On Saturday night my Swedish childhood friend U. and my new Swedish colleague K. and her boyfriend came over to watch the Eurovision Song Contest with me. We had a lovely meal, lots of wine and enjoyed Terry Wogan’s sarcasm for a few hours. When the contest was over, the effect of the wine remained and my new colleague K. started playing CD:s that she had bought that same day. I had already suspected her taste of music would differ from mine (she wears music related clothes, has piercings in her face and large tatoos on her arms), but we had never really had a musical confrontation to confirm it, so even though not unprepared I was at least taken aback.
My younger brother listens to heavy metal, but no matter how many times I’ve heard it, and despite all those times that I’ve sat down to really try and understand its charm, I’ve only just been able to hear “boom-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-bang” and then maybe a scream.
When my new Swedish colleague K. started playing heavy metal, illustrating in words and bodily movement the fulfilment and pleasure this music would provide her with, I really tried to enjoy it. She looked so cool. I tried to hear the lyrics (perhaps it was the lyrics?) and then I tried to enjoy the complexity of the music or even just the tune.
My Swedish childhood friend U. who grew up in an even more conservative home than I did, inquired “but doesn’t it make you feel stressed and angry?” expressing the very sentiment the music was begetting both of us, to which my new Swedish colleague K. replied “it’s so incredibly great!” Once more I tried to feel it. And there it was! Again. “Boom-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-bang!” And then maybe a scream.
By Lovain
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