The idea of sharing somebody's pain is a curious one: you don't ask your friends to stick a scalpel in their chests so they can experience your operation, but when it comes to mental torment a whole generation of musicians have grown up thinking that their inner agonies should be handed round like a bag of Doritos.
Max Cavalera's brand of anguish is particularly harrowing: still troubled by the death of his stepson, the former Sepultura man's third Soulfly album is another clenched-jaw grind through seven kinds of hell. Even the melancholy lament 'Tree Of Pain' refuses to ease up and Soulfly must be the only band who can make the obligatory minute of September 11 silence seem loud. When you share your pain, it really shouldn't be the kind that's cured by Aspirin.
Victoria Segal
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