Yes, it has been a while. A long while. Personal friends may know the four or so reasons why your dear writer has not submitted anything new in the last few months. Casual readers may figure that Any Given Tuesday has gone by the wayside like so many other would-be authorities on music. No matter your relationship with this author, you may know about my fascinations with metal and philosophy. Hence, today's offering, an introduction to the "philosophy of metal."

This is armchair philosophy, the sort of stuff that presents itself in small, fleeting bursts of inspiration. What I am about to share with you was written some time ago during a lecture at my alma mater, when I felt compelled to blend my love of music with my love of philosophy. It just so happened that metal came to mind as a vehicle for trying to tie it all together. I won't endeavor to explain this piece, but will let it stand on its own with its flaws, cliches, and occasional insights. Indulge your author, share your comments, and let's see if we can start a logical analysis of the philosophical issues that underly our mutual passion for music:

Many, both on the inside and outside of the culture of metal, feel that at its core the genre is all about despair, darkness and isolation. Many are drawn to the culture because of those descriptors, feeling that other metalheads reject 'tradition' and the hard to truly understand 'norm' or status quo.

And while metal, along with other genres of music that are considered counter to the mainstream, is often seen as a haven for the jaded, cold, and bitter, the way I see it, it is equally populated by the vulnerable and confused. So, then, with a focus on the culture and music pigeonholed as 'metal', is it in fact 'metal' to be vulnerable?

I start by taking a page from Hatebreed's "Give Wings To My Triumph". I use this by way of a random sample rather than an isolated circumstance. When Jamey Jasta says "Here I am, alone in my brokenness, for the world to see," he is, in this writer's view, embracing his vulnerability. So, as Jasta would have it, it is absolutely fine to be open about one's pain.  When he refers to "brokenness", the experience of being broken, he acknowledges that experience as "all I've ever known of serenity." He embraces this despair, not as a negative, but as if it were precisely his reason for being.

Jasta, to be sure, is not a poet in the laureate sense, but throughout his body of work he is viscerally precise in recognizing the inexorable realization of being subject to humankind's proclivity (some might say, indeed, humankind's nature) for the indiscriminate disregard for any other being's intrinsic value. But as well as he is known for his ability to make something positive out of his pain, he is far more adept at splaying himself before his audience and rejecting the popular notion of avoiding the experience of despair. Rather, as Jasta would have it, it is "metal" to allow despair to overcome you, and then you, in turn, can overcome despair.

But it is more traditional in society as a whole to reject the idea of being subject to the experience of despair or, as most would see it, the experience that causes despair.  Why should we allow ourselves to be victimized by our experiences? One response is that the experience produces a need for a creative outlet, such as the art of music which inspires this piece. Another might be that allowing yourself to be overcome by your emotions is about as 'metal' as it gets.

While so much of music (we're setting aside 90% of what's on the radio for purposes of this article) is vapid and only scratches the surface of real feeling, it is almost ironic that the culture I and so many others embrace has become so typical in rejecting what is commonly seen as mainstream. When every genre and every band tries to be the next big thing or more different than the next, what exactly is the norm? Therefore, I submit to you, that the blanket rejection of 'everydayness' (i.e., mainstream, day-to-day living) has become plainly typical.

In our (yes, I accept that I have fallen into this category) struggle to be counter to the trappings of the ordinary, have we forgotten that we all go through the experience of experiencing? Am I somehow more enlightened than the Hannah Montana crowd because I listen to math metal? Just because I can pick, perhaps even write, a song about the terrible experience of loss that only comes with the death of a loved one doesn't (necessarily) mean I hurt more than the person who embraces Lindsay Lohan's solo album as the perfect expression of her pain.

The key difference might be that where I am willing to embrace the experience of sorrow, the Fergie fan chooses to surround himself with friends at the local dance club with malt beverages at every turn. Whereas there are some who wish to move past their experience, there are those of us who think that experience is one of life's truest moments. The former attempt to take control of that which seeks to affect them. The latter allow themselves to be affected, realizing control is not all there is.

Pausing for a moment, I acknowledge that it might seem a bit juvenile to use music as the vehicle for explaining (whether it's being explained well or not-so-well) the differences between examining one's emotions and hiding from them. I choose music right now for two reasons: one, this essay is being posted on a music blog; and two, music is a common vehicle for self-expression (as a writer/performer) and emotional outlet (as a listener). I hope you as the reader will allow that to suffice for now.