The derivative metal band called Lamb of God graced us simple, backwoods mountain dwellers with its glorious presence this past week.

The derivative metal band called Lamb of God graced us simple, backwoods mountain dwellers with its glorious presence this past week.

Apparently, it didn't go well.

Lamb of God frontman Randy Blythe launched into a rant on, ahem, Instagram after the Dec. 14 show at the Medford Armory, as reported by several music websites.

You see, Blythe is a sensitive, community-minded fellow who took the blackened devils who inhabit Medford to task for not showing the proper reverence after he called for a moment of silence to honor the victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings in Connecticut.

Blythe, who has blatantly ripped off his angry, Southern metal man act from Pantera's Phil Anselmo, called for a break in the middle of the set to make room for the moment of silence.

Of course, the horde of sweat-logged metal heads — no doubt awash in Jagermeister and squinting through a London fog of dank Applegate bud — didn't react with the proper sensitivity befitting such a somber moment.

Some in the audience laughed and made some rude comments during Blythe's request for quiet.

The self-important Blythe heard some of the rottenness emitting from the audience and later went to, ahem, Instagram to rip Medford's metal scene.

"I have never been more disgusted with an audience in my life," he wrote. "I wish we hadn't played. We, Lamb of God, asked for sixty seconds of silence during our first set break to honor the dead children and teachers in CT. It seemed appropriate — it's a (expletive) national TRAGEDY."

(I've got to interject here. The frontman for a metal band named Lamb of God aired his anger on ... Instagram. Instagram? How very metal. I bet he also used the pretty-picture sharing smartphone app to photograph some amazing sushi he once ate in the Bay Area.)

Anyway, Blythe was not done pontificating.

"Most of the crowd complied, but several didn't, some cursing and even laughing. I wanted to walk off stage. ... To the fans who were respectful, I thank you. I am also sorry you have so many (expletive) (expletive) in your community. You should do something about that. This (expletive) would not have happened at a Lamb of God show where I live, and that is a FACT. We have more manners."

First of all, Lamb of God hails from that bastion of quaint civility known as Richmond, Va. Now, maybe large Southern cities have changed a bit since I've been to one, but from my recollection, drunken metalheads are the same here as they are south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

I refuse to believe that had Blythe stopped his precious concert in the middle of a gig in, say, Orlando, the same thing wouldn't have happened.

By the time Blythe called for the moment of silence, he had charged through half of his set, which is designed to whip the audience into a violent, moshing frenzy. And this is after said gallons of Jagermeister and dank bud.

So, stopping in midstream and interjecting a moment of harsh reality wasn't a good judgment call on Blythe's part. You can't expect more than 1,000 rockers, many of whom are intoxicated, to join as one to mourn a tragedy. If we lived in a perfect world, yes. But this world is far, far from perfect.

Moments of silence are ingrained in America's grieving process. They are meant to pull us into a shared moment of solidarity and, if even for a minute, create bonds between thousands of people.

However, these moments usually occur at sporting venues before games and after the national anthem. The morning after 9/11, the place where I worked called for a moment of silence before the start of the first shift. I'm a cold cynic at heart, but I can remember being moved as I stood quietly side-by-side with my fellow co-workers before we took to the sales floor.

Blythe set this thing up for failure because of his unreasonable expectations at that time and that place. And then he has the audacity to trash an entire community for something that transpired by a handful of people at a crappy metal show?

Of course, those who cracked jokes and laughed during the moment of silence are classless knuckle-draggers, but they are the exception to the rule. Hell, Blythe admitted as much in his petty little Instagram rant.

And whatever credibility he had was demolished by the end of his sermon when he wrote, "You yelling people give metal a bad name — screw that, you give humanity a bad name. Grow up. Your parents should have beaten some manners into you, you savage little beasts."

Yeah, Randy, because the way to deal with ignorance is through violence. Doesn't this diminish your call to mourn a horrific act of mayhem 3,000 miles away?

I mean, if that's the way to treat those who make dumb decisions, I would have stood at the Armory's door and whacked everyone on the head who paid $30 to see Lamb of God.

Reach reporter Chris Conrad at 541-776-4471 or email