And when we finally got to the zero hour, what would be revealed? Information about the band's long-awaited new album, Crack the Skye, a concept disc based on (depending on what you read) the life of indestructible Russian mystic Grigori Rasputin, the art aesthetics of Tsarist Russia, astral travel or Stephen Hawking's conceptual theories on Wormholes? The secrets of the Birchmen of Blood Mountain? Webcam footage of the slaughter of a snow leopard? Knowing Mastodon, truly any of those things were possible.

So, at 11:59 a.m. ET, Monty and I gathered around my computer, cranked up the speakers and awaited the majesty that would soon follow. At noon, the clock hit zeros, and ... well, nothing happened. Bummed, I hit refresh on my computer, only to discover that the site now featured a new countdown clock, this one set to expire in 65 days. So, in essence, Mastodon posted a countdown to a countdown. Monty and I were crestfallen, and we spent the next 15 minutes watching YouTube clips of Megadeth performing "Countdown to Extinction." Then I got some lunch.

Some are saying that there might be some sort of official announcement posted on the site when the countdown clock reaches noon PT (3 p.m. ET ... the clock is time-zone specific, apparently). But until then, I will remain slightly saddened. Still, there was some good that came out of the (non) countdown. As one fan posted on Mastodon's message board soon after noon, "Just as my counter hit zero, a fight broke out at the bus stop across the street. ... Thank you, Mastodon. That ruled!"

It seems like a case of déjà vu for Slipknot.

In July, the metal band's DJ Sid Wilson broke both his heels when jumping off the stage during the launch of the Rockstar Energy Mayhem fest. Today, Slipknot announced that they have been forced to cancel their slots at the Leeds and Reading festivals, as well as their remaining European dates, after drummer Joey Jordison broke his ankle. No word on whether this, too, was the result of an energetic stage performance.

According to a statement posted on the band's MySpace page, "doctors have advised Joey to stay off his leg for four to six weeks to prevent further injury or permanent and more serious damage."

This year's Leeds and Reading festivals, which take place this weekend, would have marked Slipknot's first appearance at the three-day event in six years. The masked Iowa metallers are touring in support of their upcoming album, All Hope Is Gone, which comes out August 25.

"Canceling shows is never an easy decision, and we apologize to all our fans, friends and family for not being there to throw down with you," the band said in the statement. "We will be back in Europe this November."

Slipknot are scheduled to play in Japan, New Zealand and Australia in October and all across Europe in November. Let's hope they lay off the gymnastics until after the tour.

Me? I'm the metal writer, so I'm almost always listening to something loud, offensive and objectionable. Of course, those are adjectives other people use to describe the music I love. To my ears, it's smart, technically demanding music that takes an immense amount of talent to create. But that's just my opinion. Unfortunately, no one else — save my boss — appreciates heavy metal and hardcore, which makes working in the newsroom all the more ... well, I guess the word would be annoying.

No matter what I'm listening to — be it something tame, like the new Slipknot record, or something grim, like Watain — I'm constantly being told (rarely asked) to either turn my music off, turn it down to an inaudible level or put headphones on — which doesn't make much sense for a reporter, as there are always phone calls or questions, shouted from across the room, that need answering.

At times, I've been told my taste in music "sucks," and that whatever it is I'm listening to at the time "is making me want to punch someone — mainly, you." The other day, while listening to Overcast, I got an e-mail from Kim Stolz that read: "I may set myself on fire if you don't put headphones on."

Not that I'm whining here. May sound like it, but I'm not. I am just trying to raise awareness of a bigger issue: genre discrimination. It's not the volume of the music I play — can't be, because I'm never told, "Chris, that's too loud." It's always that it "sucks" or is "too evil." Yet, some of my co-workers will spend hours blabbering about reality television, as if they were speaking to a room full of deaf grandmothers.

I guess, being a metalhead, I should be used to this sort of thing. And I suppose the fact that I sit in the newsroom, among a handful of editors, other writers, on-air folks and producers, makes me more susceptible to this sort of thing, while James and Sha have offices. But that doesn't make this persecution right. Maybe having my own office would restore harmony around here (hint, hint).

And by the way, check out this week's Metal File, in which Metallica reflect on the 20th anniversary of ... And Justice for All.

How about you? Have you ever dealt with similar turmoil and intolerance in your office?

While there are innumerable bands who embrace this trend, some have taken things way too far, with logos that look more like a scribble you'd find in a bored 8-year-old's notebook. Our friends over at the Headbangers Blog have found enough material there to churn out the "Indecipherable Logo of the Day." We don't have the patience for that, so we're giving you our 10 favorite metal logos, but if you know of one that puts these to shame, let us know about it in the comments section.

10. Borknagar: This Norwegian band combines folk metal and black metal with progressive and melodic elements. The lyrics often touch on philosophy, paganism, nature and the cosmos.

9. Finntroll: Folk metallers from Finland who churn out extreme music cross-pollinated polka (yes, polka). Unless you knew the band's name, there's no way you'd be able to tell who they were just by their logo.

8. Bloodbath: The former band of Opeth's Mikael Åkerfeldt, Bloodbath are a death-metal outfit from Stockholm, Sweden, with a penchant for the diabolic.

