Type O Negative - The Orchestra of Death

In 1989, after serving time in Carnivore, pioneers of so-called thrash-core, Peter Steele sinks into another of his existential crises. He often talks about suicide, but not everyone seems to take him seriously. He takes odd jobs, reads engineering or architecture textbooks, paints. In 1990, Sal Abruscato, a close friend of his, proposes putting together a band. Thus Kenny Hickey is recruited on guitar and Josh Silver on keyboards, while Abruscato takes his place behind the drums and Steele picks up his bass again, like in the old days. The new project is christened Subzero, and later Type O Negative (from here on: TON), after Steele had come across an advert in which an association offered good money for a particular type of blood: O Negative.

Having signed a deal with Roadrunner, the quartet records its debut, Slow, Deep And Hard, in just six weeks. Released right in the middle of the grunge explosion (1991), the album towers over everything else put out at the time in sheer drama and brutality. Not only that: in the annals of rock, it will be remembered as one of the darkest, most deranged chapters ever written. It's not just the devastating force of heavy metal or the bleak melodrama of gothic rock that keeps the temperature dangerously high; what makes TON a one-of-a-kind band is their funereal sound, at times almost surreal - a sound that is, at the same time, deliberately experimental.

All these factors, combined with the leader's black humour, make it, without a shadow of a doubt, the greatest and most creative heavy-metal album of all time, but also one of the high points of rock music as a whole.

Slow, Deep And Hard sounds a bit like Black Sabbath covering Joy Division. Decisive ingredients include Silver's refined, never-overdone keyboard work, and Steele's bass, treated in such a way that the band themselves called it a "baritone guitar". "Unsuccessfully Coping With The Natural Beauty Of Infidelity" opens with a rising hiss, a prelude to the speed metal of "Anorganic Transmutogenesis", the first of the three parts into which the track is divided. Steele's voice thunders in disgust at the memory of a tormented, unhappy love; suddenly, this first frame fades behind a hazy interlude of lascivious moans and acoustic guitar ("Coitus Interruptus"), before a terrifying scream shifts the centre of gravity towards the closing section, "I Know You're Fucking Someone Else", which travels along the lines of a strongly "progressive" keyboard melody. Punctuated by every kind of insult hurled at the woman who betrayed him ("slut", "whore", "cunt"), this final movement closes, in a drunken, majestic mood, a track that is highly programmatic in terms of the record's overall macrostructure. In fact, following the model of this first suite, TON will build, more or less faithfully, all the other songs, with the exception of "The Misenterpretation Of Silence And Its Disastrous Consequences", which is almost a tribute to Cage with its minute of absolute silence, and of "Glass Walls Of Limbo (Dance Mix)", an atrociously gothic instrumental, complete with choirs of ghosts and the flagellation of sinners; in the background, the last legacy of human civilisation: a terrible, harrowing echo of eternal pain.

What's left of the record is split between "Der Untermensch", which opens with electronic spirals and abstract beats soon seized by the six-string's torrential riff, sliding imperiously into a pounding hardcore groove, staying within a stinging glow of abrasive, deranged pseudo-glissandi. The menacing charge of "Socioparasite" triggers "Waste Of Life", which ties back to the opening section before launching another rampage through the streets of New York, with Steele literally wound up, the guitar gone berserk and the keyboards perfectly at ease propping up the rhythm with subliminal, dry touches. This counter-anthem to society's wrecks will become one of the main targets of the accusations of racism levelled at the New York band, even though what Steele expresses seems less like racism and more like the cry of someone who knows the gutter of life but doesn't know how to get out of it. Thus, the concreteness of pain ends up digging chasms between people, when it should instead bring them closer together.

Only a tragic sense of existence could push this character, as awkward as he is provocative, to declare: "Whatever you do, you die." And again: "I hate all races equally, because it's humanity as a whole that I'm after."

