Photo by Sarah Slater.
Guess what?
I know pretty much nothing about metal.
It’s all a crapshoot for my ears; I hear, I like, I don’t like. I can’t base anything on my extensive historical knowledge or my mental back-catalog of reviews. I have a faint, primitive, sad understanding of the difference between black, thrash and death. Whether this makes me a terrific or abysmal candidate to review a metal band, I do not know. But I’m gonna do it anyway.
Metal has caricatured itself. It’s nobody’s fault; there’s no music industry giant to wag a finger at, or a top-selling artist to bemoan. If you choose to mock metal in the safety of your home or office, delightful. Your peers will probably guffaw amiably and give a few knowing nods. If you choose to scoff in the company of corpse-painted Norwegian headbangers, may you suffer briefly. Being an outsider, I’d make the mistake of saying metal can’t be taken seriously, but only because it’s… so much fun.
Metal is gaudy, burly, outlandish, maniacal, et cetera. I am aware of its powers. Technically, the idiots throwing horns during a great solo at a Dave Matthews show are aware of the powers, too, but I assure you this is better. There is excitement in feeling something that, for lack of a better explanation, “rocks,” and there is a glee in mayhem. I experience profound glee during the goofy spectacle of an exploding head in a horror movie; I adore the sound of a large glass bottle when it breaks; I am fond of Whack-A-Mole. And I enjoy , along with an abbreviated handful of other metal outfits.
I’m not discriminating; I will not stand on a soapbox and proclaim Early Man as the epitome of metal. In my scant, two-ish decades of life, I have missed the metal boat (which was probably a Viking ship). What I have heard has been graciously introduced to me in the last few years, by friends and, most notably and memorably, enthusiastic coworkers.
I was introduced to Early Man one evening at , which was exactly where I chose to revisit them on Wednesday after many turns of their 2005 album “Closing In.” From what I can tell, Early Man doesn’t stray far from a “classic” sound, and as a closet traditionalist, I get why it’s so appealing. On their slower, more deliberate songs, the doodly arpeggios and hair-in-face swagger reminds me of the metal lurking behind the harmonies of some early-’70s rock bands. It’s all weirdly comforting, without needing to dwell too much in sentimental nostalgia. There are no hippies swaying their lighters about. This is, actually, still rock, but obviously gruffer, grimmer and more guttural. The audience understands this. We nod, bob, or bang blissfully, without too much bother as to why.
I’m surprised that it’s been three years, and there wasn’t at least a 2006 or ’07 release. Most bands in today’s industry fade quickly from view if they don’t throw a musical steak to the fans in a timely fashion. But here everyone was, stoked as hell. There was no petty mumbling along the venue walls as to whether or not one should approach the stage with skepticism.
Do you like Early Man? Good. Stand there, and there. The show mixed old with new, the latter of which will be arriving in tangible form this year, and the cap-off was the single “Death Is the Answer,” which is a favorite I sang softly to myself (okay, not softly) before I left for the Lounge. Good times. That’s the real emphasis here; it was fun, and not the cerebral kind.
I didn’t have to fold my arms and go “Hmmm” like I often do; this was take-it-or-leave-it, not-looking-before-leaping entertainment. And who gives a crap if it’s derivative? If they do a good job of it (and they do), it doesn’t matter, unless you’re a belligerent ding-dong.
Perhaps, if we revisit the hypothetical situation of ignorant you vs. the Norwegians, we might have since gained a little insight. Maybe — just maybe, when bludgeoning you to death with their leather-clad fists and forearms, they might be defending their right for fun. And again, may you suffer briefly.
Alex Edgeworth is a Denver-based writer and regular Reverb contributor.
Sarah Slater is a Denver-based photographer and Reverb contributor.
