There are no words.
The man who wrote the soundtrack to my youth. One of the smartest, funniest, most depressive (a word? perhaps not), grandest mother fuckers to ever grace the stage. A legend. One of my heroes. It sounds trite and cliched, but sitting here I feel like part of me is gone. There will never be another Type O Negative album. I will never, ever get to see them play live. Never get to shake his hand and say thanks for writing music that helped me define myself. The man who wrote the greatest song about a vampire in the history of music is dead.
You’ll be missed, brother. You’ll be remembered. And most of all, you’ll be celebrated. Turn this shit up LOUD.
Peter Steele 1962 -2010
Listening to: Every album Type O ever put out.