The One Black Guy
You know me. Well, you don’t really know me. But you’ve seen me at plenty of shows. I mostly keep to myself. I am dressed appropriately with either a jean jacket with patches or some band’s t-shirt.
I might be in the back with the old folks or down in the bowels of the pit with the young. I don’t look completely out of place.
You might talk to me about the upcoming show while we’re in line and both trying to contain our excitement. Heck, you might even stand next to me while we’re both headbanging to a particularly good riff by the band. Yeah, you know me…Well, sort of.
I’m “The One Black Guy”. No reason to feel some need to be politically correct. You know it, I know it. I am one of maybe two, three tops, at the show… four if Suffocation or God Forbid are playing.
It’s okay, I get that a lot. I am not uncomfortable, trying to be “different”, or ashamed of my status. In fact, there are a great many of us — just not usually at the same show.
It turns out, I am fairly knowledgeable about all things metal. Raised in the suburbs, I have the music my family listened to and my friends': a little jazz/blues/reggae and a little punk/new wave/metal.
It’s perfectly ok to say “hi”. In fact, I would like that. Music, contrary to popular belief, is in fact colorless. It is a conduit of attitude and culture, sure, but there are more differences within a race/culture than between races/cultures. (Psst! Don’t tell some black metallers… it might upset their applecart of division.)
So, I’ll be putting pen to paper (mostly fingers to laptop) to give you my take on metal. It might disagree with yours, but that’s fine. I’ll be in the pit with invisible oranges outstretched to the metal gods to bring down a bit of truth from the mountain top. You can expect this, after all. You know me. I am just like you, but I am…