A jarring metallic noise and a synthetic whirlwind open "Xero Tolerance", whose first segment, "Type Personality Disorder", is another of their savage speed-metal numbers, complete with a blistering Hickey solo. The song describes a murder from the killer's point of view, but does so with that apocalyptic, sick irony that marks every one of their tracks (asked about his lyrics in an interview, Steele admitted that slipping ironic elements into his words was both a challenge and a source of fun; not only that - it also had a therapeutic side to it). A solemn organ, echoing Bach, builds a majestic sense of suspense, a prelude to the actual depiction of the murder in "Kill You Tonight", a sweeping ride haunted by blazing keyboards and raucous choruses. Only "Love You To Death" manages to release the tension built up so far, with a sweet acoustic-guitar arpeggio.

Slow, meandering guitar lines once again sketch out, amid the intangible spread of icy sighs, "The Truth", the overture to "Prelude To Agony", surely the most theatrical track on the record. The themes are the usual ones: from the most radical misogyny to sex lived out in an outrageous, perverse way. After a powerful pow-wow, complete with an otherworldly voice and frenzied thrash-metal progressions ("God Love Fire Woman Death"), the track suddenly slows down, lingering in a kind of slow-core for the damned, then carrying on with bells tolling and fading into the distance across an autumnal landscape, while gusts of wind trace the boundaries of a desolately empty space. Another abrupt change of pace and the genre compass spins wild again, raising the curtain on "Jackhammerape", another furious, relentless seizure, driven, in its final delirium, through unspeakable psychic catastrophes and sexual degradation worthy of a criminal asylum.

Amid a wild frenzy of guitar geysers, you can hear the sound of the jackhammer with which the rapist batters his victim. Her screams send Steele plunging into the vortex of his mental black holes: at the bottom, hell. Few tracks in the whole history of rock can boast such a dramatically realistic effect. Heavy metal has become the expressionist cabaret of man's unfathomable abysses.

The last track of this apotheosis of hatred is "Gravitational Constant: G="6.67×10-8cm3gm-1sec-2"" (!), immediately hurled into a thrash ritual with strong melodic leanings, with Steele declaiming the inexplicability of existence ("Unjustifiable Existence"), while we gradually slide into an ecstatic, dreamlike glow ("Acceleration - due to gravity"), into a "No man's land" of the spirit, where all our rationalist trappings start to crumble. Steele is staging his existential anxieties, and in "Antimatter: Electromechanical Psychedelicosis" we can hear him screaming his anguish amid indecipherable noise. By now, his wandering is nearing its destination. All that's left for him is to intone his "Requiem For A Souless Man", and confess all his pain with a resolve bordering on paroxysm. At the end of this cursed journey through the labyrinths of the human psyche, according to Steele, there can be nothing else but suicide, the only truly total expression of the individual (".suicide is self expression."). Over these words rises an epic choir, lending the whole thing a sacred quality. Because, deep down, what one seeks in that extreme act is simply a glimmer of divinity.

Slow, Deep And Hard seems to argue that it is the unattainability of the divine that makes man's path unbearable and aberrant; this endless quest constantly shakes his spiritual balance, to the point that wanting to possess the other - whose supreme moment is the feeling of Love - ultimately becomes a wanting to annihilate the other. In any case, precisely in "Gravitational Constant", Steele shows he is aware of his own problems: he declares he has no more love left to give, and, as a result, no reasons to live. However much he may try to find solutions, the only way out of this dead end seems to him to be suicide; but to regard the latter as the highest form of human expression means wanting to challenge the very divinity one cannot manage to find.

From a compositional standpoint, the songs' multi-movement structure serves to depict this macabre ritual of self-destruction, bringing to the fore a set of "musical signs" that point to the chaos of modern cities and of those who inhabit their forgotten corners.

