It’s been a long time coming, and it’s about time I admitted it – metal doesn’t move me like it used to.

I, always upping the volume and frequency when it comes to the things that I think make me look unique, maintained through my college years a public identity consisting solely of radical politics, metal, vegetarianism, and later Japanophilia – every one, in the paraphrased words of Ian Gillan, trying to be louder than everything else. Now that I have no clueless mainstream to set myself against which I’m not already categorically excluded from, I find playing up each of those parts of me less psychologically rewarding. I still enjoy a few metal bands, probably the only ones I should ever have been listening to, but the days of my impulsively buying Gamma Ray’s back catalog are long gone. There are just a handful I’d still buy new releases from out of anything other than loyalty.

If I could chalk this change up to simple maturity, I’d do it – but I don’t think marathon House, MD sessions are indicative of much emotional growth. Who knows though, it could be Lupus.