The original freaks on a leash are back with a new album that tackles methamphetamine addiction, finding religion and learning to like yourself

Jonathan Davis is most comfortable in a dark place. “It’s more familiar to me,” says the lead vocalist and songwriter of alternative metal band Korn. To Davis, the darkness stirs a fight-or-flight reaction. He knows he can draw inspiration there, but when you’re fighting – and also winning – the daily battle of living with anxiety and depression, it’s a place for him to heal.

Korn: The Serenity of Suffering review – darker, nastier and more commanding Read more

“I started thinking about where I came from on this record,” Davis says. His band is back with its 12th studio album, The Serenity Of Suffering, which has been lauded as a return to form for that band that is nastier and darker than their recent output, which has included – of all things – a dubstep album and country outing. Soft-spoken and reflective, one would never guess they were speaking to the singer of Korn, a band that has spent more than 20 years building on intense guitar, scats and growls, and, in its earlier days, straight-up screams.



But unlike Davis, guitarist Brian “Head” Welch, who rejoined Korn in 2013 following a seven-year hiatus, doesn’t feel comfortable in a dark place. “I like to be happy,” says the 46-year-old, who rediscovered Jesus Christ and spirituality 11 years ago after a destructive methamphetamine addiction tore apart his marriage. “There was a root of hatred in me then,” he goes on. “I did drugs to mask that pain, and then I got suicidal.”

Welch, who was born in Harbor City, California, says he was picked on as a child. “From getting bullied, I didn’t really like myself,” he recalls. Growing up, he wanted to be a rockstar and spent most of his time practicing guitar. But when that dream turned into reality, there was a void that couldn’t be filled. “Even the success in Korn and the fans and the millions of records couldn’t make me like myself.”

So Welch started going back to church, and the first half of his 11-year journey to self-love and sobriety was spent exploring dark places and even darker emotions, a place he no longer wishes to return to. Unlike Davis, it wasn’t safe for him; Welch found safety in the other side of the spectrum.

As well as the individual member’s battles, the band has been through a lot during their 20-year career. “We were little kids when we made our first record,” Davis laughs. The band recently wrapped up a tour that celebrated 20 years of their debut, and to the singer, it felt bittersweet. “I had no idea then that my pain would help so many people.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Jonathan Davis: ‘I had no idea then that my pain would help so many people.’ Photograph: Herbert P Oczeret/AFP/Getty Images

Back when Korn came out in the mid-90s, they were the freaks of the freaks. Dressed in Adidas tracksuits with tattooed arms and twisted dreadlocks, gold chains hanging from their necks, the five-piece was unlike any other. “We were the black sheep,” Davis recalls. “We totally destroyed what people thought the metal scene should be.”

No one really knew what to do with Korn. They did tours with No Doubt, Pennywise, KMFDM; they bounced between genres and were eventually lumped into nu-metal by critics. But Davis “always felt weird in metal culture”, a scene he says welcomed the band but was still one they never felt totally comfortable in. “I was always fighting the title of what a metal band was,” he says.

He thinks the metal scene is a big place where people who don’t fit into the norm are accepted. (I ask him to define “the norm”, which he says is a culture where people who never go against the grain settle.) But the thing about scenes that accept a non-polished act is that there’s room to be raw, to be honest, to be real, to talk about things that aren’t rainbows and butterflies. Korn had a safe space to heal not only themselves, but fans who found their darker lyrics relatable.

“The things I fight … if I can help people, if I can make them see that they can get through the bullshit in their lives, that’s why I still do it 22 years later,” Davis says. “Nothing brings more joy into my fucking heart than seeing our music help a kid who is depressed, or suicidal, or going through an episode. That’s the payoff to me, that’s why we keep coming out here, that’s why we keep making records. Because we like to see people smile.”

Nothing brings me more joy than seeing our music help a kid who is depressed, or suicidal, or going through an episode Jonathan Davis

He’s lost count of how many times a fan has told him, “You don’t know how much you’ve got me through this,” whatever this is. But he does, because back in the day, it was his bands that got him through: Duran Duran, The Cure. Once, a kid gave Davis the military uniform of his dead brother, who was killed in action; he said the band’s music helped him through his deployment.

“We have [sick] fans whose last dying wish is is to come and hang out with us,” Davis continues. “That is fucking heavy. How do you express yourself when someone says: ‘I’m going to die and I want to meet you before I do’?”

For Welch, who has authored two autobiographical books (one about addiction and spirituality; the other about his daughter’s struggles with self-harm), it was like “taking out all the junk, dirt and stains”. Any vulnerability he felt was erased when he saw how many people were able to relate. “When I share those struggles, I put to peace something inside of me and I’m able to forgive others, forgive myself for my mistakes,” he says.

Same goes for Davis, who writes in a stream of consciousness that is less personal and more universal. “I’ll sit there with a pen and paper and I’ll start writing,” he says. “Sometimes, I have no clue what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Once he gets a song out of his mind, it’s gone for good, a therapy Davis says he “couldn’t go on without.” “I’m constantly trying to evolve as a singer,” he says. “But having that pressure on me is getting a little bit more difficult, even though I’ve put out 12 fucking records.”

Davis encountered terrible writer’s block on the new album. “It was hard to do, trying to capture the love I had for heavier music,” he says. The Serenity of Suffering is the band’s most intense release in a decade, and there was a lot of history to revisit. Their producer, Nick Raskulinecz, helped the band rediscover their essence. “It was a challenge, but we kicked its ass.”

Welch says there’s a new energy in Korn that hasn’t been there for a while. In its darkness, the band found their light. “It’s what we’ve done since 1993,” Davis says. “That’s just how we roll.”