7. Nachtmystium: An American psychedelic, atmospheric black-metal group that's been around for years. Their Worldfall EP landed in stores in early April.

6. Naglfar: Swedish black-metal heathens who've toured with the #4 band on this list. While not the most illegible logo by any means — unless you knew how to spell the band's name — you'd think it was just a crude Jackson Pollack.

5. Averse Sefira: One of the States' best black-metal bands, these lads hail from Austin, Texas, and are in legion with Watain, one of the best black-metal bands ever. They're one of the only black-metal bands from America who've toured on three continents. The band's logo is sinister-looking and nothing if not an advertisement for how awesome they are.

4. Darkthrone: All hail these highly influential black metallers who've become a driving force in the Norwegian black-metal scene. Darkthrone consist of Nocturno Culto and Fenriz, who were heavily influenced by the punk genre. Eerie and menacing, it's one of the most recognizable logos to metal fans — but to everyone else, not so much.

3. Leviathan: An experimental/ambient black-metal band consisting of one media-shunning man: Wrest. He is involved with Sunn O))) and Lurker of Chalice, who also have a very unreadable logo.

2. Prosanctus Inferi: Imposing American black/ death metallers who'll be on the bill for this year's Sacrifice of the Nazarene Child Festival in San Antonio, Texas, later this month. Their logo looks like something you might flush down the toilet.

1. Xasthur: American one-man black-metal band a.k.a. Scott Conner — but you can call him Malefic. Xasthur's lyrics focus on astral projection, darkness, despair, suicide, hate and death. Xasthur's logo is without question one of the hardest to decipher, making it our top pick for most illegible logo.

On Tuesday, I was invited out to producer David Bendeth's House of Loud studios in Elmwood Park, New Jersey, to meet with Floridian Christian metalcore act Underoath, and hear some tracks from their as-yet-untitled sixth LP, which will be in stores sometime this fall. It was the first time the band was playing any of the songs for anyone outside of the band, and while that may sound really awesome, it was rather uncomfortable.

Imagine you're the first person to hear the music a band's been working on for two years. You're in a studio — just you and the band — and there they are, letting down their guard, allowing you first access to material they've been toiling away on and pouring their hearts into. It's sort of a big deal, but still an uncomfortable experience.

When I walked into the band's studio, I was on their turf. As I entered the room, I noticed several chairs, situated just in front of the mixing board, with a number of other chairs placed at the back of the studio against the wall. The band wanted me to sit right in front of the console because, they told me, that was "where it'll sound the best." Given mine is a desk job, requiring me to sit for most of the day, I thanked them for the suggestion and offered to stand. But they were insistent, and eventually I caved, taking my seat at the base of the console.

Where did the band sit while the music was playing? Right freakin' behind me — watching, judging, examining my body language and waiting for any indication as to what I thought of the new tunes, because, really, it's going to be the only feedback they've gotten. And the songs sounded good. The production was tight, the guitars shredded, the drumming was bombastic, and frontman Spencer Chamberlain's vocals were emotive and fierce. But it was still uncomfortable.

As each song played, I could feel their eyes boring into the back of my skull. I bobbed my head back and forth, in tandem with the song's rhythm, and tapped my feet against the legs of my chair. It was subdued, but I was doing my best to "rock out" to the songs. And when each one ended, there was silence — the band anxiously awaited my reaction. And what could you possibly say, right? Underoath was right there, so, of course, you had to say something positive, even when certain songs didn't grab you right away.

But you can't overdue it, you think, or it'll seem disingenuous. So you say things like "Wow, man" and "Damn, that song was crazy." All the while, you're thinking, "What do I say?" and "Was that the last song?" It's nothing against the band; it's just an uncomfortable spot to be put in — sort of like when you get a gift from someone, and you're empty-handed, and they insist you open it now, in front of them.

I guess it just comes with the territory when you're a music journalist. And while I could be working some other gig, perhaps doing the kinds of things people hate about their jobs, it's still an uncomfortable position to be in. What this all means is, no matter what your profession, no matter how cool or appealing mine may sound, there are always going to be aspects of the job you'd rather do without.

You know, we in the States tend to think we've cornered the market on metal. But those Norwegians make Ministry look about as dark as My Little Pony. Black metal, based on a completely bonkers 'n' bloody Viking lifestyle fantasy of death and destruction (pig's head on a stake, anyone?) has been bubbling up in Norway for the last 20 years. It's a combo of extreme metal, paganism, and even Satanism -- and it's redefined the meaning of "underground."

So we were heavily impressed by "True Norwegian Black Metal," photog Peter Beste's collection of photos of the radical community, published by our frienemies at Vice. Beste spent the last seven years snapping pics of the scene, which he boils down to "a war against Christianity, a return to the worship of the ancient Norse gods, and the complete rejection of mainstream society." No biggie. The bulk of the book is portraits of black metal disciples -- with names like King, Nocturno Culto, and Necrobutcher -- stomping through the Norwegian woods (puts a whole new spin on that Beatles track). But there are also great pics of the scene itself -- bands like Mayhem and Immortal live -- packed with lots of, well, pigs' heads on sticks. Sheep's heads, too. Oh, and can't forget the gentleman in a loincloth covered in blood and "nailed" to a crucifix onstage.

Not for the faint of heart.

More pics after the jump.