I love the "Dear Prudence" advice column on Slate. com, and one of her most recent letters threw me into a paroxysm of emotion about my 90's past. The gist is that the letter writer's boyfriend can't get in the mood for love unless he is also jamming out to some death metal at the same time. The seemingly overwhelmed girlfriend is alarmed by this. You can read the full letter here: Slate.com - Dear Prudence.
I had to laugh at this clueless girl. I am a metal girl at heart. I greatly appreciated the 9o's ability to supply sufficiently loud and nihilistic music on a constant basis. My first boyfriend was a man in his early 20's (I was only 17) who believed that wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket that weighed 50 lbs. more than he did, over a band t-shirt, was the height of fashion, painstakingly painted an exact replica of the album cover of Dark Side of the Moon on his bedroom wall, and whose favorite band was Deicide. And it was great. This chick mentions that her boyfriend gets a huge charge from listening to it. Exactly. It's nearly impossible to understand the lyrics concerning dismemberment and the fall of God anyway. You mean this isn't mood music? Excuse me.
Deicide - "Once Upon The Cross" (1995)
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