Metal Onomatopoeia

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Onomatopoeia (noun) –the formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named (e.g., cuckoo, sizzle)

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Once I was sitting at the bar at Saint Vitus in Greenpoint, putting down some base beers before the night ahead. A couple of people next to me were chatting about the night’s line-up, or, perhaps, the line-up for an upcoming night—I don’t know, I was drinking. What I do remember was that the dude describing each band’s sound got to Cleveland’s Ringworm, he paused, and said, “And those guys just…sound like what they’re called. They sound like fucking ringworm. It’s gross.”

A metal band’s name can make or break them in my opinion. I remember not hating that first record by Success Will Write Apocalypse Across The Sky, but I couldn’t stand saying that name. But nothing is better than a band whose name is in and of itself an accurate description of their sound. When a band’s name speaks to their sound, it creates something more than five guys in a room. It creates an aesthetic entity. Don’t get me wrong, if your band rules hard enough, you can be called whatever you want. But given how over-the-top metal band names can be, there’s something beautiful to a moniker that feels indelibly tied to the music coming out of your speakers.

So here’s a list of Metal Onomatopeia, when a band’s music sounds like what it’s called. The qualifications are different for every band, but the hard line is that this band should sound appropriate as the soundtrack to the thing it describes. Let me know which bands I’m leaving out in the comments section.

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Darkthrone: Given their acerbic mix of Satanism, elitism, and fuck-you attitude, then yes, I’d say that Darkthrone sound like a dark throne. Can’t you picture it—a spiny seat of unlimited power, draped in deepest black and casting a long shadow? Hail.

Speedwolf: With Speedwolf, the onomatopoeia goes multiple ways: this band sounds like a wolf charging through the woods, a wolf on a ton of speed, or the wolf that one awakens within themselves when high on speed (like a werewolf, but with crystal meth). All three work for me.

Grand Magus: Part of what makes this doom band so fun to listen to is that they’re a little dorky. Like, D&D dorky, baroque teenager dorky. The name fits perfectly with that kind of aesthetic.

Stomach Earth: The thundering nausea of Mike McKenzie’s solo death-room project masterfully illustrates the entire planet becoming a single festering bowel, dripping with bile and hungry for me.

All Pigs Must Die: This band unquestionably sounds like a command to crush the cops. That cops need to be crushed.

Emperor: While many metal bands harp on kings (King ov Hell, Deathrace King, King Diamond), only one has the type of classic, artistic sound that warrants the title of Emperor. The lords of baroque black metal absolutely sound like a ancient Roman monarch, ruling over all.

Nekrofilth: I not only think this band sounds like the filth of the dead, I think its sounds like a misspelled description of it.

Slayer: One who slays. Absolutely.

Napalm Death: Warfare rages all around as burning sludge incinerates you from the outside in, leaving you to wonder what God could exist that would allow such agony. Yeah, that’s a pretty damn good name.

Krallice: Brooklyn’s premiere progressive black metallers have perhaps the only nonsense name on this list. Though the word was invented by the band and therefore has no complete meaning, it sounds and feels entirely appropriate for their brand of furious, off-kilter music. Does that count as onomatopoeia? Weigh in.

Skull Fist: This might be a stretch, because a fist made of skulls would probably just sound clicky and crunchy. That said, when I imagine a fist made of skulls, or a fist coming out of a skull, I hear Skull Fist in my head.

Black Breath: The Seattle melodic death metallers’ sound perfectly matches their name. Hearing Sentenced To Life, you can see someone exhaling great venomous fumes of pitch-black exhaust.

Neurosis: Few bands have a name that matches their music as much as Neurosis do. With a flare for the unsettling, the upsetting, and the subliminal, this band creates a form of sonic madness, a yearning and stretching at the edges of sanity that plays out like a film showing in the minds of lunatics and harried men.

Hate Eternal: Just boundless, never-ending hatred, perpetually blazing for generation upon generation of human hearts. Makes perfect sense, given how Erik Rutan sounds.

Cynic: Cynic’s sound make them come across like dudes who don’t believe any of the blood-and-thunder magic of heavy metal. Think about it.

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