In June, I travelled to Helsinki to see Iron Maiden. I live in Finland and so know well that the country is heavy metal mad. It boasts more metal bands per capita than any other country in the world. Metal has long been the nation’s unofficial flagship cultural pursuit, with bands (called things such as Nightwish, Apocalyptica and Amorphis) acting as ambassadors where few other cultural figures have broken through abroad. But I still wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
The gig was preceded by a gathering of the “Crazy Finns” – a ragbag of Finnish Maiden fanatics who have followed the band on tour for two decades. The fan group celebrated their 20th anniversary with a concert pre-party featuring Dennis Stratton, who played on the band’s self-titled debut in 1980. As Stratton performed an acoustic version of Prowler, backed by local musician Henri Seger, the tears started to flow – predominantly from the men in the audience. At this point I realised one of the main reasons for metal’s popularity in a country where the inhabitants are famously emotionally restrained – it offers a rare outlet for collective expression. I won’t forget the sight of these macho, taciturn Finnish men united in their tears and their denims, the instantly recognisable uniform of the metal fanbase worldwide.
The appeal of heavy metal might be strongest in Finland, but it goes well beyond its borders. It is old for a musical subculture (Black Sabbath released their debut album 55 years ago), but it is in rude health. Metal has prominently featured in mainstream discussion over the past year, from Gojira’s Paris Olympics opening ceremony performance and Grammy win, to Iron Maiden’s 50th anniversary tour, to Black Sabbath’s farewell gig. Ozzy Osbourne’s death just weeks later was followed by the kind of outpouring of public emotion usually reserved for stars of mainstream music. Given Sabbath are widely credited with producing the first metal album, this seems the right time to ask what music’s darkest genre owes its longevity and increasing popularity to.
As a metal fan since 1990, I can relate that in any bar in any town in any western country (and some more besides), you can strike up a conversation over a metal T-shirt or band patch. This is practically survival for some. As a weird metal kid, you were often ostracised, sometimes persecuted. In UK seaside towns in the 90s, such as Bexhill-on-Sea in East Sussex, where I grew up, or neighbouring Hastings, where I attended art college, teenage boredom often tipped over into mindless violence around music and fashion affiliations. At such times, metal clothing signified people you could run to and trust in a scrape. It is the garb of the dispossessed.
The ability that metal has to reach out to the alienated and provide a community is not lost on the UK’s Graphic Nature – who play a gritty crossover of extreme and nu metal. I saw them play at the QStock festival in Oulu, Finland, in July – and during their set, the lead singer, Harvey Freeman, explained that many of their lyrics are about mental health awareness, before asking the assembled crowd to “bang your heads”. Graphic Nature’s relentless syncopated rhythm left me – and, it appeared, a good portion of the crowd – feeling emotionally lighter by the set’s end. A little later that evening, the Finnish “Viking metallers” Ensiferum delivered a heroic-camp set, with their long-bearded bassist gurning like a pirate throughout. Their considerable technical ability was only matched by the ludicrousness of their premise and their huge stage presence.
Two weeks after QStock I attended the Atomic Grass festival at the Tukihota cultural centre in Oulu – a small event in a building with squat party vibes and a “bring your own beer” policy. Among the seven Finnish metal bands on the lineup, Turku’s Sgt Slime moved a dedicated crowd with a mix of hardcore and metal. Their lyrics reveal a sense of fun behind the bludgeoning riffs, as with the song Escape from Planet Hell, which conveys the torment of having no beer in a post-apocalypse world:
The darkness lasted for days
In the comet’s wake
The yeast is now erased
This could seem crass given the many threats to our existence today, but would a more serious message achieve anything more? We live in exceptional times, facing challenges we feel powerless to do anything about. Many seek refuge in spirituality and wellness, others stress themselves further with endless doom-scrolling, hoping to find answers. Metal offers an alternative to the saccharine messaging of social media and banging one’s head against a wall by endlessly revisiting the horrors of our time on our feeds.
As ludicrous as metal often is, it never dresses up the harsh realities and refuses to provide false solace – an approach that appears to boost the wellbeing of its fans. Its honesty hits even harder as you get older and realise what the stakes are – and what it means to have hopes and goals thwarted. Forget the comic trope of rockers with Zimmer frames. Sticking with metal as you age signals your continued willingness to do things on your own terms – an ethos thankfully being passed down through the generations.
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Ozzy’s final bow epitomised the resoluteness of metal – and captured the public imagination. Wide-eyed and unflinching, surely aware his days were numbered, the Prince of Darkness started his farewell gig rising up on a black throne, straddling the worlds of high camp and horror. It is this ability to confront the dark side head on and with a touch of humour that has enabled metal to endure and grow in popularity over time. After all, life’s darkness doesn’t let up.