Confessions Of A Heretic: The Sacred And The Profane: Behemoth And Beyond Read online

  Confessions Of A Heretic

  The Sacred And The Profane

  Behemoth And Beyond

  Adam Nergal Darski with Mark Eglinton

  and Krzysztof Azarewicz & Piotr Weltrowski

  A Jawbone ebook

  First edition 2015

  Jawbone Press

  2a Union Court,

  20–22 Union Road,

  London SW4 6JP,

  England

  www.jawbonepress.com

  Volume copyright © 2015 Outline Press Ltd. Text copyright © Adam Nergal Darski. All rights reserved. No part of this book covered by the copyrights hereon may be reproduced or copied in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews where the source should be made clear. For more information contact the publishers.

  Edited by Tom Seabrook

  Cover design by Maciej Szymanowicz

  Cover and intro images by Ivo Ledwożyw

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  by Krzysztof Azarewicz & Piotr Weltrowski

  About This Edition

  by Mark Eglinton

  Foreword

  by D. Randall Blythe

  Chapter I

  I am your blind fate, who delivered you from the land of high-rise blocks

  Chapter II

  There is no smoke without fire

  Chapter III

  Tree of Life

  Chapter IV

  And then the Lord put the sheep to his right and the goats to his left

  Chapter V

  A reindeer, two owls, and a dead man

  Chapter VI

  A dream about Warsaw

  Chapter VII

  This is my body and this is my bone marrow

  Chapter VIII

  The cold war

  Chapter IX

  The vision and The Voice

  Chapter X

  Weapons of mass destruction

  Chapter XI

  Our earthly Eden

  Chapter XII

  Out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery

  Chapter XIII

  What lives will not die

  Photographs

  INTRODUCTION

  By Krzysztof Azarewicz & Piotr Weltrowski

  The book you are holding in your hands took over six months to complete. It is, however, the result of a long-standing friendship between Nergal and us. During the interviews, we always tried to capture Nergal in his natural habitat and to present him in the way we know him to be in everyday life.

  For the purposes of this book, we engaged in over a hundred conversations. These took place in various places: our houses; during long walks by the Baltic Sea or Old Town part of Krakow; in many restaurants in London; and during Behemoth’s tours. Various emotions accompanied our conversations, which sometimes took the form of a lazy and long chitchat over a cup of coffee. Occasionally we turned the Dictaphone on impulsively, just to record one or two sentences, and then there were other occasions when Nergal didn’t even realise we had been recording the conversation at all …

  Throughout the process of preparing Confessions Of A Heretic, however, we always did our best to ensure that our own views and opinions would not cast a shadow on what Nergal had to say. In fact, oftentimes we assumed a position that was directly opposite to his view of the world—the sole aim being to provoke him into speaking his mind. As a result, we often felt that working on the book was a test of our friendship. Regardless, we always did our best to keep the conversations honest and uncompromising. There were jokes, smiles, guitar playing, but also serious stares and even some tears.

  We hope that this emotional kaleidoscope inspires your own reflections and gives your worldview a bit more colour.

  ABOUT THIS EDITION

  By Mark Eglinton

  The English edition of this book came about by pure chance. Of course—as a fan of Nergal and his music—I’d been aware of his illness and also the existence of the Polish edition, published in late 2012, but what I didn’t fully appreciate at that time was the strength and depth of character that lay behind what was, frankly, a very intimidating public persona. Personas can be misleading, however, and in dealing with adversity, Nergal displayed a humanity that surprised anyone who might have been quick to judge someone whose lyrical stances are considered extreme, to put it mildly.

  Let’s face it, though: whether you’re a fan of Behemoth or not, Nergal’s story and approach to life generally—not just those aspects that deal with him overcoming life-threatening illness—surely deserve to be read and enjoyed in all languages. So, with that in mind, I sent the man an email asking if, by chance, he needed help to bring an English edition to life. I was surprised to receive a response within thirty seconds. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said.

  Confessions Of A Heretic is the result. It should be said straightaway that this edition does differ in some ways—most of them subtle—from the original, Polish equivalent. What we had to work with was a raw translation, painstakingly undertaken by Piotrek Niesluchowski. It was good, and brutally accurate, but my feeling was that—in order to really capture the imagination of a potentially large English speaking audience—the text needed to be edited, enhanced, and generally moulded to fit its new purpose. The core meaning was never altered, and the often-raw nature of the dialogue was also preserved, but in the process of anglification, for want of a better word, a few inevitable departures from the Polish version were necessary—all of which make this an extremely engaging book. What mattered most to me was that Nergal’s unique voice shone through, regardless of language. As someone who captures voice—from all walks of life—as my day-to-day job, it was vital that this extraordinary man’s character was preserved for all to read.

