Deaf metal? Napalm Death are more about anarchistic fury

-  Loudest band crown actually belongs to Motörhead
20 March 2013

The cancellation of the V&A’s proposed collaboration between artist Keith Harrison and grindcore pioneers Napalm Death is disappointing.

The plan was for the band to play through a ceramic sculpture in the hope that it would explode under sheer force of decibels. Yet the band’s ferocious anger does not necessarily make them the loudest.

I’ve never seen Napalm Death, though a friend who went to an ‘80s gig – they were touring with a band called Extreme Noise Terror - reports that a mate’s Sloaney girlfriend was pleading to leave within minutes. I imagine the band would be mildly chuffed by that. But in fact, even as a metal fan, I find them unlistenable.

It’s not the lyrics – you can't make any of them out - but Napalm Death’s speciality isn’t the gruesome garbage peddled by many death metal bands. Hence their 2006 single When All is Said and Done (“When all is said and done/Heaven lies in our hearts/This life is a gift to be lived and loved”): as one person commented on the YouTube official video, “I always thought deathcore and grindcore were the same thing... I now understand the difference.”

Indeed. Even Napalm Death’s “You Suffer”, which holds the Guinness Book of Records title for shortest recorded song ever (1.316 seconds), exudes the same spirit (full lyrics: “You suffer. But why?”) The point of their music is its anarchistic fury. And that – loud though they are – isn’t the same as volume.

And the loudest band in the world? It’s a matter of fierce dispute. US metal fantasy nutters Manowar reportedly achieved 139 decibels at one sound check. But Motörhead , who have certainly consistently hit 130 decibels live, are generally reckoned to hold the crown. Lemmy’s veterans have augmented this reputation by playing implausibly genteel venues including the Royal Opera House’s Floral Hall and the Royal Festival Hall.

I was at the RFH gig in 2007: it was certainly very loud. But perhaps my ears have become accustomed – or just damaged: it didn’t seem like the first time I saw Saxon (Strong Arm of the Law tour, Taunton Odeon, 1980), a near-deaf experience that left my 15-year-old ears ringing into the next day.

Nor were Motörhead as loud as US gigs I’ve attended by the distinctly non-metal My Bloody Valentine, or by Sugar, Bob Mould’s band after his hardcore pioneers Hüsker Dü split. On their current UK tour, MBV have been leaving audiences shell-shocked, though I suspect it’s just as much the immersive power of their performances. As for Sugar, on the tour I saw them, Mould declared that his aim was to “hand people back their heads on the way out”.

In fact you don’t even need to be heavy at all to be deafening: electronic band Leftfield reportedly hit 137 decibels when playing Brixton Academy in 1996, causing plaster to fall from the ceiling.

The aim of the Napalm Death V&A experiment was thus subtler – yes, more artistic, even - than pure noise. Still, it’s probably a gig I would have skipped.

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