Sunlight, Flashing on your Steele

Let us take this day to remember one of the unsung heroes of metal, one of the last torchbearers of the days of classic metal, a brilliant songwriter, a flame that burnt out and burnt bright rather than faded away.

Peter Steele.

I was going to write "Peter "Fucking" Steele" on that single-line epitaph up there, but if just for a moment, I want to find in myself some solemnity, the capacity to be serious.

Not saying this post is gonna be all white slavery and anesthesia.  I mean, look at this guy:

Or don't.  Either way, he's looking at you.

He was a goofball.  A towering, scary-looking, talented-as-fuck goofball.  So he'd want some humor in a post like this.  So Pete, if I think of anything good, I'll throw it in.

Imposing as he was, Peter Steele was, by all accounts (well... that I've read anyway), a wonderful man: a joy in the studio, on stage, at home, at the bar, in the workplace.  Speaking of the workplace, did I mention he worked for the NYC Parks Department?  Imagine a Peter Steele cameo in Parks and Rec.  Seriously.

Also, since there's weirdly no pictures of him actually working in a park, above is a picture of Peter Steele being sexy in a field.  Which is close enough to a park.

And that's not even touching on how this motherfucker could write a song.  Steele had a way of songwriting that captured intense emotion without being a "look at my problems" kinda songwriter.

Looking at you, bro.

He shared his world with us rather than dragging us down inside it.  More impressively, he accomplished this while filtering his life through the world of horror, using all things gothic and macabre as analogy.  Even more impressively, it's presented in a way that still makes you want to fucking move, that's still fucking metal and catchy as shit.  Even MORE impressively (ya see where I'm going with this?), he (well, they, because this is obviously more up to his band) managed to make this beautiful shit without a lot of studio fanciness.  Do I like studio fanciness?  No; I love it.  Do I think the minimalization of such tricks sort of held Type O Negative back in terms of not putting out stuff that the radio would devour, something they could have been done without sacrificing any sort of integrity?  For sure. But the music's great as is.  When all the paint's been stripped away and you still have a house you want to live in, that's when you know you have something truly special.

I know, Ten Guy.  I know.

So there you go, folks.  Peter Fucking Steele of Type O Negative.  Hope there's Halloween in Heaven, Pete.  Say hi to Dimebag for me.  Not that I knew him, but, you know, that'd be cool.  And like, all the other dead musicians.

No.

And to the rest of the guys from Type O Negative - Kenny Hickey, Josh Silver, Johnny Kelly - should you somehow read this blog (yeah fucking right), thank you so much for some twenty years of amazing music.  If there's any way I didn't do justice to you or the dearly departed, I'm truly sorry.

Also, this.  Fucking this.  Credit goes to VoodooHammer on deviantART.  If you run into this bro, real sorry I didn't actually get permission.  Hope you'll appreciate the usage though.

Plus a funny meme.