“I can’t believe I died last. I’m fucking dead again!” And so Peter Steele is dead at age 48, having departed his mortal coil on the evening of April 14th, 2010. Even now he’s pulling up to a fancy chateau where Jim Morrison, John Lennon and others await him, drinks in hand. Peter (Born Petrus) leaves behind family, his partners in crime (Type O Negative), his friends, his fans and a legacy of rich, inventive music.
When you come to follow a band’s music it is natural to follow them as a whole: reading about them, how they come up with their music, et al and when you follow them over a long period of time; you come to know the people, if only in a small way. Peter Steele was remarkably forthright in interviews and disdained putting on any airs, so they were honest interviews. And because of this; the reader, if inclined, could learn much of Peter. So when they die, unexpectedly at that, there is a sense of loss, at least from this fan’s perspective. On such occasions when musicians/composers I admire pass on, it is my ritual to celebrate their life by listening to their music while consuming vast quantities of beer and smoking. Also, I ponder the mortality question. Partying is a good way of getting some things out. But I must admit that days later I still feel gloomy. It’s sad that this larger than life character, not unlike Robert E. Howard, has gone from this world of life at far too young an age.
So long Pete. Drink one for me in Valhalla.
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