‘Lilith Fair’ and ‘Into the Void’ provide enlightening perspectives on contrasting music genres

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Hulu is releasing two new music documentaries around the same time, and they couldn’t be more different. “Into the Void: Life, Death and Heavy Metal,” starting Monday, is an eight-part series exploring the world of heavy metal. “Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery,” premiering Sunday, looks back at Sarah McLachlan’s groundbreaking all-female music festival from the late 90s. Despite their different focuses, both documentaries are powerful stories about finding your voice, building community, and expressing yourself, even when the world doesn’t make it easy. They’re likely to make you think, and maybe even shed a few tears.

As a longtime metal fan, I’ve seen a lot of books try to cover the genre, but “Into the Void” is different. It doesn’t try to be a complete history or overview; instead, it focuses on the individual stories of musicians, and honestly, they’re often heartbreaking. Many of these artists died young – sometimes in accidents, sometimes by suicide, or from terrible illnesses. But the book isn’t exploitative or gossipy like those ‘Behind the Music’ shows. It’s a really respectful look at their lives. And honestly, you don’t even need to *like* metal to appreciate it. These are just powerful human stories that stand on their own, and as a musician myself, I can tell you, that bit about the exploding drummers? Way too real! (I still need to catch the sequel though.)

I’ve just screened a series of documentaries, and they’re all strikingly similar – each one profiles a hugely talented musician whose life ended tragically. “Randy Rhoads” tells the story of Ozzy Osbourne’s guitarist, gone far too young in a plane crash. Then there’s “Kurt Struebing of NME,” a really harrowing look at a black metal musician who battled severe mental illness, committed a terrible crime, and ultimately couldn’t escape his demons. “Judas Priest on Trial” is particularly disturbing, recounting the bizarre lawsuit claiming their music drove two fans to suicide. “Chuck Schuldiner of Death” focuses on the death metal pioneer who died battling a brain tumor, pushing the boundaries of his genre – though admittedly, it can all sound a bit samey if you’re not a fan. Finally, “Dimebag Darrell” details the senseless murder of the Pantera guitarist onstage, but also surprisingly delves into the internal tensions within the band itself. It’s a bleak collection, but a compelling look at the price of musical passion and the fragility of life.

This biography revisits Wendy O. Williams, the provocative frontwoman of the band Plasmatics, known for her wild stage shows that included smashing televisions and even destroying cars. While her performances were often shocking, they hinted at deeper themes and concealed a kind, introspective personality. Williams started with a punk sensibility but later embraced metal. Though her life ended tragically, the story, as told by her partner Rod Swenson, is ultimately hopeful. “Ann Boleyn of Hellion” also explores the challenges faced by a talented female performer on the Sunset Strip, battling sexism and unwanted attention. Many believed she deserved mainstream success, and her story takes an unexpectedly heartwarming turn at the end.

Singer and guitarist Nikan Khosravi and DJ Arash Ilkhani, members of the thrash metal band Confess, faced a harrowing ordeal in Iran – a country where metal music is banned and lyrics can lead to severe punishment. They spent a total of 18 months in prison, including three months in solitary confinement, while awaiting trial. Eventually, they were released on bail and managed to escape the country, finding refuge in a place familiar to many metal fans.

It’s impossible to speak for every metal fan, but for a lot of us, the music has always been about feeling strong, finding a community, and imagining what’s possible. And that feeling clearly carried over to the musicians themselves – they were fans first, and the ones featured in this film really took that connection to heart, even if they had their wilder moments as young adults. While the usual rock ‘n’ roll stories of excess aren’t the focus here, what *does* come through strongly is the importance of family – both the families they came from and the ones they built within the bands. Talking to these musicians decades later, there’s a real sense of perspective, a mix of amusement and, sometimes, genuine regret about the past.

Lilith Fair appeared to be a remarkably smooth event, with Ally Pankiw’s film showing no signs of the typical backstage drama, egos, or misbehavior often found at festivals. This stands in stark contrast to the chaotic and destructive Woodstock ’99. The film details the difficulties of launching such an ambitious, traveling show without knowing if anyone would attend – as production manager Catherine Runnals puts it, “It felt like we were building the airplane while we were already flying it.” However, the documentary is mostly a joyful look at how well Lilith Fair went, and rightfully so.

Ann Powers, a music critic for NPR and formerly with the L.A. Times, explains that Lilith Fair originated from a unique and unconventional idea. However, at the time, it felt incredibly popular and central to the music scene, and that’s what made it so impactful.

The Lilith Fair festival emerged during a time when talented female singer-songwriters were gaining popularity, but the music industry often resisted showcasing them. It was unusual for promoters to feature two women on the same concert lineup, and radio stations rarely played female artists consecutively. Named after Adam’s first wife from mythology – a symbol of independence – and with “Fair” representing equality and beauty, the festival was a bold idea that came to life. It ran successfully for three summers, from 1997 to 1999, and featured a diverse lineup of incredible artists, including Tracy Chapman, Sheryl Crow, Suzanne Vega, Erykah Badu, Natalie Merchant, the Indigo Girls, Missy Elliott, Paula Cole, Jewel, Emmylou Harris, Liz Phair, Bonnie Raitt, Chrissie Hynde, Queen Latifah, and Sinead O’Connor – proving it was about far more than just acoustic guitar-playing women.

It immediately drew criticism and ridicule from the media – newspapers, radio shows, and late-night TV. Initially, some performers were hesitant, but they quickly embraced the positive energy and atmosphere created by McLachlan. People recalled a relaxed, collaborative environment with birthday celebrations and impromptu dance parties. Despite constant external threats, including protests against abortion rights and even bomb threats, the event fostered a spirit of cooperation.

A 2010 attempt to bring Lilith Fair back didn’t go well, with several shows canceled due to poor ticket sales. Despite a strong lineup including artists like Cat Power, Janelle Monáe, Brandi Carlile, Metric, Mary J. Blige, and Tegan and Sara, it could have been a fun event. Today, with women artists being so prominent in music, a Lilith Fair might not feel as essential as it once did, but the cultural landscape was very different back then.

I remember when Dan Levy talked about going to one of these events as a kid – he was only 12 or 13, still figuring things out, and had been dealing with bullying. He said he’d never really felt safe being himself anywhere. But then he walked into this space and saw people just… being themselves. People were happy, connected, and celebrating who they were. He described it as a quiet revolution, and he actually wondered what this feeling of freedom even *was*. It really struck a chord with me, because you can totally feel that shift in energy when people are just authentically themselves.

Seeing all those people come out meant so much – they weren’t just there for a show, they were supporting a whole idea, and it really inspired me to keep performing. It felt incredibly empowering, like I could be myself, be safe, and be truly respected. Honestly, that whole experience felt so… *me*. It was a very Sarah moment, if that makes sense.

Good music too.

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2025-09-19 23:02