From KISS to Ghost, there’s been a long history of ambiguous imagery in music. No band has used masks quite like Sleep Token, though. Looking further back to the relationship between face decoration and themes of anonymity and identity, comedy and tragedy, theatre and ritual, one can uncover a whole world going on beneath their surface, going all the way to the beginning of humanity itself…
“Acting is about putting on masks,” observed veteran performer and House actor Hugh Laurie. “Music is about taking them off.”
They’re not mutually exclusive, as it turns out. Kicking off with the eerie cover art of Black Sabbath’s self-titled debut, image has always had an integral part to play in heavy music, and it didn’t take long for performers to embrace the larger-than-life with the use of face decoration. From early monsters of rock KISS and Alice Cooper, to the corpsepaint-daubed, otherwise visually unremarkable exponents of Norwegian black metal, and on to Ghost’s papal disguises, Pussy Riot’s balaclavas, the twisted expression of Slipknot and now the pure anonymity of Sleep Token, it has become as synonymous with the genre as ear-splitting sound.
“Anonymity, grotesquerie and character are all relevant,” offers Isabel Ruffel, Professor of Greek Drama and Culture at The University Of Glasgow. “There’s also a ritual element – ‘ritual’ not being the same as ‘religion’ – in that performance itself is a kind of ritual. In tragedy, for instance, a relatively bland mask can make it easier to associate oneself with the performance. In comedy, though, the effect is more immediately alienating, more confrontationally engaged, more in-your-face. Looking at the application of masks and costume in heavy music, I see elements of both.”
Sleep Token, then, are at the cutting-edge of an ancient tradition. To understand where they stand, we should know how far the story goes. First used in performance in the theatres of Greek and Roman antiquity – the largest Hellenistic venues could accommodate up to 30,000 spectators – their invention actually pre-dates traditional drama and dance. Face decoration, in fact, is at least as old as music itself, and has played a part of storytelling since language development began.
Where did it all start? The (possibly apocryphal) African mother who painted a hideous face on her water gourd to scare children off from following her to the river? Stone Age hunters like the Tungusic shamans of Siberia, or The Sorcerer of the Trois Frères cave in Ariège, France, who wore false faces for stalking prey and, later, to placate the spirits of slain animals? The Seneca people of the Iroquois nation of New York who used massive corn masks in harvest rituals? The Dukduk society of ‘terrorists’ who punished marauders on the island of New Britain in Papua New Guinea?
Impossible as the question is to answer, it clarifies that, since the beginning, masks weren’t for any one purpose. Ritualistic use is the sexiest: donning the visage of a hero or god to invoke their power, like the intimidatingly phallic Tengu of Shinto Japan, or the helmets used by the Pende people of the Congo for initiations into adulthood.
As alluded, ritual overlaps with theatre, where the faces of tragedy and comedy are emblematic, but usage is wildly varied from the ornateness of the ballet de cour to bold modernist interpretations in The Lion King or Cirque du Soleil.
The flipside of assumed identity is factual anonymity. Ancient judges wore masks of the dead not just to assume ancestors’ authority but to protect themselves from reprisal. Everywhere from film and TV to the world of emojis, balaclavas and ski-masks are synonymous with outlaw behaviour, hiding the scoundrels actually involved. In turn, those can be used to intimidate, much as the Gorgons of Ancient Greece or the menpō worn by Samurai in feudal Japan rattled enemy armies.
Masks infiltrate our everyday most notably in remembrance of the old Gaelic ritual Samhain at Halloween, where impersonation of the dead could protect believers from them in the liminal period where the boundary of the underworld is at its most permeable. But we use many functional masks, too, often imbuing them with elevated status, whether including charcoal masks in our beauty rituals, associating fire-fighters’ protectors with defiance of elemental threat, or understanding how humble strips of fabric could slow the calamitous spread of COVID.
“In modern music, just as in ancient and medieval theatre, the mask is about adopting a persona,” Dr. Elizabeth Boyle, lecturer in Early Irish at Maynooth University highlights a straightforward application by most bands. “For example, the extreme metal band Brujeria wear bandanas across their faces [apparently] to ‘disguise’ their true identities. In reality, what these American, English and Chilean musicians are doing, by adopting the personas of the supposedly Mexican or Latinx members of [the gang] Brujeria, is making a statement about the political hypocrisies of the Mexican-U.S. border. Whether that musician is actually an English grindcore guitarist or a Latinx American actress or a Chilean musician is subsumed by the ‘character’ within the band.”
