The success of Type O Negative’s third studio album, 1993’s goth metal masterpiece Bloody Kisses, was unheard of for a band of their ilk; it was the first album to be certified Gold in Roadrunner Records’ history, contained a massive, surprise, crossover hit in Black No.1 that received heavy rotation across MTV and VH1, turned their frontman into an international sex symbol and seemed to set Type O up as one of the definitive metal bands of the 90s. Not that they were particularly happy about it, of course.
“Every time I hear this album, I hear error, I hear things that are out of tune, I hear things that I wished I had done differently, I hear songs that are too long and boring,” Type O frontman Peter Steele told M.K. Ultra magazine in 1993 of the album, before predicting that Bloody Kisses' follow up “is probably gonna be 40% psychedelic, 40% goth, and 10% industrial...maybe a little sprinkling of big band music in there.”
Instead, what we got first was a single that ditched their pitch-black, gothic metal melodrama and replaced it with a swinging 60s pop ditty about the joys of being in a thruple. Weirdly, it made them even bigger.
Every time I hear this album, I hear error
Peter Steele
As unique as the sound of Bloody Kisses was, there’s no doubt that part of the appeal of Type O Negative was Steele’s chiseled looks and hulking, muscular 6ft 8in frame. He was so striking that Type O began to crack that oh-so-rare market in classic metal; female fans. Young women would be found all over the front row of the band's shows, all totally in awe of Steele. Manowar, this was not.
“Women seem to like songs about sex and religion, judging by how many records we’ve sold,” Steele shrugged to Kerrang! In 1996. “At times, there’s 80 per cent women at our shows. It’s a very strange thing to grow up feeling like 230lbs of mucus and then suddenly see all these girls taking their clothes off and throwing them at you.”
In 1995 Steele decided to cash in on his stud-like status and agreed to pose as a nude centrefold in an issue of Playgirl Magazine, something he came to regret.
“Oh shit, that’s going to haunt me,” he told NY Rock in 1999. “I created a monster, well, no, I showed the monster. After I did it, I thought ‘Oh my god, what did I do?!'”
He also added to Kerrang that he was “disappointed that Playgirl didn’t let me dress up as a priest, which is what I wanted to do. They’ve got no sense of humour.”
Soon, Type O Negative began to lean toward more palatable and commercial sounds on their fourth album, October Rust. “Now, unfortunately, there's the financial factor, meaning we've all quit our day jobs for this illustrious career,” Steele told a US College radio station of his approach to their new album. “So now when I write a song, I'm thinking about commercial accessibility, which is not the same as selling out. I'm just trying to balance the band's integrity and trying to spread ourselves to as many people as possible by making the music more marketable.”
Far from just considering the commercial reach of Type O’s music, however, Steele admitted he enjoyed the hurdle of making songs that had pop earworm appeal.
“Personally it’s more of a challenge for me to write songs that are memorable,” Steele told Kerrang. “People come up to me and they say ‘Peter, you’re a fucking dick and I hate your band, but I can’t get that song out of my head.’ And I say, ‘Thank you very much.’ That’s the highest compliment, when someone can't get your song out of their head.”
This desire to make a more commercial-sounding record was most evident in their comeback single, psychedelic 60s pop bop My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend. Starting with a hooky organ jingle, it morphed into something that sounded like a goth jam Austin Powers would jive to. It was a fantastically instantaneous tune and, like many of the greatest pop songs, it took no time to compose.
“I wrote it in 15 minutes over at Josh's house,” Steele told Livewire Magazine. “I came up with a few small parts and strung them all together. It sounded like a stupid poppy song, so I had to think of a stupid poppy vocal line to match.”
Lyrically speaking, the song was pretty far removed from the usual pop romanticism. Rather than vague “I love you” platitudes, it hilariously detailed being the male member of a three-way relationship in Type O’s typically dry and sardonic way. For a man with such, ahem, experience with the fairer sex, Steele’s lyrics of “meat triangles” and “latex, fur and leather, stuck together” came from a very real place.
It sounded like a stupid poppy song, so I had to think of a stupid poppy vocal line to match
Peter Steele
“The song was actually based on a few true-life experiences which turned out to be quite pleasant,” Steele told The Aquarian in 1996. “There are no philosophical implications. It’s purely flesh and fantasy. You definitely have to be up for the menage a trois.”
It came with a titillating video that leaned into the 60s, free love feel, with two go-go dancers gyrating on podiums next to the band and in front of psychedelic lava lamp visuals, cut between scenes of Steele and his girlfriends romping on a pink bed. Catchy as My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend was, it was never going to get on Top of the Pops.
The song was released as October Rust’s first single on August 19, 1996, with the album coming weeks later on September 2. The single failed to do much business in the charts, peaking at 156 in the UK; Kerrang! dismissed it as “a dreary goff song with a little smut thrown in to make people buy it.”
It was a different story when October Rust was released; its more melodic, romantic and hook-laden direction gave Type O Negative their finest ever charting positions, reaching number 42 in the US and number 26 in the UK. Suddenly, Type O Negative were more famous than ever.
It didn’t last for long. In the aftermath of the album, Steele, contrarian that he was, dismissed October Rust’s more commercial sound in a similar way that he had with Bloody Kisses and doubled down on a heavier, more brutal sound on 1999’s World Coming Down.
“I made a slight mistake with October Rust,” he said to Kerrang In 1998. “When I look back on that record now I think, ‘Okay, this sounds alright’ but it sounds like I was trying to write for the radio. The stuff I’ve written so far is really slow, really doomy and not that commercial.”
Regardless, Steele’s knack for melody, for creating a “stupid poppy song” and for crafting a tale about the joys of a polyamorous relationship, still won't get out of our heads all these years later. Job done.
