Last week marked a year since the passing of Peter Steele, vocalist of Type O Negative and all around music icon. I've always felt a deeper connection to him than just fan appreciation. Us sharing the same birthday might be a part of that. Anyway, I loved his work and will continue to hold him in high honor and admiration. For now, peace Mr. Steele...I'll see you in the Kingdom.
Man of Steele
I could always sense your funereal baritone
when those fugues of fuzzy feedback
teased and pleased these attentive ears.
When your funibrial bass lines
rattled sludge-thick thunder through my thoughts,
and that tongue spun Slavic vespers
rolling rich like Gothic froth,
something in me stirred.
Now don’t get me wrong.
I like goils
as much as you,
but there’s no denying
the bewitching sarcophagal spell
your type o’ negative self-indulgence
wove upon each brooding wave.
Aptly branded with that mountainous name,
Your Brooklyn-bred physique
was more vampiric than any
an unintentional idol, but
whose loathing, most goth
of all your subculture-claimed traits,
deflated any ventured flattery
with the drone of a little feedback.