There’s a socio-political purpose of Brujeria’s masks, as with Rage Against The Machine’s appropriation of the black bags from Guantanamo Bay, and Irish rappers Kneecap’s balaclavas, but the idea of identity is key. Slipknot and Mushroomhead unleashed larger-than-life alter egos to purge demons inside. Transgressive extreme bands like Portal and The Locust presented outlandish visuals to estrange their audience. Even the likes of Ghost and Gaerea, who present themselves with a measure of black-clad namelessness, are invoking anti-clergical or anti-Christian characters, whether through a corrupted ‘pope’ or the demon Asmodeus. In their earliest form, with relatively basic head coverings showing little more than black fabric and white symbols, Sleep Token were an anomaly, rejecting identity with no defined mythos in its place.
“Sleep Token seem to fit into a different category than Brujeria or Slipknot,” says Dr. Boyle. “While they do have [marked similarities to bands like] Ghost, they seem to be building something – whether conscious or unconscious – that depends vitally on their anonymity.”
Compared to the worlds of theatre and dance, rock and pop stars tend to come with at least some cult of personality. Taylor Swift is arguably the most recognisable face in the world, for instance, her celebrity having long since eclipsed criticism of her music. From a darker perspective, rock star misdeeds all too often underline how difficult it is to ‘separate the artist from the art’. Sleep Token’s mission statement was that their identities could never draw attention from the music. As their cult has grown, however, mystery itself is the attraction.
Mask maker Lani Hernandez-David has played as much a part as anyone outside the band in layering that mystery up. Catching eyes during lockdown when he turned up to collect his A-level results dressed as Oderus Urungus from GWAR, he was just 21 when II, III and IV got in touch to ask if he’d be interested in creating them some more interesting visages. Although working from a limited brief, and not privy to the internal discussions of the band, Lani’s use of colour, texture and different materials indicates that Sleep Token are exerting more control, building up rather than continuing to reject their assumed identities. And having since worked with New York maniacs Imperial Triumphant and taken to wearing a mask in his own band Solatia, he’s happy to weigh in.
“Masks add another layer of mystery and novelty,” he explains. “They give us something to be curious about. When I wear a mask, it’s so you see only the art and character, not the person behind it. Seeing Corey Taylor’s Iowa mask for the first time was what sparked my interest in Slipknot. The same applies to Oderus’ head from GWAR. The sheer angst and brutality showcased in these specific masks instantly feed me inspiration. Both have fed into the masks I make.
“GWAR’s dedication to crafting their own props taught me techniques and products to work with. Slipknot’s masks – especially those designed by Screaming Mad George [aka Japanese special effects artist, film director and former musician Joji Tani] – remind me of the importance of capturing the raw emotion in the music! I believe that as time goes on, more and more bands will embrace masks in their own ways. Solatia will be performing at Palefest [‘The world’s leading mask-monster-metal festival in Chillicothe, Ohio!’], surrounded by so many like-minded individuals who appreciate the role of masks and visual aids in music. So who knows what the future holds…”
Sleep Token have already begun to wring out the wildest possibilities. In the same way that his imagination was captured by the heroes of generations passed, Lani’s masks have spurred on fans of the band, adding a vibrancy and variety to force us to pick ‘favourites’, inspiring countless members of the congregation to craft their own versions of the masks to wear along to fit in or stand out as part of those ever-grander Rituals. It is tantalising to think of how many might go on to list Lani himself that he was their inspiration in another quarter-century’s time.
Vitally, Sleep Token’s command of ritualism, theatre and mystery will not be sacrificed in their evolution. Vessel’s six-eyed mask – created in partnership with UK couture designer Hysteria Machine – now extends to include a ridged shoulder piece. Rather than narrowing observers’ perception, it has actually inspired wild new theories, with YouTuber Alex Tamulis spearheading the idea that he’s growing as an oracle, connected to his id, ego and superego, and beginning to channel insectoid talents for survival, heightened awareness and natural metamorphosis.
Who knows what shape that next transformation could take? From the tattered jackets and disguises of Morris dancers, to the Green Man of folk tradition, there are deep veins of inspiration close to home.
Or, perhaps Sleep Token will reject convention in favour of something more abstract and modern – something mirrored, possibly, to reflect audiences’ identities right back at them. They could take a leaf out of 2004 Slipknot’s book and layer on perversely lifelike ‘death masks’ of their own faces to blow everyone’s minds. Or maybe they’ll lean into their swelling reputation as unlikely sex symbols with strappy, spiky fetish-wear or the lacy accoutrements of a masquerade ball.
What we do know is, anything is possible. Expect them to explore all imaginable expressions. They could well have worn a million faces by the time all is said and done. You can bet they’ll have rocked them all.
Sleep Token’s new album Even In Arcadia is due out on May 9 via RCA Records. The band headline Download Festival in June – get your tickets now.
This feature originally appeared in the special edition Kerrang! Presents Sleep Token magazine.
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