The musician’s merch table is, to most people, the place where you buy T-shirts, albums and ephemera. At a big arena show there might be grotesquely overpriced satin jackets, or other such tat. The whole point is you part with money for something you will probably discard. When Zeal and Ardor – the musical project of 29-year-old Swiss-American Manuel Gagneux – started touring, they offered something different. Something free, something permanent: fans can get their flesh branded with a red hot iron.
Have any of Gagneux’s fans actually done it? “Eight people have.” Gagneux laughs at my expression of horror. Why would they do that? “It baffles me, also.” Where do they do it? In the venues? “The venues aren’t too enthused about it.” I imagine not. There must be all sorts of health and safety issues. “Oh, it’s a really hot iron, so it’s pretty sterile. And we disinfect right after. It’s more of an outside-the-venue deal.” Do you wield the iron yourself? “I did the disinfecting and asking ‘Are you sure?’” So who actually applies it? “The artist who actually forged the thing. He’s also the merch guy. So he might be talking it up to people. Oh God, this is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
The idea of anyone wanting red-hot iron pressed into their skin as a souvenir of a gig is horrifying enough, but it’s further complicated by the nature of what Zeal and Ardor is. It came about when Gagneux – the son of a Swiss biologist father and an African-American jazz singer mother – was messing about on the internet forum 4Chan, asking for different genres from which he would then create a song. “One day, some person suggested black music, in different terms” – they used the N-word – “and black metal”. From that sprang the central idea of Zeal and Ardor: what would have happened had the slaves of the deep south turned to satan instead of God?
That proposition is explored across two extraordinary and brilliant albums, 2016’s Devil Is Fine, and the forthcoming Stranger Fruit – in which blastbeats and squalling guitars are topped by Gagneux’s self-penned spirituals, modelled after the folklorist Alan Lomax’s field recordings, in which he sings in a remarkable bluesy voice his songs of praise: “He go by many names / Devil is kind / We gonna go home to the flames / Devil is fine.”
So the Zeal and Ardor brand isn’t just some particularly grisly piece of body art. It’s a symbol of slavery. “The intent was that no one would ever do it. Because that’s the whole thing: you don’t want this brand. If you do, you’re just an idiot who is following, not thinking for yourself.” He shrugs. “If they want to underline my statement, that’s fine with me. But eight people is enough. If they don’t get the symbolism, let’s not encourage them.”
Gagneux insists there’s more than just novelty to what he does. He sees links between the two kinds of music he’s melding – “the emotional extremism of it, but there’s also the thematic thing where Christianity was imposed on the Norwegian people and they rebelled in very dubious ways in the 1990s, and Christianity was also imposed on the American slaves.” Mind you, Norway was Christianised by Olaf II around 980 years before Burzum, Mayhem and the rest inspired the church burnings of the early black metal era.
He also suggests there’s plenty worth thinking about in satanism, without the need to burn churches. “There’s the embracing of the self and the ego, and being at peace with the fact that you have needs and wants, and the pursuit of those to a degree where you get as close to fulfilling yourself without stepping on other people’s toes. As opposed to some Christian tendencies to just suppress those urges. That’s why I chose Robert Smalls for the cover of the first album. He was very determined about what he wanted – freed himself [from slavery in 1862], freed others, stole a ship, became a politician. It’s pretty extreme.”
Gagneux had what he accepts was a privileged upbringing in Switzerland (“Of course there was a bit of racism, but it doesn’t compare to being afraid of being shot in the street”), which means that eyebrows have been raised about whether his work is cultural appropriation. “Yeah, but I’m culturally appropriating in two directions.”
Maybe, but culturally appropriating metal isn’t a hot issue. There’s no #blackmetallivesmatter movement. “Yes, but that’s why those people are so strict about their music, isn’t it?” he says, noting that parts of the black metal community are furious about him corrupting their music. “I think whether something is cultural appropriation is dependent on intent. Strictly speaking, are Asians allowed to use the circle of fifths? That’s a western thing. It goes into these ridiculous places, and it has a weird tint of auto-segregation. If you make something exclusive to your culture, it’s super regressive.”
Does he think he would have got more criticism were he white? “Definitely.” And would that have been fair? “No. It doesn’t have anything to do with what I am. I didn’t have a hand in my ethnicity, so why does that give me the right to do something or not?”
The release of Stranger Fruit – the title referring to the Billie Holiday song and the fact that the bodies of black people no longer swing in the wind, but bleed out in the street – meant Gagneux had to postpone repaying a long-owed debt to Swiss society. Several years ago, rather than going for his annual period of national service, he went, instead, to New York for a couple of years. “They weren’t too thrilled when I came back. I contacted them to say we might have to sort something out, and they were furious that the person at the airport didn’t pick me out.”
He paid a fine, and last year did civilian service, working with children. He was due to undertake another stint this year, but the government has allowed him to postpone. “It’s pretty loosey goosey. So next year I’m working in an old folks’ home.” Maybe, however, he shouldn’t bring up the subject of Satan. Or treat the residents to an evening of his music. Just fire up the fondue and he’ll be fine.
- Stranger Fruit is released on MVKA on 8 June.
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