Crack open a cold one this day is for the boys jeopardy full#
In a room full of people, I'm going to be nowhere near the loudest person in the room, you know what I mean? I'm kind of introverted. I would say that I was definitely more well-behaved, and that just comes from my personality. WHAT TYPE OF KID WERE YOU? WERE YOU PRETTY WELL-BEHAVED, OR WERE YOU MORE OF A TROUBLEMAKER? That was actually one place that we got to play a couple of years back, and I was super excited to go because that was the one place that my dad had been and I had never been. He always told me about how he did Morse code, and he went to the Philippines and stuff like that. Not really, just because he died when I was at such a young age that I wasn't really that interested in it. My mom was more of a stay-at-home mom.ĭID YOU EVER HAVE AN IDEA OF JOINING THE NAVY OR DOING SOMETHING MILITARY-BASED GIVEN THAT YOUR DAD HAD THAT EXPERIENCE? Oak Ridge is one of the nuclear plants in America. He was in the Navy for communications, and he came back after being in the Navy and started working in communications in this place called Oak Ridge. I loved both my parents, but I kind of migrated to him all the time. Most boys are mama's boys, typically, but I was a daddy's boy. WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR EARLIEST MEMORIES AS A KID? Kin is a duel between those two selves, a metaphorical showdown between survival and decay, an intermediate parable about perseverance more than anything else. "An asshole, or just a piece of shit," Bozeman clarifies.
The two twin-like faces on its cover art represent two different sides of Bozeman - his current self, the one who triumphed after experiencing unimaginably heartbreaking loss before he was old enough to drive, and the person he believes he could have become. "It's me battling my own self to let go of the past," he says while struggling to find a succinct description.
Kin, the band's new and most dynamically versatile record yet, begins where the last one left off. The Valley is a dense, literary concept album that sees Bozeman wading through the darkest depths of his traumatic childhood through the lens of a cinematic fantasy tale. Musically, that meant the introduction of clean singing from Bozeman himself - a potential jeopardy in a genre that partially began as a face-mauling reaction to the increasingly melodic direction metalcore was taking in the late 2000s.įor most bands, more singing often means more mainstream accessibility, but for Whitechapel that wasn't necessarily the case. He's spent the last two Whitechapel LPs exorcising his inner demons and translating them into vast literary landscapes.Īfter six albums of tortured, violent yet relatively impersonal deathcore opuses, Bozeman and his bandmates decided it was time for a true leap on 2019's The Valley. His comfortability with the subject matter, however dark and quite obviously heartbreaking it gets, makes sense.
"We were just taught very well."Īfter the usual dose of awkward formalities that ensues when two introverts meet over a Zoom call, Bozeman begins to open up exponentially once we delve into the details of his upbringing in Tennessee. "We have that Southern hospitality thing," Bozeman says at one point, the "we" being himself and his three sisters. Seated in a plain-colored room that's void of any traces of his career in metal, the 35-year-old begins answering questions with a curt friendliness, the way one might speak to their parent's family friend when they run into them on the town - professional, disarming and definitely not very deathcore. While most people know him for his infernal roars and soldier-like stage focus as the frontman of deathcore pioneers Whitechapel, the man behind such songs as "Make it Bleed" and "Breeding Violence" appears visibly nervous as he video-calls in to Revolver from his house in Knoxville, Tennessee. It's limited to 500 copies - order yours before they're gone! Revolver has teamed with Whitechapel for an exclusive splatter vinyl variant of their new album, Kin.
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