The seed of this apotheosis of hatred and outrage can already be traced back to Carnivore's first two albums. Especially on the self-titled 1986 album, the attention to urban squalor and nihilistic themes is already evident. Moreover, from a strictly musical standpoint, that apocalyptic, dizzying fusion of thrash-metal, hardcore, doom and gothic is already underway - a hybrid the band members themselves were already calling "post-nuclear metal" at the time. Tracks like "Legion Of Doom" or "World Wars III & IV" are nothing less than previews (perhaps even more radical ones) of what TON would later go on to do.

As was to be expected, as soon as it came out, Slow, Deep And Hard unleashed furious criticism. Accusations of sexism, misogyny and even Nazi-fascism poured in from all sides. But it occurs to no one that, in all likelihood, Steele is mocking everyone, himself included. Either way, these accusations, however much they amount to, keep the band from gaining much traction with a wider audience.

So, trying to dodge the press gossip, the band decides to record a live album, although what actually comes out of it is essentially the recording of studio tracks captured with a single microphone. The album is titled The Origin Of The Feces and sees the light of day in 1992. Initially, the cover was supposed to feature a close-up of Steele's anus (!!!), but nothing came of it. Drawing largely on material from Slow, Deep And Hard, the album is, all things considered, dispensable, even though it contains enjoyable reworkings of Hendrix's "Hey Joe" (retitled "Hey Pete") and of "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath.

A few months later, along comes Bloody Kisses (1993), in which the gothic component, now preeminent, wraps most of the record in its melancholic whirl. "Christian Woman", one of their most famous tracks, is introduced by an ethereal carpet of gothic keyboards, while Steele's voice slips in warm and sensual. The melancholic, arcane mood is heightened by an acoustic guitar interlude: in the background, the sound of water and birdsong. The vocal is extremely sweet, and Silver unspools tears upon tears. Hickey's solo adds fire to the guts. But, true to their unpredictable style, the final section returns to a nervous heavy-metal stride.

"Black No.1", another of their great hits, keeps assembling sudden jolts and desolate wastelands, with a wonderful (if only briefly sketched) cascading keyboard flourish and an ending that gradually fades away. "Kill All The White People" brings back the hardcore progressions of the first album (with the same old subversive, experimental charge), while "Summer Breeze", a cover of the Seals & Crofts song, boasts a remarkable balance between guitar, voice and keyboards. "Set Me On Fire", which follows without a break, shows the band's poppier side, complete with a proper chorus and a delightful performance from Silver, who splits his time between organ and assorted synthetic gadgetry.

With "We Hate Everyone", the ex-Carnivore answers all the accusations leveled at him after the release of the first album. TON again make use of their usual multi-part structure; though, to be fair, in this case — as in many others — it would be more accurate to speak of microstructures. A majestic organ kicks off the title track, which comes very close to the apocalyptic mood of Slow, Deep And Hard. The slow, agonized pace is perfect for the shadowy voice of a Steele rarely so convincing. It's no coincidence that it was thanks to tracks like this one that he started receiving praise for his singing abilities; the screams and curses of the first album have given way to "terrible vocal introspections".

In "Too Late: Frozen", the characteristic elements of heavy metal collide with fragments of conventional song form. The middle section, however, dissolves the laid-back mood of the opening, getting tangled up in a desperate, gothic-tinged watercolor, with Steele's filtered voice crackling, desperate and unrecognizable. "Blood & Fire", for its part, boasts a menacingly sensual atmosphere, as well as a masterful guitar performance from Hickey.

In what we might call "avant-garde" territory sit tracks such as the opening "Machine Screw" (female orgasm and metallic screeches), "Fay Wray Come Out And Play" (Steele's spoken-word horror recitation, tamboura, screams and a chilling downpour of rain), "3.O.I.F." (voices and spaces stretched out into the void). Closing things out, instead, comes the slow psychedelic vertigo of "Can't Lose You", in which Paul Bento's sitar also makes an appearance.

