Me and my dad have always connected through music. When I was young, we would listen to Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning” while we were in the car. That is, when my mom didn’t hog the radio. This early exposure to metal from my dad opened my eyes to a world of music without comparison, which, for reasons I can’t understand, isn’t more widely popular or even accepted. Later in middle and high school my love for metal grew stronger every day, and my taste more extreme. It needed to be faster, heavier, rawer, and more technical, with harsher and harsher vocals and faster and faster drums. I loved it; it was a never-ending sea of incredibly varied and unique music that never failed to surprise me with new styles, influences, and innovations.

I was eventually able to expand my dad’s tastes past 80’s thrash and into the realm of death metal. I showed him many bands, but one finally stuck, Amon Amarth. Their melodic style, less guttural vocals, and classic metal influences really appealed to him. We got a chance to catch them at Mayhem Fest over the summer in 2013, but they had a brief, 6 song set. Finally, these Swedish melo-death masters announced a US headlining tour, and my dad was all for it.

Minneapolis, Minnesota. I had once lived only one hour away, from the ages of 1 to 5. What once would have been an easy afternoon trip at one time now required 2 flights. After arriving, we went to our hotel, only 2 blocks from the venue, had a bite to eat, and checked out the venue. After freaking out at the sight of the tour busses, we returned to our hotel to relax before the show. Finally, time came. We left our valuables in the room and headed off. After waiting inside for over an hour being tortured by never-ending ACDC being drilled into my head by the PA system, the dimming of the lights announced the arrival of the first band, Skeletonwitch.

Within milliseconds of the first note, I felt as if I had been caught in a violent sea storm. People cascading back and forth, like trees during a hurricane. The absolute crushing assault of double bass, thrashy riffs, and an evil mixture of black metal shrieks and death metal growls, I was in heaven. My dad and I struggled to stay near each other as the crowd churned around us and people tried to force their way to the front. The only break in the chaos was between songs, where the singer would talk to the crowd.

Act 2: Enslaved. Finally, my first black metal show. These crazy Norwegians, the homeland of black metal, played an amazing mixture of incredibly atmospheric progressive music and aggressive raw Norwegian black metal. The crowd shifted from wild, angered beasts, to tame and docile, soaking in the atmosphere being created, to angered beasts again in the span of minutes. Shifting from ambient guitar work, keyboards, and beautiful clean vocals, to fast tremolo picking, blast beats, and some of the most powerful shrieks I’ve ever heard.

Act 3, and my dad’s favorite new band: Amon Amarth, the Swedish Vikings. These absolute master musicians have been shelling out some of the best melodic death metal since the early 90’s. The music places you, a Viking warrior, charging across an open field towards your enemy, fighting for the almighty Thor, god of thunder, and Odin the Allfather. Sweeping melodies, crushing riffs, and the best death metal sing-alongs of all time. Mosh pits broke out all around, some engulfing the entire crowd. Then, the metal front lines, the wall of death. The crowd splits down the middle as the band begins the charging anthem “The Cry of the Blackbirds”. People get ready to run at their friendly opponents as the song nears its well known signal. Finally, the vocalist screams “Attack!” and we charge at each other like the Viking warriors that this very song tells the tale of. Once the walls collide, it explodes into a massive mosh pit, yet again engulfing the entire crowd. This wasn’t the only wall of death, it happened twice during their set. Soon the show was nearing its end, and the second to last song began, and I reminded my dad of a promise he had made me. “You said you’d mosh.” I said to him. “I know, I will!” he responded. I entered the pit at the start of the song, and, after getting my fill, exited at my dad’s last known location, but he wasn’t there. Where could he be, I wondered, turning towards the pit. There was my dad, throwing elbows right in the middle of the pit. Upon noticing me, my dad exited the pit, and we exchanged harsh statements of enjoyment. Finally, the show was over. I was exhausted, drenched in sweat and my fellow concert-goers beer, my hair was wet and knotted, my throat was sore, and it was easily the best concert I’ve ever been to. We made our way back to the hotel and promptly passed out.