Down the stone steps, through the cellar, past the dungeon and the chamber of torture, the fire pit, the soul collector and the bidet, through the deepest ravine and into the creeping cavern. There lies your secret, the key to your downfall. We all have them, these tiny, crippling truths. They are the fuel for life, are they not? Propelling ever forward our Faustian quest for knowledge. Kind metal lord that I am, I have chosen this edition of Made of Metal to share with you one of my darkest confessions, though such a revelation may tempt my downfall at the hands of my angered legion of followers; I can no longer live the lie. My putrid secret is this: there have been occasions, some documented and some not, wherein I have listened, by my own free will, without demonic possession, to the sounds of music non-metallum.

Stay thy pitchforks! Hear me out, my faithful, and you shall walk with me forever in the land of eternal brutality. I don't believe that metal is the only good kind of music; I just believe that 99.9 percent of good music just happens to be metal. Enjoyment is a relative thing. I may rip on other people's music, but I do so in jest. In truth, there is no good or bad; everyone just values different aesthetics. Whether you value death grunts or saccharine pop melodies, your enjoyment is no less valid. Ideally, critics should help give you an idea of what a piece of art holds in order to help you, not make you ashamed of your aesthetic choices.

That said, there are some non-metal songs and artists that somehow fulfill my aesthetic blood thirst, even without the usual darkness and screeching intensity. Who could accomplish such a feat, you ask? Well, you'll be surprised to find out that there are actually quite a few.

First, there's the five horse-faces of the apocalypse themselves, the Spice Girls. Only the most fiendish of sirens could call me from the safety of my metallic ship into a calming ocean of melody. The sensual arrangements of "2 Become 1" or the bouncy pop-thrash of "Say You'll Be There"; these five succubi will forever hold a place in my blackened heart.

Slightly shocked? Prepare for full-on electrocution when I reveal to you the dark deal I made long ago with the dynamic Australian pop duo Savage Garden. Eons ago, before the continents had cooled from their primordial forging, a blood pact was struck on the surface of the young star we now call the sun. In exchange for a mention in my future music column, I agreed to use "Truly, Madly, Deeply" as the theme song for my wedding.

So there you have it. Judge me if you must. But before you do, look into your own heart. Search deep within, through your "cool" exterior and into realm of your true desires. Tell me you don't hum "Everlasting Love" to yourself in between Bloodbath songs. Tell me you don't whistle "My Girl" every time that special someone catches your eye. Tell me your heart is pure. Tell me your heart is every inch made of jet-black iron and I will relinquish to you the throne that is Made of Metal. Begone!