Anaesthete can be understood to mean “someone who can’t appreciate beauty” but also suggests “anaesthetic” or induced numbness. Over the past couple of years we’ve been thinking a lot about if/how music communicates, and about the responsibility that artists may have for how their work affects people. Music can be deeply therapeutic, and seems to be a space where pain and beauty coexist in tension. There’s a paradox in that killing our pain often involves killing our sensitivity to sublime beauty and wonder. Music can be a means by which people confront pain with beauty, or falsehood and injustice with truth. We’ve heard countless stories of people who have found this kind of value in our music – often people who couldn’t be more different from the standard ‘metal kid’ demographic. These people aren’t passive recipients of some kind of artistic charity from us. Rather, the music itself has connected us together in a way that is really hard to understand. Their stories work in us in a similar manner to how our music works in them. We’ve come to understand that music is bigger than musicians, bigger than fans, bigger than entertainment. It has a life of its own, which is mysterious.