There's this moment that keeps happening lately where someone glances at my Spotify and asks, with genuine curiosity, "So you're into metal then?" And I freeze. Not because the question is offensive or even inaccurate, but because I genuinely don't know how to answer it.

The data would suggest yes. My Last.fm stats are a monument to distorted guitars, blast beats, and vocals that most people would describe as "shouty" (though that's reductive and they know it). My Wrapped looks like someone let a teenager loose in a record shop's metal section circa 1986 and said "have at it." The evidence is pretty damning, honestly.

But I'm still not convinced I'm a metalhead.

The Label Problem

Here's the thing about musical identity: it's not just about what you listen to. If it were, this would be straightforward. I listen to a lot of metal, therefore I'm a metalhead. Done. But that's not how identity works, is it? Identity is about how you see yourself, how you relate to a community, whether you feel like you belong in that space.

And I'm... not sure I do?

This isn't imposter syndrome, exactly. It's more like genre confusion. I didn't grow up with metal. I wasn't the kid at school with the Iron Maiden patches on their bag (though I respect the commitment of those who were). I came to heavy music through a properly bizarre route: Chicane, The Prodigy, Black Eyed Peas. I loved AURORA (still do, honestly). Then I discovered video game music – specifically DAGames – and general nerdcore, which is where things got interesting. That progression from electronic music and nerdy YouTube musicians to power metal is not a path I've seen documented anywhere, but here we are. I fell down a rabbit hole I'm still navigating, and I'm not entirely sure how I got here.

So when someone asks if I'm a metalhead, what I want to say is: "I listen to a statistically significant amount of metal, but I'm not sure I've earned the cultural credentials to claim the identity." Which is both overthinking it and also probably the most accurate answer I can give.

What Even Makes Someone a Metalhead?

This is where it gets properly complicated. Is it purely about listening habits? Or is it about the broader culture – the aesthetic, the community involvement, the almost ritualistic devotion to the genre's history and subgenres?

Because if it's the latter, I'm definitely not a metalhead. I don't own any band shirts (chronic illness and sensory issues make most graphic tees unbearable, which is a tragedy). I haven't been to a metal gig (see: chronic illness, also the sensory nightmare of live music venues). I can't tell you the intricate genealogy of Norwegian black metal or explain the difference between melodic death metal and melodeath (wait, are those the same thing? See, I don't even know).

But if it's about the music itself – about genuinely appreciating the technical skill, the theatrical bombast, the sheer energy of a properly powerful riff – then maybe I am? I love the unapologetic theatricality of power metal, the way Powerwolf commits fully to their werewolf-religious aesthetic. I love horror-themed metalcore like Ice Nine Kills turning slasher films into breakdowns. I love when metal is simultaneously over-the-top and earnest, bombastic and sincere. I love the dedication to craft, the musicians who treat their instruments like tools for storytelling.

(This is where someone more qualified than me would probably explain the philosophical underpinnings of metal culture and how it relates to identity formation in subcultures. I'm just a 20-year-old trying to work out if I can call myself a metalhead without feeling like I'm lying.)

The Spotify Daylist Incident

Here's what made me think about this properly: Spotify gave me a Daylist titled "dakke dak doof doof tuesday afternoon" and I genuinely couldn't tell if it was taking the piss or being earnest. The description mentioned "techno, bass heavy, electronica, melbourne bounce" – which is accurate for part of my listening, but sits very oddly next to the power metal and YouTube musicians that usually dominate my library.

And that's when it hit me: my musical identity isn't just confused about metal. It's confused about everything.

I listen to Powerwolf and then follow it with comedy songs by Tom Cardy. I'll go from Sabaton (historical power metal about wars) to The Stupendium (nerdcore about video games) to Fish in a Birdcage (indie folk) to whatever genre Hazbin Hotel soundtrack covers count as. My listening habits are absolutely chaotic, and power metal is just the most prominent part of that chaos – but it's surrounded by YouTube musicians, video game soundtracks, indie artists, and the occasional bit of darkwave.