Bloody Kisses recently went platinum; however, the disheveled, dissolute beauty of the masterpiece Slow, Deep And Hard remains untouched by these fourteen tracks, however beautiful they may be.

Once the recordings were finished, Steele began to harbor serious doubts about whether it was worth continuing down the TON path. Abruscato didn't take kindly to this and, in fact, decided to leave the band to join Life Of Agony. Once this impasse was overcome, John Kelly was recruited as the new drummer.

The Bloody Kisses tour lasted two years; then, once the spotlight had dimmed, the band retreated once again to their Brooklyn studios, starting work on the songs that would end up on the new album, October Rust (1996). This is the album where, in Steele's own words, "the Beatles meet Black Sabbath" (!). And indeed, having completely set aside the post-nuclear psychodramas of their early days, the new record presents itself as the natural evolution of Bloody Kisses, entirely dropping the hardcore elements and political proclamations and instead applying a sort of "slowdown" to the songs. But from a purely artistic standpoint, the record, while containing some truly exceptional moments, doesn't come anywhere near reaching the heights (or rather: the depths) of their debut, nor the goth-metal gems of its worthy successor.

In any case, worth mentioning are "Love You To Death" (with Silver's keyboards seeming to evoke the smell of autumn and its warm glow), "Die With Me" (which starts off with an acoustic streak, before gradually growing heavier and more progressive), "In Praise Of Bacchus" (hypnotic and sumptuous), "Burnt Flowers Fallen" (whose riff seems to progressively cement itself into the listener's brain) and the cover of "Cinnamon Girl" (a tribute to Neil Young).

In short, it's not an exceptional work, but October Rust is certainly an essential piece for anyone wanting to fully understand TON's sonic architecture. And, for what it's worth, Steele still maintains to this day that this is the album he's most proud of, especially in terms of production.

Next comes World Coming Down, released in 1999. This is a work in which the "negative" component has reached worrying levels. The songs follow one another in an atmosphere of resignation; each band member contributes, in their own way, to carving out the chilling scenery of a world that is, indeed, collapsing into dissolution. We're back to the chaotic mood of Slow, Deep And Hard, with lyrics and arrangements that feel better focused. The fundamental novelty, though, is the prominent role now taken on by Silver's keyboards: his searing "soundscapes" are the true center of gravity of World Coming Down's musical trajectories. It's no coincidence, in fact, that the music has become more "atmospheric", at times almost intangible.

Steele, after some drug problems and serious losses in the family, finds himself using his lyrics to reflect on the state of the world at the turn of the millennium. As a mirror of this, the controversial frontman's own world is also collapsing: there are no illusions left on the horizon. There is nothing left at all.

Even the irony that once ran through tracks such as "We Hate Everyone" or "Kill All The White People" (both on Bloody Kisses) has completely vanished, giving way to a bleak, resigned view of existence. So bleak that, perhaps, even suicide has lost its rebellious force. And the music, with its exasperated slowness, does nothing but reflect this state of affairs. The songs, however, often end up fading away without a trace, due to an almost nonexistent dramatic development. Hickey's heavy riffs, indebted to Black Sabbath's, drag on almost without interruption toward the end. But, perhaps, this too is a sign of resignation.

Among the tracks, worth noting are "White Slavery" (a self-destructive piece, with solemn keyboard scenery); "Everyone I Love Is Dead" (marked by a very catchy chorus); "Who Will Save The Sane" (another "slow one", but with an excellent piano interlude); "Creepy Green Light" (introduced by Steele's dark bass and split into two parts by an organ break); "Everything Dies" (with a very heavy riff setting the stage for an extremely sad melody, carried by Silver's piano work and Steele's warm, deep voice). Closing things out, we find "Day Tripper", a medley of Beatles covers, one of TON's most beloved bands (!).

