Preface: When I was approved to photograph and review From Ashes to New’s show, I found myself conflicted in a way I never had been before. Concert coverage is one of my favorite things ever and there’s nothing more exciting than getting that perfect shot or writing about the music I love. But this time, I couldn’t separate the art from the artist. 

How was I supposed to stand in the photo pit and document a man who so casually used a slur that cuts so deeply into the lives of people like my mom. The closer the show got, the more uneasy I felt. I kept asking myself: if Case is comfortable saying the R-word online, what else is being said behind the scenes? What kind of behavior is being normalized in those spaces? It felt dishonest to celebrate a performance while knowing that his words had already made so many people feel dehumanized. How do you write a glowing review of a band when the person leading them has shown such disregard for the humanity of others? 

So, I didn’t. I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. Instead, I turned my frustration, my sadness, into this piece. Writing felt like the only thing I could do, the only way to take the hurt and confusion and channel it into something that might actually matter. I’ve spent years covering shows, celebrating artists who make people feel seen and safe, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, add to the noise around a band whose frontman uses that kind of language. This isn’t the review I expected to write, but maybe it’s the one that needs to exist, the one that asks for accountability instead of applause. 

Thank you. 

***

My mom is disabled. She has Multiple Sclerosis (MS), a disease that causes the immune system to attack the central nervous system. She was diagnosed shortly after I was born. Before that, she had a high-level marketing job and a fierce sense of independence that she took pride in. But after the diagnosis, she was forced onto disability leave. She hasn’t worked a day since. Over the years, her symptoms have worsened. Her fingers often go numb, making it hard for her to open the makeup compacts she loves so much. She struggles with balance, falling more times than I can count. She seems to gain a new physical problem every other month, and her cognition worsens with the seasons. Sometimes she’ll ask me the same question several times in an hour or forget to shut the door after bringing groceries inside.

Still, she does her best to live a relatively normal life. Between countless doctor’s appointments and random spells of fatigue, my mom can usually be found scrapbooking or crafting with her friends. She loves Bon Jovi more than anyone I know and constantly asks me how to get her tickets. She used to swear she’d never get another pet, but is now obsessed with my new kitten. She collects seashells, watches Downton Abbey on repeat, bakes just for the hell of it, loves our family, and loves me. And, of course, I love her.

So when I saw a Facebook post from October 19 by Danny Case, the lead singer of From Ashes to New, casually using the R-word, “angry” didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. It said: 

“I don’t want to hear some fucking fat MAGA moron on stage talking about ‘muh country’ and ‘blood drinking elites’ I don’t want to hear some naive [R-word] liberal talking about ‘stolen land’ and ‘silence is violence’. Both are insufferable. For the love of god, please just play your songs and help people feel good in a world that sucks.” 

I immediately thought about my mom and her daily struggles with MS. She’s fought so hard to regain her independence and dignity despite her worsening symptoms. Watching her fight through restless battles every single day, it’s hard not to feel enraged when I see that word used so casually, as if it’s a joke, as if it means nothing.

I remember one day at the grocery store, years ago, when my mom dropped a jar trying to steady herself. An older man nearby muttered the R-word under his breath as he stepped around her, impatiently, like she was an inconvenience. She heard him, I did too, and I’ll never forget the look on her face, a quick flicker of embarrassment and shame. She didn’t say anything to the man, didn’t even say anything to me, just alerted the nearest employee about what happened with a sheepish smile and kept shopping, pretending like it didn’t happen. But I saw how much it hurt her, how much that word reduced her to something less than human in that man’s eyes. 

My mom’s journey has shown me firsthand how society often dismisses or minimizes the struggles of disabled people. She’s been told she’s “overreacting,” or that her condition isn’t “that bad,” despite needing weekly therapy sessions to keep her declining cognition stimulated. The R-word, especially when used without thought or understanding, perpetuates that same harmful dismissiveness. It’s a reminder that despite all the progress we’ve made, language that dehumanizes and belittles disabled people still finds its way into the mainstream–and Danny Case proved that. 

Do I fault him for using it? Honestly, yes and no. Case is a grown man; he should know better. But I also recognize that he likely grew up in a time and place where that word was normalized, tossed around casually as a joke. Still, at the end of the day, he thought of it, typed it out, and hit post. That moment of choice matters. And it matters even more because language isn’t harmless; language dictates action. The things we’re willing to say reflect the things we’re willing to tolerate, excuse, or even do.

