Aaron Robinson on Tampa’s metal legacy, European crowds, seven-string brutality and why the fuck you’d bother putting metal in a box.
words @killer.solo.music
“Why pick a box and stay in it?”
Somewhere between the swamps, strip malls and historical crime scenes of Tampa, Florida, metal has been breeding like an unsupervised biological experiment for decades.
Blood of Angels are part of the next generation carrying that particular blackened, death-soaked flag — and guitarist Aaron Robinson has no interest in putting the band neatly into a genre cupboard.
The band’s latest album, Les Angst Ov Thanatou, has now had several months in the wild, with Robinson telling Killer that the response has been strong, with streaming numbers increasing and the record becoming a major part of the band’s live set.
Then there was Europe.
Poland. Hungary. Austria. Romania. Bulgaria.
One particularly ridiculous night unfolded in the Austrian Alps, where Blood of Angels expected a small-town show and instead walked into a packed room with an excellent sound system and a crowd apparently determined to remove the roof.
“If they could fit a body in there, you know, I mean, it was in there. It was packed.”
Romania delivered another strange little reminder that the internet has apparently connected every metalhead on Earth. At the Rock Hall in Constanta, people were already walking through the door wearing Blood of Angels shirts.
“They had shirts on and they’re coming and they’re seeing us and like, ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been waiting.’”
And then there’s the music itself.
Death metal is in there. Black metal is in there. Thrash is lurking around the walls with a knife. Atmospheric passages wander through the place. Melodic death metal makes an appearance. Somewhere in the middle of all this, Iron Maiden, Emperor, Immortal, Satyricon, Fear Factory, Lamb of God, Down, Pantera and even Type O Negative have apparently been allowed into the building.
Robinson’s philosophy is beautifully simple:
“Why pick a box and stay in it?”
Why indeed.
Blood of Angels can go from a 300 BPM assault into something slower and more melodic without asking permission from the genre police.
And underneath all the riffs, touring, ridiculous stories and increasingly international reach is something far less complicated: authenticity.
Robinson talks about Lemmy’s perseverance and the importance of doing the thing for the music rather than the imaginary scoreboard. Whether it’s a massive festival or 200 people in a bar, the point is the same.
“If you’re truly doing it for the art, and your own personal creative expression… that’s doing it for the right reason.”
That’s probably the most metal thing said in the entire interview.
No algorithm. No costume department. No elaborate mythology required.
Just four guys making heavy music and trying to get it into as many people’s ears as possible.
And Australia?
That’s still sitting on the bucket list.
For now, Blood of Angels are looking toward more US shows, Mexico, the UK and whatever other geographical disasters can be financially justified. Australia remains a future possibility — and after this conversation, someone might want to start talking to the promoters.
Because Tampa has been exporting metal for a very long time.
Blood of Angels intend to keep the machinery running.
And if you want the polite version of “go listen to our fucking album”, Aaron has one of those too.
“Thank you for taking three and a half or seven minutes… to give us a chance.”
Honestly, metal has never been this courteous.
This is the gospel.
I bite crowd surfers.
Killer.