  FOREWORD

  By D. Randall Blythe

  Adam Nergal Darski is a survivor. But as most people in civilized countries never face any real life-threatening situations (and survival is, after all, the primary human instinct) that overused term of respect doesn’t really hold much weight with me these days. It doesn’t say much about the man, other than the fact that—as of this writing—he is alive, but so are approximately seven billion other humans on the planet. Big fucking deal.

  All humans—unless they are mentally ill or suicidal—are, at their innermost core, driven to safeguard their existence. In fact, all life forms strive to survive, so it’s really nothing extraordinary at all, as everything wants to live and will attempt to do their damnedest to do so, often at the expense of everything else if need be. People have survived horrific occurrences since we first rose from four legs to two, so survival isn’t inherently special. If we weren’t able to persevere through adversity, none of us would be here today.

  But what differentiates humans from, say, seagulls or rattlesnakes or houseplants, is the ability to consciously choose the manner in which we handle certain crisis situations based on our individual code of ethics. True, sometimes we have to do what we have to do; it’s not pretty, and we just get by. But in a world gone soft—a world that seems to grow more and more self-centred with each passing day—the concept of self-preservation at any cost is king (although I would consider self-promotion a more accurate term). Entitlement and compromised ethics seem to be the norm now: everyone whining about their woes as they step on others in the scrap for money, prestige, and the ludicrous 1.5 seconds of virtual fame most people seem to think they are entitled to in this sorry-ass modern age.

  For surviva
l to impress me these days, it has to be real, and it has to be done with panache. There are simply too many motherfuckers on this planet for me to be impressed by your mere continuing existence: making it through your girlfriend dumping you without hanging yourself, or a tough week at the office without having a meltdown, is not ‘surviving’. If I am going to call someone a survivor, that person has to hold on to their convictions in the face of real adversity, and to emerge from whatever crisis they faced with their inner directive intact and their head held high. It helps even more if they are a snazzy dresser. Nergal is one of these people—he survives with style.

  I do not always agree with Nergal. Some of his beliefs taste a bit extreme for my palate, and I certainly wouldn’t handle some things the way he does. But I always, always, always respect those beliefs and the man who holds them, for they are well thought out and logical, and Ner holds steadfastly true to them, even when doing so could result in possibly very unpleasant circumstances for him. I witnessed the intersection of belief, action, and possible consequence first hand during an event he very briefly describes early on in this book.

  In 2007, my band, Lamb Of God, was on tour with Behemoth as part of the Sounds of the Underground tour. The tour had made a stop on the grounds of Waverly Hills Sanatorium, an abandoned and reputedly haunted treatment centre for tuberculosis (and, later, elderly/mentally ill patients) located in the woods outside Louisville, Kentucky. There were twenty or so bands on the bill that day, one of which happened to be a Christian ‘metalcore’ band who apparently thought it would be a good idea to give Nergal a Bible before Behemoth took the stage. Whether this was an evangelical attempt to save Nergal’s immortal soul or a passive-aggressive snipe at the man, I do not know. What I do know is that it backfired on them in a big way.

  My wife and I were standing at the side of the stage with a friend to watch Behemoth’s set when I saw Nergal stride to the front of the stage, Bible in hand, and address the crowd of seven thousand or so people. The venue had a capacity of four thousand, and the show had sold out well in advance. Another three thousand or so ticketless metal-heads, curious Louisville locals, and just plain old drunken rednecks with nothing better to do, had simply walked through the woods to check out the show. The festival wasn’t going as planned: everyone’s set was running late, there weren’t nearly enough port-a-johns, and the vendors had sold out of water early due to the unexpectedly large turnout. It was a blazingly hot and humid afternoon, and a noticeably foul mood hung over the sweaty crowd. Security wasn’t the tightest that day (to put it lightly), and as I saw Nergal hold the Bible aloft, I remember thinking, Whatever is about to happen, I bet it’s not going to go over well.

  ‘How many of you believe in this man called Jesus?’ Nergal barked into the microphone.

  About half of the crowd’s hands went into the air.

  ‘And how many of you read this book, and believe it holds the true words of this Jesus, your Lord and saviour?’ he said, waving the Bible in front of the crowd. The same 3,500 hands went back into the air.

  ‘Well, I’ve got some bad news for you,’ he growled. ‘This book you love so much … I say it is a book of lies!’

  Then Nergal began ripping the Bible apart, spitting on the torn pages and throwing them into the audience. As the pages fluttered into the audience, he said into the microphone, ‘This next one is for all of you believers of the false Christ, this one you call Jesus. This song is called “Christians to the Lions”.’ Then Behemoth tore into it, and chaos ensued.

  Holy fuck, I thought. We’re all going to die.

