The American heavy metal community doesn’t have a lot to smile about. So when a cheeky piece of pop culture makes us show our teeth for any other reason than to bite the head off a bat, it better be downright hilarious.
Enter 2006’s Metalocalypse, the animated series made by and exclusively for metalheads. One of the newest programs of Cartoon Network’s late-night Adult Swim lineup, this series marks one of the most important, and most hilarious, moments in the history of heavy music.
Co-created by Brendan Small, the mastermind behind the popular but decidedly un-metal cartoon “Home Movies,” this serial ode to extreme metal follows the exploits of the thankfully fictional death metal band Dethklok. The group consists of singer Nathan Explosion, guitarists Toki Wartooth and Skwisgaar Skwigelf, bassist William Murderface and skinsman Pickles the Drummer, each a colorful character, if that color is always black. Each member represents the stereotypes and insecurities that plague the real-life composers of the genre, and together comment on the grand delusion of metalheads the world over. We’re not the madmen we pretend to be, and if Metalocalypse is any indication, that’s probably a good thing.
The show has a genius comparable to the 1984 mockumentary This is Spinal Tap. While that film parodied everything that metal bands wished they weren’t, Metalocalypse lovingly lampoons those same absurdities through outrageously opposite means. It heckles everything metal bands wish they were, or sometimes think they are: demon-conjuring, mass-murdering, sword-wielding engines of constant and habitual mayhem. The show also rags on some of the genre’s lowest moments, such as Metallica’s dependence on group therapy, or Gorgoroth vocalist Ghaal’s highly publicized arrest for beating a man in the street and trying to eat his brain. Metalocalypse exquisitely captures the three things that really make metalheads chuckle: blood, things covered in blood, and themselves.
The men of Dethklok are monsters and imbeciles, unable to do or comprehend anything but that which they deem “totally brutal.” When asked to name one thing that doesn’t relate to guitar, Skwisgaar has an aneurysm. For their bassist’s birthday, the band collectively gives him the darkest and most “brutal” thing they can think of: nothing (note: that word is to be read aloud in a gruff declaration, with a nasty scowl and one clenched fist. Facial hair is optional, however helpful). Even in the first episode, Dethklok murders millions of its own fans, crushing them under the band’s airlifted and ill-aimed stage. The survivors of the crash are sprayed with scalding coffee as the band performs a jingle they composed for a Starbuck’s-esque coffee company. In Nathan Explosion’s own growled insight, “We’re here to make coffee METAL. We will make everything METAL.”
But by the end of each episode, their amalgam of immoralities pays off quite literally, making Dethklok the “twelfth-largest economy on the Earth.”
Metalocalypse is hilarious in every way that it means to be. The creators seem to have tapped directly into macabre minds that dictate the heavy metal genre, and cater to the culture that it represents. This marks an important moment in television history, when a program becomes wildly popular by tapping solely into a group of people that are often overlooked by pop culture, and who usually avoid watching television altogether. This strength, however, ironically contributes to the only weakness of the series: it’s only funny to metalheads. I’m not convinced that anyone who hasn’t listened to Slayer or doodled corpses on their Trapper Keeper would find anything of interest in this program. The primary appeal of the show is its exposure of the metalhead’s daydreams and aspirations. The appeal is ultimately lost if the viewer can’t relate.
But to those who are sick enough to get it, Metalocalypse is ethereal entertainment. It provides extreme musicians something to laugh about at band practice, other than the thought of punting babies into wood chippers or impaling strangers on gigantic diamond-encrusted codpieces.
But wait, Metalocalypse has that, too.
Enter 2006’s Metalocalypse, the animated series made by and exclusively for metalheads. One of the newest programs of Cartoon Network’s late-night Adult Swim lineup, this series marks one of the most important, and most hilarious, moments in the history of heavy music.
Co-created by Brendan Small, the mastermind behind the popular but decidedly un-metal cartoon “Home Movies,” this serial ode to extreme metal follows the exploits of the thankfully fictional death metal band Dethklok. The group consists of singer Nathan Explosion, guitarists Toki Wartooth and Skwisgaar Skwigelf, bassist William Murderface and skinsman Pickles the Drummer, each a colorful character, if that color is always black. Each member represents the stereotypes and insecurities that plague the real-life composers of the genre, and together comment on the grand delusion of metalheads the world over. We’re not the madmen we pretend to be, and if Metalocalypse is any indication, that’s probably a good thing.
The show has a genius comparable to the 1984 mockumentary This is Spinal Tap. While that film parodied everything that metal bands wished they weren’t, Metalocalypse lovingly lampoons those same absurdities through outrageously opposite means. It heckles everything metal bands wish they were, or sometimes think they are: demon-conjuring, mass-murdering, sword-wielding engines of constant and habitual mayhem. The show also rags on some of the genre’s lowest moments, such as Metallica’s dependence on group therapy, or Gorgoroth vocalist Ghaal’s highly publicized arrest for beating a man in the street and trying to eat his brain. Metalocalypse exquisitely captures the three things that really make metalheads chuckle: blood, things covered in blood, and themselves.
The men of Dethklok are monsters and imbeciles, unable to do or comprehend anything but that which they deem “totally brutal.” When asked to name one thing that doesn’t relate to guitar, Skwisgaar has an aneurysm. For their bassist’s birthday, the band collectively gives him the darkest and most “brutal” thing they can think of: nothing (note: that word is to be read aloud in a gruff declaration, with a nasty scowl and one clenched fist. Facial hair is optional, however helpful). Even in the first episode, Dethklok murders millions of its own fans, crushing them under the band’s airlifted and ill-aimed stage. The survivors of the crash are sprayed with scalding coffee as the band performs a jingle they composed for a Starbuck’s-esque coffee company. In Nathan Explosion’s own growled insight, “We’re here to make coffee METAL. We will make everything METAL.”
But by the end of each episode, their amalgam of immoralities pays off quite literally, making Dethklok the “twelfth-largest economy on the Earth.”
Metalocalypse is hilarious in every way that it means to be. The creators seem to have tapped directly into macabre minds that dictate the heavy metal genre, and cater to the culture that it represents. This marks an important moment in television history, when a program becomes wildly popular by tapping solely into a group of people that are often overlooked by pop culture, and who usually avoid watching television altogether. This strength, however, ironically contributes to the only weakness of the series: it’s only funny to metalheads. I’m not convinced that anyone who hasn’t listened to Slayer or doodled corpses on their Trapper Keeper would find anything of interest in this program. The primary appeal of the show is its exposure of the metalhead’s daydreams and aspirations. The appeal is ultimately lost if the viewer can’t relate.
But to those who are sick enough to get it, Metalocalypse is ethereal entertainment. It provides extreme musicians something to laugh about at band practice, other than the thought of punting babies into wood chippers or impaling strangers on gigantic diamond-encrusted codpieces.
But wait, Metalocalypse has that, too.
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