O homem da voz mais profunda, das letras mais deliciosamente trevosas e cheias de sangue, de uma presença marcante… Peter Steele se foi.
Li neste site um comentário sobre o fato que resume um pouco do que sinto:
I’m truly at a loss…but I’ll try.
Back in the late 90’s, I was stuck in a place in my life built on rigid conformity and complete obedience to authority, ie the military. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Type O Negative was THE band that got me through the roughest parts. Peter’s words spoke truly from a man who felt the deepest pain but due to his nature as a man of strength, was unable to express it through any means other than song. And “Black No. 1 ” was the ultimate Saturday night anthem for my buds and I, as Peter sang of women we were all too familiar with.
The saddest part of his passing is that in the years to follow, when know-it-all mainstream critics make their lists of “Best Frontmen,” Peter’s name will still be missing. And if you think I’m being overly-negative (no pun intended), remember on Rolling Stone’s Top 100 Artists/Bands List, Eminem was on the list and Pink Floyd wasn’t. I rest my fucking case. The words of Bill Hicks ring true, “we live in a world where great men are murdered in their prime while mediocre hacks thrive and proliferate.”
Peter Steele was an icon in his subtle but always heartfelt performance both in the studio and live. He rarely smiled because his fans did all the smiling for him. While most rock frontmen have relied upon cheap theatrics ranging from insecure macho posturing to self-indulgent melodrama, Peter let his words ring just as they sounded…slow, deep, and hard.
I’m of the opinion that no one person can say for absolute certainty what lies beyond this world, but if Peter is there, I hope he is in the darkest peace possible.