A title reveal

I revealed the title and an important progress update on the heavy metal memoir in this morning's edition of Arcane Arts: Dispatches From The Silver Key. Check it out here, and please consider subscribing if you haven't yet done so. 

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Arcane Arts is my weekly e-mail newsletter, rounding up what I'm working on, a bit about my personal goings-on, and cool stuff of a fantastic/metal and S&S bent I find interesting/provocative/worth sharing. 

Revolution Is My Name, Pantera

Dimebag Darrell was one of those rare one-of-a-kind guitar players with a unique style instantly recognizable as soon as he sets pick to string. Swampy, staccato, sharp, with trademark squeals that arrest the ear.

Exhibit A.

The main riff in “Revolution Is My Name” might be his best, and he has many. You can make a case for “Cemetary Gates” or “Walk” ; right now I’m feeling this one.

“Revolution is My Name” appeared on 2000’s Reinventing the Steel, the band’s last album. It was nominated for Best Metal Performance at the 2001 Grammys.

Dimebag was a huge KISS and Ace Frehley fan and the feeling was mutual. After his 2004 murder KISS stepped up. Gene Simmons donated a KISS coffin (!) for his burial. Ace spoke for Dimebag during his posthumous induction into Hollywood’s RockWalk and later dedicated an album to him. 

Numerous subsequent metal guitarists have cited him as an influence. The dude could shred.

Metal will always be the music of Generation-X. Even though it got underway in the early 70s with Black Sabbath and so was fostered by later Boomers, it exploded in popularity in the early 80s when high school aged Gen-Xers went all-in. In this song Phil Anselmo (an X-er, b. 1968) voices the cultural influences that made him, and our generation, who we are. The shadow of Vietnam and the turbulent 70s. 

'68, into the world born

The '70s, a breath after the war

Life was confusing because of my age

Should my eyes open for tomorrow's gains?

I can't help the way I am

There's no trust and there's no end

What is my name?

The somewhat amusing video is a paean to the formative music of our youth, KISS and Led Zeppelin and their ilk. Anselmo's rage, rebellion, and love of metal, will never change.

Enjoy this crushing tune on Metal Friday, friends.

The Dragon Sickness

(Warning; contains spoilers for David Drake's "The Barrow Troll")

Wealth hoarding. Obsessively clutching your treasure until it consumes you. This base and all-too human instinct manifests in our stories and myths as The Dragon Sickness.

The dragon is a creature out of myth, but also a symbol out of the theories of Carl Jung. A monster lording over its wealth, but also a beast lurking inside of you. Your ego, preventing you from self-actualizing, becoming your highest version of yourself, dragging you down into selfishness.

The dragon sickness finds expression in the Old English epic poem Beowulf, a common ancestor of both high fantasy and sword-and-sorcery. We can see its influence on works as diverse as J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and David Drake’s “The Barrow Troll.”

And we can see how the lesson of the myth diverges in these two stories, offering two very different ends.

Bilbo acquires and then gives away (most) of his wealth. He returns to Bag End with money, but is very generous with his treasure.

The “barrow troll” of Drake’s story hoards it, guards it jealously, and murders anyone who would take it.  When Ulf kills the troll and takes possession of its golden horde, he becomes the monster.

“Gold,” he murmured. Then, “Gold!” There must—the others—in God’s name, there are five more and perhaps all of them—”

“Gold,” Ulf grated terribly.

Johann ran to the nearest chest and opened it one-handed. The lid sagged wetly, but frequent use had kept it from swelling tight to the side panels. “Look at this crucifix!” the priest marvelled. “And the torque, it must weigh pounds. And Lord in heaven, this—”

“Gold,” the berserker repeated.

***

What should we make of wealth? Is it a metric for success or a sign of corruption? An earned possession of the rich that trickles down to the less fortunate? A sin to possess in quantity?

Wealth is not an inherent evil, it’s all about our relationship to it. Expending effort to achieve wealth is admirable … but more admirable is generosity, post-wealth. If you use it to help enrich others you can become a hero. If you set your north star solely by the size of your bottom line or your bank account you become a troll.

“It’s a Wonderful Life” contrasts George Bailey and Old Man Potter. Who had the greater moral clarity and lived a more wonderful life? The crabby old man who lived a luxuriant life of hoarding while keeping others poor, or the family man who lived modestly and sacrificed to give families in his community a fair mortgage and a reasonable start in life? 

Who received wealth in the end, in the most unexpected of eucatastrophes? 

