We will make a few other points now: Some bands are angry and probably don’t know exactly why.
We wrote our own answer to those questions following his comment here, but we don’t pretend to speak for all extreme metalheads. Do you do it to be ironic or to make a point about how you feel that you have been treated by the world? I saw the word cathartic used – is this music a way of healing some pain that you feel?” You all seem like very literate and intelligent folks, yet you seem to find pleasure in art that celebrates darkness and pain. “The whole scary-metal scene is confusing to me. A while back, we got a comment on one of our posts from a guy who described himself as “an old fart.” He wrote this: And even when the lyrics don’t reflect anger, a lot of the music just sounds pissed-off. It works its way through the lyrics of many songs. It’s a motivating force in the creative process of many bands. Treays has outdone himself by biding his time and doing what he always does – injecting his music with a slightly abstract but absolutely authentic sense of himself.Anger plays an important role in extreme metal music. It’s a combo of every feeling it elicits, be it excitement, nostalgia and – the real challenge for artists with such a fierce distinctiveness, and for artists as beloved as Jamie T – the clear absence of disappointment. There’s no one elusive quality that makes The Theory of Whatever such a great listen. Conversely, “A Million & One New Ways To Die” sounds like a delightful ode to the landfill indie (read that term as one of endearment) his career began alongside with a Libertines-y riff and a Strokes-y chorus. “Between The Rocks” feels like fan-service in the most brilliant way, quick-witted lyrics spit straight out of 2009 alongside riffs ready to jump into, followed swiftly by “Sabre Tooth” which unlike many of Treays’ best feels more fit for an arena than a sweaty basement, the swooning rock production perhaps the biggest sonic maturing we hear on the record. The peaks and dips of The Theory of Whatever are a little less gloriously rough around the edges, but they’ve far from lost their effect.Īnd yes, there is fresh mosh-pit bait here, raw and rough and ready to go. Treays packs equal depth into a sound a little more relaxed: “St George Wharf Tower” is a melancholic whip-round of London scenes that manages to feel quietly optimistic, “Talk Is Cheap” is an absolute “Back In The Game”-esque acoustic-guitar outpouring, but Treays’s delivery is almost comforting in its familiarity (though no doubt this one will hit its emotional heights in the live setting). None of them quite reach the sprawling emotive heights of the likes of “Sign of the Times” or more recent deep cut “The Likeness of Being”, but that’s because they don’t need to howl their desolation to the wind. The ballads, for the most part, feel more private. Opener “90s Cars” is a restrained, yearning ode to a missed love told in snippets of images, a selection of appetisers for the songs to come. The Theory of Whatever packs less rapidfire bangers than earlier records (though they’re definitely present) which means that the lyrical prowess shines through, lending greater weight to the tales within.
#Mosh pit lyrics series
In seven years of no new Jamie T – but numerous nights spent in grubby indie bars and clubs – it’s been very easy to forget that "Sheila" is a strikingly written series of painstaking vignettes and not just five minutes of time you spend trying not to get groped or have a pint spilled down you. And the Theory of Whatever feels like one of the first times he’s really told his own story rather than turning the pen to abstract narratives. Unpretentious has always been the way to characterise Jamie Treays as an artist and as a performer, but The Theory of Whatever does a stellar job of reminding us that as no-fuss as he is, he’s still an artist and at the absolute core of it all, a storyteller.
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