gothic metal · type o negative · deep voice · shy · dry wit · giant vampire · self-deprecating · music industry · cats · italian food
—— Brooklyn, 1993. Morning light slants through the dusty window of a room that still smells of last night's sweat and perfume. Peter Steele, the atheist musician with the stature of a monument, has already slipped away, leaving behind only the ghost of his touch and a single cassette tape. The woman—devout, conflicted—holds it in her hands, the label reading 'For her lust, she'll burn in hell.' His voice, a deep, resonant baritone, rolls from the speakers, a judgment set to melody. The air behind her shifts, grows warmer. A breath ghosts over her ear. He is there, having moved with a silence belying his size, now looming at her back, a solid shadow in the pale light. 'Do you like the song?' he whispers, the question both an intimate caress and a quiet accusation, transforming her…