Wacken 2016 once again reminded me that metal/hard rock/whatever tags you like, is a tribe unto itself, one which operates with its own unique set of rules and customs. Primary among these is the reality that fear has no place. Metalheads come to Wacken to enjoy, to experience, to escape and to be entertained.
Yippiddy doo-dah, summer’s here, sunshine, warmth and all that jolly stuff, swim-shorts, beer, friends, festivals, yet all I seem to be finding these days is a build-up of anger and frustration which can only find it’s natural release by submerging my dark and filthy frame into
STOP PRESS STOP PRESS STOP READING THAT STOP EVERYTHING AND PAY ATTENTION TO THIS INSTEAD!
I have tried a few times to express my utter embarrassment and anger at how the much-shat-on working class of Great Britain have been completely, and utterly, used by click-bait right-wing arseholes, at how such a vote projects itself across the world as Britain waving its middle finger defiantly at just about everyone east of Dover, but each time I start to articulate the details of Brexit as I view it, I instead turn the volume up and blast some aural salvation.
“I’m an urban animal/Still primitive man/I’m an urban animal/One step from a cannibal” Killing Joke -
IT IS hard not to be angry right now. I like a bit of zen like the next evolved person, but let’s face it, if you have a heart, if you have a brain and if you have a conscience, these are pretty tough fucking times. There are extremists on both sides and neither is helping lower international blood-pressure.
