BY
Mishael Lee

Lead Designer

Hype Issue #59

Published on

September 4, 2024

Photo courtesy of Asymmetry Entertainment.

“Do I need this affection? Do you need this confusion?,” a refrain from Deafheaven’s Great Mass of Colour drifted through my consciousness as my head slumped onto the hard, unforgiving lecture theatre table. 

The drone of the internship briefing that was concurrently happening was nothing but a leaden weight, crushing beneath the suffocating anxiety of an uncertain future. The loss of cherished friendships, potential career paths, and the familiar rhythms of life converged into a tempestuous maelstrom within. Yet, in those drowsy moments, a vibrant escape emerged. 

The music became louder, as if summoned by some cosmic undertow. A scream of agony from George Clarke, lead vocalist of Deafheaven, pierced the sterile air, and the guitars, like sea monsters breaking the ocean surface, unleashed a torrent of sound. In that moment, as the music ascended towards an ethereal horizon, I felt a profound longing, a foreshadowing of the tears I would shed if I were to hear this song live.

The official audio for Great Mass Of Color, courtesy of Sargent House Youtube Channel.

Clarke’s rich baritone echoes the final words of the track, “You are the sea and nobody owns you”, a proclamation that resonated as a distant siren amidst the lecture hall’s monotony. The line felt like a secret message, a call to be free. But was true independence really possible? For me, it seemed as far away as the horizon as the next moment I held onto my friend’s arm for reassurance, watching the remainder of the briefing solemnly. 

Who are Deafheaven, you may ask? A decade ago, the American post-metal band changed the black metal scene forever with Sunbather. It was a tempest of sound, marrying the infinite blissfulness of shoegaze, a genre distinguished by thick soundscapes, enigmatic lyrics, and a surreal atmosphere, to the staggering but relentless drive of post-rock, all laced with the venomous undercurrent of black metal that makes it all feel ever so bitter and amiss. 

While initially met with scorn by black metal purists, who mocked the record as “hipster black metal,” its enduring power has silenced critics and irrevocably altered the landscape of heavy metal music. Since then, the album’s sound and the band’s bold defiance of genre conventions have profoundly moved me. 

In a scene known for its uncompromising individuality and blasphemous orthodoxy, Deafheaven’s decade-long output stood out. The band’s artistic identity remained consistent, whether they produced black metal with breathtaking beauty on albums like Sunbather and New Bermuda, or guitar pop with raw intensity on their fifth album, Infinite Granite.

Poster for when Deafheaven performed in Singapore for the first time on May 3, 2014. Photo Courtesy of Kittywu Records.

So, when Deafheaven announced that they would be returning to Singapore on July 15, 2024, marking the band’s first visit to our little red dot since their Beep Studios takeover in 2014, I knew without a doubt that my spot in the mosh pit was guaranteed; tickets were non-negotiable. 

There was one glaring issue, however: none of my friends are fans of Deafheaven. 

In fact, their music was foreign to them. I did not blame them, of course, but the notion of traversing the mosh pit alone, or worse, surviving the lengthy queue without a familiar face, was a scary, if not terrifying, thought. It made my worries about being alone and always needing my friends even worse. 

I still sent a desperate plea to my friends, hoping against hope that one of them would be willing to shell out $88 to join me. But even if they had been eager to accompany me, their meagre student budgets, supplemented only by parental allowances, would have made it a financial impossibility. 

With this realisation, my thumb hovered over the “purchase” button, hesitation creeping in as I watched the clock tick away. A glimmer of hope remained, a persistent belief that one of my friends would come to my rescue. However, I ultimately made the decision to take a risk. “You know what?” I muttered to myself. “What am I doing?” And with that, I clicked the button, committing to the concert.

I had honestly forgotten all about it. Time had flown, and it was as if I had blinked and missed the months between buying the tickets and standing there, pressed against the barricade, the only person dressed all in white. A sheep in a sea of black band tees, I felt oddly out of place among the goths and metalheads.

 Local screamo band, Naedr, opening for Deafheaven. Photo by Mishael Lee.

Not long after, homegrown screamo band, Naedr, had the privilege of opening for Deafheaven that evening. As they unleashed a pillowy, yet abrasive wall of guitars against the lead vocalist’s banshee-like screams, it is little surprise the teasers dubbed them “Behemoths.” 

My neck itched badly, and I desperately resisted the impulse to headbang as I gazed about at the mainly immobile audience, who were obviously saving their energy for the major show of the evening. It was a dramatic contrast to the intensity I was experiencing internally. 

My introversion had held me back, and I was disappointed in myself. But as soon as Naedr’s set ended, I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t let my shyness hold me back during Deafheaven’s. My favourite bands rarely visit Singapore, let alone Southeast Asia. If I didn’t give it my all, the guilt would be unbearable. What if this was my only chance to see them live? 

Suddenly, without warning, a dark drone filled the room, and drummer Daniel Tracy launched into a relentless assault of blast beats. Clarke, who I have fondly dubbed the ‘Matty Healy of Black Metal,’ in terms of stage play, scanned the audience with an intense look, moving like an eldritch conductor casting a spell on them.

 George Clarke, the enigmatic frontman of Deafheaven, orchestrates a symphony of chaos as he “conducts“ the audience at their electrifying performance. Photo by Mishael Lee.

The next few minutes were dominated by a kaleidoscopic storm of blue, gold, and red LEDs that surged around the venue. I was freaking out, riding the barricade like a fool and screaming along to every line. Clarke, at one point, even acknowledged my enthusiasm by pointing at me before letting out another ear-splitting scream. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I discovered I was connecting with the band and the audience in a manner I had not before. 

However, just as I thought I could find reprieve from the adrenaline, the band began playing the gorgeous flowers of guitar, which drifted in and out of the sea of jangly tones of one of my most anticipated songs that night, Great Mass of Color. 

As Clarke belted out the line, ‘Do I need this affection? Do you need this confusion?’, I screamed along, tears welling up in my eyes. I was transported back to that day, slumped in the lecture theatre, feeling depressed and anxious. But now, instead of those dark emotions, my soul felt soothed, and my spirit was overflowing with euphoria. 

I had planned to record the entire song, but as the band built anticipation for the breakdown, I set my phone down and closed my eyes. When the guitars roared to life, I realised I was not just hearing the music through my phone speakers anymore. I was experiencing it live, raw and unfiltered.

And, as if on cue, Clarke’s voice erupted in a final, throat-shredding scream, shattering the song’s conclusion with “You are the sea and nobody owns you.” It was a departure from his rich baritone in the official audio, a raw and powerful expression of the lyrics that finally made me break down. 

It was as if my affirmations had become a reality, urging me to embrace the world with a new heart and a changed mindset. Clarke was right; I was unique, and no one should own me. Nor should I want to belong to anyone but myself.

Clarke sharing a special connection with the audience as they scream along to “Dream House” together. Photo by Mishael Lee.

While it would have been better to share this moment with my loved ones, my dreams had come true. As we all belted out the line “I Want to Dream” on the last song, Dream House, in unison, I felt like my life was finally getting back on track.