Four years after their last album, World Coming Down — which Steele bluntly called "the worst album of our career" (though it seems he said this more because of bad personal memories tied to its genesis than because of the music itself) — came Life Is Killing Me, which simply continues down the road of gradually dismantling the savage brutality that marked their early work, in favor of an ever-greater focus on melodic construction and meticulous work on sounds and arrangements.

The main reference points remain the usual two: Black Sabbath on one side and the Beatles on the other. Contrary to what one might think, Peter Steele never hid his love for the Beatles, and how much the Liverpool quartet had always been a major source of inspiration for him.

The format of the songs stays more or less the same throughout: long, sprawling tracks built on elegant but not especially striking progressions, in which the apocalyptic tones of the guitar sometimes prevail ("Gimme That"), and at other times the melodic side takes over ("Electrocute"). But everything unfolds rather laboriously, never quite managing to fully engage the listener. This is a major limitation for the album and for Type O Negative's music, which even today works best not in the long, slow, intricate "prog-metal" digressions à la Tool.

In short, the band's strength comes through at full potential on a track like the irresistible, devastating "I Don't Wanna Be Me", which even ends in an "ambient" coda, leading into the heavily referential "Less Than Zero", which, over a hammering guitar-and-drums attack, dishes out melodies lifted straight from the "Indian-flavored" Beatles of songs like "Norwegian Wood" and "Inner Light", before dissolving into a dramatic chorus.

Even more bizarre is the relentless hardcore of "I Like Goils", potentially explosive but constantly held back by Silver's electronic disturbances and Steele's vocals, which rise into alienated howls and pop-style backing choruses. "Angry Inch" is another demonic slab of trash-metal, though the band doesn't seem fully convinced by it. The remaining tracks are instead long, measured progressions, always very elegant, straightforward and catchy: but the long-suite format that worked so well on their early records no longer has a reason to exist, lacking the terrifying rage that once sustained and fueled those works.

Still, they prove capable of nailing a masterpiece like "Anesthesia", a track that finally drops the mask of excessive formal mannerism and launches into a genuine "gothic" apotheosis, an abyss of fear and rage worthy of the masterpieces on their second album, "Bloody Kisses".

Type O Negative command admiration with every release, because despite the passing of years and trends, they remain faithful to their identity, to their own standard — even if by now it has almost entirely curdled into stereotype. And even Dead Again (2007) doesn't stray from the script. Still, an intro like that of the title track is a real gut-punch. "Tripping a Blind Man" is there too, cutting through that seemingly placid sea, skirting bombastic shores, but still with the right restraint, even when the tempo changes feel forced. But the album is also the ultimate stereotype of Steele's musical universe. Take "The Profits Of Doom": it's got everything in it, like a little cheat-sheet for anyone who's missed previous episodes. Carnivore parades by, echoes "slow, deep and hard" loom large, "blood kisses" are exchanged, "October rust" shines once more, and so on. The verve of "September Sun" is passionate, far from bad, but maddeningly stretched thin. And then there's that operatic opening, that shrill solo, that drifting away, the destination now lost.

These are tracks that play with a brand of self-reference that's almost too obvious ("Halloween in Heaven", with a vocal cameo from Tara VanFlower of Lycia; "These Three Things", which nonetheless has its share of engaging passages). "Erratic" structures, as they've always accustomed us to.

The fact remains that, at this point, we're tired: "She Burned Me Down", "Some Stupid Tomorrow", "An Ode to Locksmiths" plod on their way, alongside the eternal ghost of Black Sabbath, all the way to "Hail and Farewell to Britain", whose coda gets swallowed up by the sound of planes and bombings.

A fitting ending for a controversial yet, in his own way, "lovable" figure like Peter Steele. The only shame is that he never got to make another substantial record.

On April 14, 2010, like a bolt from the blue, came the news of Peter Steele's death, caused by an aortic aneurysm. He was only 48. Without him, the other members of the band didn't feel they could carry on: Steele's death, in short, meant the end of Type O Negative.

Contributions by Mauro Roma ("Life Is Killing Me")

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