  This wasn’t a show in some Los Angeles art-house where bearded hipsters would make smarmy remarks later on the internet about how ‘edgy’ the front man of the Polish metal band had been. This wasn’t a televised Sinéad O’Connor ripping apart a picture of the Pope on Saturday Night Live in New York fucking City (although I’m sure Nergal loved that), prompting a totally pussified network apology the next week. This was a barely restrained crowd of several thousand intoxicated people, many of whom were not metal fans. Deep in the woods. In Kentucky. In the Bible Belt. Where people have guns. Lots of guns. If it was going to go wrong, it was going to go really wrong.

  That took balls. No, that took style.

  Somehow a full-scale redneck massacre of the entire tour didn’t occur, but there were plenty of very, very unhappy people in the audience. As Behemoth left the stage, I walked up to Nergal and said, ‘Damn man, whoever gave you that Bible really pissed you off, huh?’

  ‘You know, I try to be nice to everyone,’ he said, still visibly angered, ‘but obviously some people will not let me.’ With that, he stomped off to his dressing room.

  After knowing him for several years, I can say with no small amount of confidence that Nergal is a super-nice guy. While I certainly do not hold the same disdain for religious belief that Nergal does, I do have a huge problem with what many people do in the name of whatever God it is they worship. Like the old bumper sticker says: God save me (from your crazy followers). My band, although taking our name from the Christian bible, has exactly zero lyrics that are either pro or anti any religion, and I don’t have a problem with anyone believing in whatever God they want to (as long as that belief doesn’t cause them to harm or infringe upon the rights of others). But Lamb Of God have been picketed and banned from venues. Hell, we’ve been banned from entire countries by religious zealots who have absolutely no concept of what we are about at all. On more than one occasion I’ve had the screaming religious loonies in my face outside our gigs telling me I’m going to hell because of the ‘devil music’ I make.

  In contrast, while Nergal obviously despises Christianity (the dude did release an album entitled The Satanist), I’ve never once seen or heard of him running around in front of a fundamentalist church in corpse paint, screaming blasphemous curses at the faithful, and trying to shove his views down their throats while waving a sign in their face that says ‘Satan Saves’ (although that would be pretty funny to witness). In fact, I’ve never once seen him randomly abuse anyone, physically or verbally. Despite his onstage presence, I’ve always known Nergal to be a kind-hearted, well-mannered man. He’s a lot of fun to hang out with, and a truly nice guy—honestly, he really is.

  He’s also exceedingly intelligent, able to articulately explain his beliefs, and has no qualms about defending them publicly. After he was diagnosed with leukaemia, Nergal encouraged his fans to sign up for a bone-marrow donation organisation in order to help save the lives of others who may be suffering from the same disease as himself. But as well, in his first public statement since his diagnosis, he soundly dispelled any rumours that he might change his scornful views of religion and convert to Christianity because he faced a life-threatening illness.

  ‘Why should the illness change my point of view? It is true this is a difficult time for me and the thoughts of ultimate matters are hard to chase away. But the idea that I will change my opinions, priorities, and values as a consequence of my illness sounds as if someone regards my head, and not my body, ill … so, I say to those, who see some chances to break my rules, and myself because of the illness: over my dead body!’

  Now that’s surviving with style.

  Like my own sorry self, Nergal is also no stranger to controversy and legal woes, as the readers of this book will come to understand. He’s faced down courtroom adversity with pretty severe repercussions (a former Eastern Bloc prison is not a nice place—just trust me on that one) on more than one occasion, clung to his beliefs, and once again, survived the battle with style. Ner’s a complex guy who has walked an intriguing path, one full of unexpected twists and turns—his life makes for a great story. Throughout the telling of his story, he doesn’t take it easy on himself, nor does he try to paint a picture of himself as something greater or more glamorous than what he is. It’s a good read, an honourable book, and I was proud to be asked to write the introduction for the English edition. As I highly value intelligence, ethics, and i
nner strength in the people I choose to associate with, I’m even prouder to call the man my friend.

  Beyond just enjoying the book, I hope the reader will find a passage or two that will give them pause, make them take a moment to reflect on the circumstances of their own life, and consider the course of their actions within their daily existence. I certainly did.

  Be without fear!

  D. Randall Blythe

  Richmond, VA

  December 1, 2014

  CHAPTER I

  I AM YOUR BLIND FATE, WHO DELIVERED YOU FROM THE LAND OF HIGH-RISE BLOCKS

  When was the last time you actually went to confession?

  I don’t know. I don’t remember. It’s been ages.

  Every Polish child goes to confession, though.

  I might have been about fourteen. I was preparing for the sacrament of confirmation but I never actually received it. I demanded that I be removed from that circus. Religion itself started to turn me off. It stank somewhat. I had been aware of the smell even prior to that, when I had felt Catholic and thought I believed. There was such a time in my life. Seriously. But it was a momentary faith. There was nothing profound about it. I was a kid, so I was more interested in having fun than anything to do with the church.