So maybe the question isn't "am I a metalhead?" Maybe the question is "why do I feel like I need to pick one identity when my Last.fm is essentially a declaration that I refuse to be categorised?"

On Gatekeeping and Authenticity

There's this weird thing that happens in music communities where people get very concerned about authenticity. You're not a real fan unless you've listened to the right albums, in the right order, with the right level of reverence. You're not a real metalhead unless you can name every member of Black Sabbath and explain why Metallica's St. Anger was actually good, actually (note: I cannot do this, and I'm not sure anyone can convincingly argue that point, but I respect the attempt).

And I understand the impulse, honestly. When something matters to you – when music is a core part of your identity – you want to protect it from dilution. You want people who claim to be part of your community to actually understand and appreciate what makes it special.

But also... who cares?

I mean that genuinely. If someone listens to metal, enjoys metal, finds something meaningful in metal – does it matter if they can't pass some arbitrary purity test? Does it matter if they came to it "wrong" or don't fit the aesthetic or haven't memorised the discography of every significant band in the genre's 50-year history?

I think about this a lot, partly because I'm acutely aware that I don't fit the traditional metalhead mould. I'm chronically ill, which means I experience music differently – mostly through headphones, alone, in controlled environments. I can't do the communal experience of live shows, can't participate in that aspect of metal culture. Does that make me less of a metalhead? Or does it just make me someone who loves metal but engages with it differently?

The Music I Actually Listen To

Let's be specific for a moment, because the data tells a very particular story. Here's what's actually in my library, according to Last.fm's unforgiving statistics:

Powerwolf. So much Powerwolf. Nearly 3,000 plays of German power metal about werewolves and religious imagery delivered with absolutely zero subtlety. It's symphonic, it's bombastic, it's got choirs chanting about blessed possessions and armies of the night, and apparently I cannot get enough of it. (The werewolf obsession is well-documented at this point, so I suppose this tracks.)

But then it gets interesting. The second most-played artist in my library is Cjbeards – a YouTube musician making covers and nerdcore content. Then Moon Walker (indie rock), Thomas Haines (he composed the Wolf King soundtrack, which is both on-brand and slightly embarrassing), Ethan Bortnick (indie/alternative), The Stupendium (nerdcore about video games). Night Club, DAGames, Tom Cardy, Fish in a Birdcage.

This is not a death metal library. This is not even particularly a metal library in the traditional sense. It's power metal mixed with YouTube musicians, video game soundtracks, indie artists, and whatever genre you'd call Hazbin Hotel covers by Paranoid DJ. It's Sabaton (201 plays of historical power metal) sitting next to C418 (Minecraft soundtrack) sitting next to Ice Nine Kills (horror-themed metalcore with a song about An American Werewolf in London that I've apparently played on repeat because of course I have).

Aurora is in there – 134 plays – but she's not dominating my library the way teenage-me would have expected. The video game music is there (DAGames, C418, Ben Prunty), the nerdcore is definitely there (The Stupendium, Cjbeards), but the overwhelming story is: I listen to power metal about werewolves, then I listen to YouTube musicians, then I listen to soundtracks from animated series about hell, and occasionally I listen to metalcore songs about my favourite werewolf films.

This is not the sophisticated metal journey I thought I was on. This is "I found Powerwolf and my brain said 'yes, this, forever' and then I supplemented it with comedy songs and video game music."

Does that distinction matter? I genuinely don't know.

The Powerwolf Problem

Here's what I think is actually happening: I'm confusing musical identity with musical presentation.

But first, let's address the elephant – or rather, the werewolf – in the room. Powerwolf is not just my most-played artist. It's my most-played artist by a factor of nearly three. The next closest is a YouTube musician with a third of the play count. This is not casual listening. This is commitment.

