December 13, 2012 by Kriscinda Lee Everitt
As the various R.I.P. posts spread across Facebook, on various groups and from various people, I am reminded that metal genius (and I mean that) Chuck Schuldiner passed away eleven years ago today.
Not so long ago—within the last couple of years—Chuck’s mother, Jane, was getting ready to make a big move from her home in Florida. She was selling some things and I ended up buying a bunch of Death vinyl off of her (and a couple of t-shirts). She was lovely, very sweet. She is still lovely and very sweet—we exchange the occasional email. Our introduction song and our first dance song at out wedding were Death songs. I let her know. She was touched and her reply to that actually helped Big A and I get through a tough moment we were having ourselves—as my aunt was dying of cancer. It was a short exchange sent without intentionally doing anything in particular, but seemed to help/cheer all of us. All I can say…Jane’s a sweetie.
And Chuck, I’ve thought in the last few weeks, would have been the perfect audience for this blog. Not that I think he’d have run off, moved to a farm, and picked up crocheting. But of all metal personalities, he’s the one I can easiest envision doing exactly that. Here was a guy—the Father of Death Metal—who was not afraid to be photographed wearing flip-flops. Not to mention a shirt with cats on it. Is that metal? Decidedly not…or was it? He liked to cook (Chuck’s Evil Chili recipe is in the cookbook Moshed Potatoes). He loved animals. Point: He was as metal as it got, and yet, there was a lot about him that wasn’t so very metal, and he embraced it. Or, at the very least, he didn’t care if no one else did.
That’s a little of what this blog is about. I don’t fit in with the many, many other homesteading/simple life blogs out there. I wear boots, not girly sandals. I wear a battle jacket, not a blouse. I don’t have kids (no “earth mother” here). When I picked up more yarn for crocheting over the weekend, I wasn’t listening to grampa’s guitars, I was listening to Testament.*
So, here’s to the guy who made not being so very metal, metal. Or, to the guy who didn’t care if what he was into wasn’t “metal” and came out looking even more metal than before. And, in all seriousness, his leaving was a huge loss. The body of work he put out in fewer than twenty years is—to my ears—all absolutely top notch stuff. It’s hard to imagine how much we lost when we lost him. Best not to think of it. Just pop in some Death, or some Control Denied, and rock the fuck out.
* This is not to say I do not own and occasionally wear girly sandals or listen to The Sundays or something. I like a lot of different things. But metal and horror flicks…that’s where I’m most comfortable and feel most “me.”