journey.”
“No. He is the same person. I am more myself now than when I set out.”
“Hmm. The metal. You no longer worship the old gods or the new. Yet, you carry the metal.”
“The metal was never about the old gods or the new. The metal taught me one thing only.”
“And what is that?”
“To leave behind structures and idols, limitations and rigidities.”
“So what you’re saying is…”
“Metal allowed me to reach the point where I was not bound to its vessels.”
“So where will you go from here?”
“I don’t know.”
Winter. January 2015. I took off my jacket. It was impossible to move my hands with it on. I wasn’t thinking much about the people I was going to meet. I didn’t have any expectations of a collaboration. But it would be interesting to talk to them. As I began warming up, all thoughts not related to the guitar slipped out of my mind. Shortly afterwards, I got a call telling me they were here. This would be my first time meeting anyone purely for the purpose of jamming with them. They were complete strangers to me.
While the brightest young minds of the country shuffled into class to check their Facebook, something incredible was happening. Unbeknownst to society, a revolution was taking birth.
I plugged in my Vox digital amp. Hands almost shaking with excitement, I put the cable into my guitar. Reaching for the volume knob, I turned it clockwise, further than I had turned in a long time. The guitar came to life, its distorted roar driving deep into my brain. I looked at the face behind the drum kit. The sticks clacked together. One. Two. Three. Four. On instinct, I grabbed a familiar power chord and hit it. The familiar jam of the sound was comforting. It was a simple pattern, and as the groove set in, my nervousness faded away and I could focus. Playing with others was still something very new to me, and I was quickly finding out that it was a whole different ballgame from practicing alone in my room. A few seconds in, I went for a solo. Tensed up, I ran through the notes as fast as I could make my muscles go. The jam soon came crashing to a halt. As satisfied as the ego was, a part of me knew that it sounded like shit. I had a long way to go.
“Dude, let’s go grab a smoke.”
A minute later we were near the local shop. I inhaled, feeling a burn in my throat. Breathing the grey wisps out, I said, “Well, how was that?”
“It was all right.” The tone said otherwise.
That was how it was, beginning to make music. I was nineteen years old, and it had been three years then since I had first heard it. Since I had first heard metal. For the past two years, I had dedicated myself to the old gods and the new. Maiden and Sevenfold. Priest and Lamb of God. Pantera and Children of Bodom. Metal was an essential part of my life. I had heard the solos. I had heard the riffs. I was obsessed with the speed, the heaviness. If I couldn’t play fast, what was the point of playing at all? Looking back, that state of mind represented a fracture, a gulf if you will, between music as I listened to it, and music as I played it. A compulsive habit was clouding my mind and heart.
At that point, listening to metal was an experience that was worlds apart from playing it. It was intense. Cathartic. Every note, every word, every beat seemed to be saying all the things the naïve young boy couldn’t. So he gave in to the emotion, allowed himself to be swept away by the sound. It was a safe place, far from the dangers of the real world.
But I didn’t quit.
Breaking the ego’s hold on the self takes time. I had to learn to view life and reality from different perspectives. A lot of the change happened through practice. Constantly having external voices comment on my playing, and tell me what to do. That’s what happens in a band. And of course, playing in college means people hear you. And they have things to say too. It gave me at least some idea of what I sounded like from outside myself.
This was how I developed my aesthetic sense. Whether it was visual art or sonic, I needed something to guide me towards the right path. Things automatically sounded and looked better if I ignored the monster in my head that wanted to bathe in glory. Whenever I followed the monster, my work never left an impression on the people around me. So I needed another guide. There was a kinder voice inside me. It communicated more through feelings than words. And following its path was fun. The search for external approval had led me to the only voice that mattered. My own soul. This was where the real journey began.
I found myself drifting further and further away from the artists I once listened to. Pearl Jam, Tool, Alice in Chains. Certainly a far cry from Megadeth and Metallica. And yet, the word metal still meant something to me.
I paused. I had reached the edge of the desert. I took not a single look back at the dreary sands I had left behind me. Out ahead grey marble covered the ground, and beyond that, green. I thought I could see the likeness of the nebulae etched into the ground. The Eyeless Saint stood in front of me.
“You’ve made it through. But the person standing here is not the same person who began this journey.”
“No. He is the same person. I am more myself now than when I set out.”
“Hmm. The metal. You no longer worship the old gods or the new. Yet, you carry the metal.”
“The metal was never about the old gods or the new. The metal taught me one thing only.”
“And what is that?”
“To leave behind structures and idols, limitations and rigidities.”
“So what you’re saying is…”
“Metal allowed me to reach the point where I was not bound to its vessels.”
“So where will you go from here?”
“I don’t know.”
Winter. January 2015. I took off my jacket. It was impossible to move my hands with it on. I wasn’t thinking much about the people I was going to meet. I didn’t have any expectations of a collaboration. But it would be interesting to talk to them. As I began warming up, all thoughts not related to the guitar slipped out of my mind. Shortly afterwards, I got a call telling me they were here. This would be my first time meeting anyone purely for the purpose of jamming with them. They were complete strangers to me.
As
we sat down to jam, I realized that this need not go in the same direction as
my previous band. Three years of constant practice and taking the time to learn
scales had given me a sense of melody and rhythm. No longer was I just hitting
notes at random. I could control where this went.
That was a year ago. A few months after that jam session, I decided to stop playing guitar. From the guy who ignored reality and clung to a few bands, to someone who loves music, yet is able to stop playing it: I had come a long way. I had finally found my goal in life, and it was not being a musician in the generally accepted sense of that word. And I could not have made that realization without metal. Through listening to and learning to play music, metal had given me about something more than simply the ability to pick strings in time and key. It had given me a real, complete experience of life. It had given me a journey. A journey that had its successes, as well as it failures and lessons. Through the experience of loss, I found within me a strength I did not know I had. Music did not become my goal in life. Instead ,it helped me find the strength to pursue my goal. Metal did not remain a musical genre for me. It taught me to find my own set of values and principles in life, even if they were different from what metal preached. That was what metal and music gifted me.
That was a year ago. A few months after that jam session, I decided to stop playing guitar. From the guy who ignored reality and clung to a few bands, to someone who loves music, yet is able to stop playing it: I had come a long way. I had finally found my goal in life, and it was not being a musician in the generally accepted sense of that word. And I could not have made that realization without metal. Through listening to and learning to play music, metal had given me about something more than simply the ability to pick strings in time and key. It had given me a real, complete experience of life. It had given me a journey. A journey that had its successes, as well as it failures and lessons. Through the experience of loss, I found within me a strength I did not know I had. Music did not become my goal in life. Instead ,it helped me find the strength to pursue my goal. Metal did not remain a musical genre for me. It taught me to find my own set of values and principles in life, even if they were different from what metal preached. That was what metal and music gifted me.
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