Punk rock therapy

Yesterday I discussed the idea that the privacy of one’s car in traffic is one of the few places modern society where you can express hateful, volcanic rage without being thought of as a weirdo. It struck me today that there is one other situation where this is permissible: if you are a punk or heavy metal singer. In that role, it’s perfectly permissible to get up on stage and start venting your very legitimate hatred and anger of all living things.

I’m considering that this might be an excellent form of therapy for stressed-out people. You gather the beleaguered and harried members of society who are carrying around repressed emotions. You put them in a room and give them a shredding backing band. And then you just let them loose with lyrics like:

DADDY WAS A DICK!
MOMMY WAS A WHORE!
I KILL MY ENEMIES FOR SATAN!
FUCK! SHIT! DIE, DIE, DIE DIE!!!

I think you would see remarkable therapeutic results.

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