And I know exactly why. Powerwolf makes power metal about werewolves and religious imagery with the subtlety of a hammer to the face, and my brain, which is already unreasonably obsessed with werewolves (see: literally my entire online presence), looked at this and said "yes, this is my music now." It's symphonic, it's theatrical, it's got choirs and organs and guitars that sound like they're announcing the apocalypse, and every other song mentions wolves or beasts or the wild. But it's not just the werewolf content – they sing in multiple languages (Latin, German, Romanian), they reference historical events and mythology, they blend religious imagery with lycanthropic themes in ways that make my brain light up. It's everything my werewolf-obsessed, history-loving, language-appreciating brain wants in musical form.

So when someone asks if I'm a metalhead, what they're really asking is: "Are you the person who has listened to 'Army of the Night' 47 times?" And the answer is yes, I am that person, but I'm not sure that automatically makes me part of the broader metal community.

Because being a metalhead, in the cultural sense, involves a certain amount of performance. The aesthetic choices, the community participation, the visible markers that signal "I am part of this subculture." And I don't do any of that, partly because of practical limitations (chronic illness, sensory issues, the general exhaustion of being 20 and trying to keep up with college work), partly because it doesn't come naturally to me.

But that doesn't change my actual experience of the music. I still get that visceral thrill from a perfectly executed power metal chorus. I still appreciate the technical skill and theatrical commitment of bands like Sabaton turning historical battles into anthems. I still find emotional catharsis in music that's unashamedly bombastic and earnest.

The experience is authentic. The presentation is absent.

So maybe I'm a metalhead in practice but not in performance? Or maybe I'm just someone who really likes metal but doesn't need it to be their whole personality? (That sounds dismissive of people for whom it is their whole personality, and I don't mean it that way. If metal is that important to you, that's genuinely admirable. I'm just not there myself.)

The Broader Question

This isn't really about metal, is it? It's about the discomfort of labels in general.

I have this same problem with other aspects of my identity. Am I a programmer? I write code, but I'm not studying computer science formally, and I'm still learning, and surely a real programmer would be more confident about their abilities. Am I a pagan? I follow the Wheel of the Year, I honour the old ways, but I'm not part of a formal tradition, and I'm still figuring out what my practice actually means.

(Am I a werewolf person? Yes. That one I'm certain about. The others are complicated, but werewolves are straightforward.)

The pattern is consistent: I engage deeply with things without feeling like I've earned the right to claim them as core identities. Which is probably more about my own neuroses than about the legitimacy of my interests, but here we are.

Living With Uncertainty

So where does this leave me? Still listening to a lot of metal. Still not entirely sure if I can call myself a metalhead without feeling like an imposter.

And I think... maybe that's fine?

Maybe musical identity doesn't need to be certain or fixed. Maybe it's okay to say "I listen to a lot of metal and I love it, but I'm not sure I identify as a metalhead in the cultural sense, and I'm comfortable with that ambiguity." Maybe the discomfort with labels is itself a valid position – not everything needs to be categorised and defined.

Or maybe I'm overthinking this entirely, and the answer is just "yes, you're a metalhead, stop being weird about it." That's equally possible.

What I do know is this: the music matters more than the label. Whether or not I'm "really" a metalhead, I'm still going to listen to Powerwolf and Sabaton and Ice Nine Kills and whoever else makes my brain do interesting things. I'm still going to appreciate the artistry and theatricality and emotional weight of heavy music. I'm still going to listen to The Stupendium make songs about video games and Tom Cardy make comedy music and somehow all of this will coexist in the same playlist without my brain exploding. I'm still going to have those moments where a riff hits just right and everything else falls away.

And maybe that's the only musical identity I need: someone who cares about music, widely and deeply, without needing to fit neatly into anyone's predetermined categories.

Though if someone asks me directly, I'll probably still freeze and mumble something about "listening to a fair bit of metal" whilst internally screaming about authenticity and cultural credentials and whether I've listened to enough Sabbath to justify claiming the label.

Because apparently, I can't help but overcomplicate things.

(I'm definitely not a metalhead. Or I definitely am. Or I'm somewhere in the uncertain space between the two, which is probably the most accurate answer and also the least satisfying one.)

The Yew has been watered. The music continues. And I remain comfortably, frustratingly uncertain about whether I've earned the right to call myself part of the community whose music I love.

Which is fine. Probably. I think.