Making the right choice isn’t easy. Wealth is seductive, the dragon, a fierce enemy. The Master of Laketown succumbs to the dragon sickness. The dwarves in Moria delve too greedily and too deep, arousing the balrog, a physical manifestation of greed. Thorin succumbs to it with the Arkenstone, and ultimately recognizes his error on his deathbed.

"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world,” Thorin says to Bilbo. 

The dragon sickness can be overcome with compassion, generosity, a moral compass that places people above possessions. Bilbo and Bard are the guideposts. 

“The Barrow Troll” is the warning.

"Into the Fire," Dokken

I've heard it referred to alternatively as hair metal, glam metal, sometimes by the less charitable, butt rock. Whatever. 

I've come to love it. 

It really all started with Quiet Riot's Metal Health, which made history by becoming the first metal album to reach no. 1 on the U.S. Billboard 200 chart. Then you had Pyromania and Shout at the Devil and it was on. Dudes with big hair and tight pants playing heavy but radio friendly-ish heavy metal, dominating the air waves circa 1983-91.

Dokken is one of the best examples of this sort of thing. Their first album, 1983's Breaking the Chains, was considered a commercial flop, and they needed a big sophomore effort. They got it with Tooth and Nail, released in September 1984. It had several strong tracks, "Alone Again" probably the most popular and recognizable, but I like this one best.

God I love these ridiculous videos... zero subtlety, near zero artistry, zero fucks given.

I've come to love George Lynch. He's an incredibly talented guitarist who writes killer licks and makes this band what it is. Guitar-forward, great hooks, great for blasting as you drive down the seaside in a convertible Iroc-Z or Camaro Z28.

You might be seeing a bit more of this type of music on Metal Fridays through September, for reasons that will soon become clear.

Gazing into The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune

Can sword-and-sorcery be quiet, thoughtful … philosophical?

Not typically … but Robert E. Howard was anything but typical.

If you want to know why Howard lasts while so many of his barbaric descendants have not, gaze into "The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune."

But not too closely. You might not be able to rip your gaze away.

***

“Mirrors” starts with an epigraph by Edgar Allan Poe, placing the reader into the proper headspace for the story to come. Poe wrote stories of psychological disorientation and spirals into madness.

The stuff of “Mirrors.” 

Not much actually happens plot-wise. Kull is king but unsatisfied with reality, weary of life, and unable to hear the sea-songs of Atlantis of his youth. It has the same melancholy, disenchanted feel of H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Silver Key” (Feb. 1929 Weird Tales), even though Howard wrote the story considerably earlier and that could not have been an influence. Must have been something in the inter-war air.

A slave girl with an ulterior motive recommends Kull seek out Tuzun Thune, a wizard who holds the secrets of life and death. And he does.

But this story isn’t about plot, or character. It’s theme, the exploration of life itself, and how strange and ephemeral this thing called “reality” is. When you get right down to it the relationship of reality and consciousness are incredibly complex, and uncertain, prone to dissolve if you look at them too closely. 

Is there reality if no one is there to observe it? Does the observer therefore create reality? And if so, can we create and inhabit worlds of our own making, every bit as “real” as this one?

Howard frames this strangeness through Thune and his probing questions. When Kull asks the wizard if he can create wonders, Thune replies, Is it not a wonder that flesh obeys the thoughts of our mind? That we can talk with the dead by talking with another person—who are already dead because they were born?

Skeptical of slippery sophistry, Kull nevertheless accepts Thune’s offer to gaze into his mirrors. And there finds the origins of man, a “dream of the gods,” and learns the truth of mankind’s ephemeral existence, that all our glories will fade like smoke on a summer sea.

Kull is soon lost in a hall of mirrors that seem real but may be a metaphor for his own tortured and bewildered metaphysical thinking.

Is his world real, or the world inside the mirror real? 

Does it matter, if reality is only in our heads, the product of our highly individual consciousness? Is life merely a dream?

The line between fantasy and reality blurs as Kull himself begins to fade; he threatens to vanish entirely into the world in the mirror until his Pict friend, Brule the Spear-Slayer, kills Tuzun Thune and shatters the glass. 

But this is no heroic finish. Unease remains. Kull is left to ponder, was it Thune’s witchery changing him to mist, or had he stumbled on to a secret? Maybe there are worlds beyond worlds, ones we can access.

Conan would famously reject such mirrors and place his gaze firmly upon this world. He scorns such bottomless and possibly destructive philosophizing (“Let teachers and priests and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me."). Perhaps both he and Howard came to discover that the only truth we can ever truly know is our own. 

Though even Conan’s words can be interpreted with ambiguity; after all he never admits he knows the truth, only that he will let others brood upon its nature, and that the illusion is real, to him.

