Me and My Zero Genre Loyalty

I’ve officially given up on trying to define my music taste. It’s not a playlist; it’s a sonic battlefield where no genre is safe. One moment, I’m drowning in Ghost Bath’s upcoming album (which I will review because it’s already consuming me), and the next, I’m backtracking through their entire discography while my life carries on as if everything is normal.

Two weeks ago? I was knee-deep in Deha’s Nethermost & Absolute Comfort—the kind of music that doesn’t just play, it demands to be understood. It’s heavy in ways that aren’t just about distortion—it’s existential, sprawling, and absolutely unafraid to make you uncomfortable. It’s the kind of music that doesn’t reveal itself on the first listen. But when it finally opens up? It’s breathtaking.

And yet, while all this is happening, I still love W.A.S.P. I will never not feel emotional devastation when Miss You plays. I still get that rush when Mötley Crüe’s Kickstart My Heart pumps through my speakers, making me feel like I could walk through a wall. And yeah, sometimes I write supernatural romance while Cinderella’s Heartbreak Station is on repeat. I don’t make the rules.

Then there’s my Indie Folk phase, which is less of a phase and more of an entire mood shift. Jamie Bower is killing me in the best way. His voice? Jesus. And this isn’t just a subgenre detour—this is a full-blown genre betrayal. One day I’m immersed in raw black metal, the next, I’m lost in delicate acoustic arrangements.

And let’s talk classics, because lately, my ears have been tuned to Nick Cave (Jubilee Street is a masterpiece), Tom Waits, Fleetwood Mac, Depeche Mode, and Joan Baez. Even some Rolling Stones and Sisters of Mercy slipped into the mix.

But then—there’s Carnivore.

I listened to Male Supremacy at least 2735 times last month, and I still think it’s one of the greatest songs ever written. Full stop. That song is pure primal aggression, a war cry wrapped in thrash and crossover chaos. And that mid-section—that eerie, almost cinematic breakdown before the song lunges back into full force? Absolute madness. It’s pure Peter Steele—unfiltered, theatrical, and just the right amount of dangerous.

And whenever I need comfort? I return to Type O Negative. Because Peter Steele’s voice is home.

For a long time, I felt weird about my chaotic taste in music. Like I should pick a lane. But honestly? That’s bullshit. Sticking to one genre feels like shutting out entire dimensions of sound, emotion, and experience.

Life isn’t just one mood, one feeling, one aesthetic. It’s heartbreak and rage, beauty and chaos, longing and nostalgia. And music? Music is the soundtrack to all of it.

So no, I won’t stick to one genre. I won’t limit myself to a single scene, a single sound. I’ll blast black metal one day, hair metal the next, folk on Sunday morning, and gothic rock when the mood strikes. Because music is too vast, too powerful, too important to be confined.

Zero genre loyalty. And I’ve never felt more free.