A few additional notes

“The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune” originally appeared in the September 1929 Weird Tales and has been reprinted and adapted widely since. In print, too numerous to mention, but some notables include Skull-Face and Others (Arkham House, 1946), The Coming of Conan (Gnome Press, 1953), and King Kull (Lancer, 1967).

***

The story was adapted for Savage Sword of Conan #34 (Oct. 1978), with script by Roy Thomas and art by Mike Ploog. I have this. It’s pretty cool even though two of the pages are transposed. The images from this essay are taken from that.

***

The heavy metal band Arkham Witch covered the tale in a song of the same name.

***

It contains one of my favorite Howard passages, a prose-poetry which made Howard so special. 

“There comes, even to kings, the time of great weariness. Then the gold of the throne is brass, the silk of the palace becomes drab. The gems in the diadem sparkle drearily like the ice of the white seas; the speech of men is as the empty rattle of a jester's bell and the feel comes of things unreal; even the sun is copper in the sky, and the breath of the green ocean is no longer fresh.”

This passage was heavily adapted for the screenplay of Conan the Barbarian (1982) and voiced by Max Von Sydow.

***

Is Kull a proto-Conan? You can make the case for yes and no.

Yes: Conan was borne out of a rewritten Kull story and so contains his literal DNA. Both are powerful, massive, untamed, fierce fighters, barbarian outsiders sitting uncomfortably on the thrones of civilized kingdoms.

No: Howard was in a different place in his life when he wrote these stories, and the characters are therefore different. Kull has his own distinct characteristics: Brooding, reflective, relatively chaste, philosophical, prone to dreaming. In his essay “Atlantean Genesis” included in Kull: Exile of Atlantis (Del Rey, 2006), editor Patrice Louinet shares some passages from letters to his friend Tevis Clyde Smith at the time of the writing of “Mirrors,” and they are rife with the same sort of philosophical/psychological inquiry.

***

Can a story about the nature of reality be categorized as sword-and-sorcery? I don’t want S&S minus the Clark Ashton Smithian-weird strain. And it’s got a warrior and a wizard in it. 

So I say, yes.

The Myth of Progress

I am a big fan of modern medicine. I like my car, I need electricity, I even (mostly) enjoy the internet. I could do without my television … but watching a good movie (on the DVD player) makes the glass teat worth owning.

I mourn the fields and sighing pines that are now condos, and the state of my attention before the omnipresent pocket screen. I miss the world pre-9/11, life in the middle before extreme political division. I miss local bookstores and reading culture, when everyone seemed to be holding a mass-market paperback.

I am not a purveyor of nostalgia, though nostalgia is genuine human emotion and has evolved with us for a reason. I do realize that we’ve come a long way baby, and even the decades of my youth—the 70s and 80s—had pockets of shittiness we’re better off without.

But I’m also not a blinkered techno-utopian. 

I miss Google search before it became “enshittified” and definitely life before generative AI. Slop and outsourced thinking is a problem; not having a reliable way to know if something is true is worse.

Progress is just change, and change is sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Great things are gained with breakthroughs, something is inevitably lost along the way. There is no unseen digital hand, no Prometheus of circuitry and silicon, steering us ever forward to “better.” This belief is a myth.

The myth of progress does not only apply to technology. It applies to social progress, and the progress of a life.

As we grow older we gain wealth, wisdom, strength, autonomy, influence.

We lose innocence, wonder, malleability, potential. And if I’m getting dark, we lose everything at the end. Maybe we progress to some paradise of the afterlife, but there is no assurance there.

Unfortunately there is no magical formula for getting this balance right.

What can we do?

Slow the fuck down. Encourage and celebrate measured, incremental progress. Be thoughtful, as humans can be, and strive to make more of these changes the positive sort.

Be kinder, stop killing each other for a few minutes.

Celebrate our past, preserve and honor what is great about it.

Understand the tradeoffs that inevitably come with technology and efficiency and the sprawl of development.

Talk like adults about all this, rather than behave like children striving to win a game that never was one to begin with.

I realize I sound a bit like an old man shouting at clouds, without hope. 

But I am hopeful we can figure this out, and discover the peace that comes with balance.

...

Or at least bring back Pizza Hut of the 1980s.

Missives from Highland Lake

I'm up at the family cottage on Highland Lake this week, enjoying some sorely needed PTO.

I did get out an issue of Arcane Arts, which you can read here. And remember to click "subscribe."

I also got in some quality time with my friend Tom Barber, who left me a mighty gift: 10 classic paperbacks, most published by Zebra in the 1970s, all with his cover art.

In return I gave Tom a ride on the pontoon boat on a beautiful, 10/10 afternoon.