So I have to ask: if Danny Case is comfortable saying the R-word online, would he say it to a disabled fan? Would he think twice if an intellectually disabled person came up to him after a show? I can’t say for sure, but the question alone is enough to make me uneasy.

And that unease goes deeper than words. By using that slur publicly and refusing to take accountability, Case is inherently making his concerts unsafe spaces. Intellectually disabled fans aren’t going to feel protected at his shows. Many physically disabled fans probably won’t either. 

A contributor for The Concert Chronicles told me, “I’m autistic, and even though I can ‘pass’ as non-disabled when I mask, I wouldn’t feel safe at a From Ashes to New concert right now.” 

And it doesn’t stop with disability. Race and disability, gender and disability, sexuality and disability; all these identities are intertwined. So if his words signal that disabled people aren’t welcome or respected, what message does that send to women, to people of color, to fat fans (especially when he’s used “fat” as an insult too)? When certain people are made to feel unsafe, what’s left behind is an echo chamber, or a room full of people with similar viewpoints, reinforcing each other’s worst assumptions. That’s not just exclusion; it’s how harmful behavior festers and repeats.

I’ve seen this kind of environment before. In high school, we had a program for students with disabilities and specialized needs. They were integrated into core classes, but also had a space where they learned essential life skills like cooking, cleaning, socializing, and independence. We even had a buddy club pairing non-disabled students with disabled ones for games and activities.

I used to skip lunch every Thursday to play board games with a girl with cerebral palsy. She was brilliant, so strategic and funny and almost always beat me at whatever game we were playing. One day, while we practiced walking down the hallway with these heavy crutch-like things, a group of seniors brushed past, the R-word falling from their mouths like it was nothing. It happened all the time. What hurt most wasn’t just the slurs, rather, it was that almost no teachers stepped in. The people in power who were supposed to hold students accountable said nothing. That silence was permission.

And now, with Danny Case, I see the same dynamic. Obviously, he’s not a ninth grader, he’s a grown man with influence, a platform, and fans who look up to him. There’s no “teacher” to discipline him, but there are still people who need to speak up. Because if nobody does, that silence becomes permission again.

As a publication, we might not have the reach of the Grammys, but our voice still matters. Just like how Case gives permission for others to use slurs, speaking out against this kind of behavior gives permission for others to say, “No, this isn’t okay.” 

If we don’t speak out, not only are Case’s concerts unsafe for so many marginalized fans, but our silence makes our own spaces unsafe, too. When publications, photographers, or fans stay quiet, we signal to disabled and marginalized individuals that they’re not supported or protected in music spaces. And that’s exactly how we lose them, the exact opposite of what we should be fighting for.

It also says something deeper about how Case views disabled people in general. Either he holds inherently problematic views about disability, or he genuinely doesn’t understand the harm of the word he used. Either way, it points to a level of ignorance that must be addressed, and he can either be willing to learn and change, or remain part of the problem.

People with disabilities have said it again and again: the R-word is hurtful and unacceptable. And yet, in metal and other music scenes, there’s a persistent misconception that strength and resilience don’t include disability, that disabled people aren’t part of that community. That’s simply not true. Music is for everyone. Metal, especially, speaks to those who know struggle, who’ve felt isolated, who’ve fought battles most people never see. Many disabled fans connect deeply to that.

And that’s what makes Case’s post even more disappointing. From Ashes to New likely has disabled fans, people who’ve streamed their songs, bought tickets, and stood in crowds, finding comfort and belonging in their music. For them, seeing their favorite artist use a slur must have felt like a slap in the face. Like they didn’t belong after all.

On September 2, Case posted this on Facebook:

“Let’s face it; when someone does something wrong, publicly, people don’t want a sincere apology…What they really want is blood and retribution. They want a public execution. They want to see someone down and destroyed because it’s the only way they can feel any kind of joy and satisfaction [in] their lives…”

Danny, I don’t want that. I don’t want you or your band torn down or destroyed. I don’t want blood or retribution or a public execution. That’s not my goal or intention with this. 

I want you to reflect on what you did and understand why using that word matters to so many people, especially to your disabled fans and anyone who’s been made to feel less-than because of who they are. You need to apologize to the disabled community, to your disabled fans, and reflect on the words you used. 

On October 30, you posted again, referencing a Billie Eilish article where she faced unethical billionaires and called them out directly: 

“Leading by example instead of performative outrage is exactly what we need more of.”

So, Danny Case, I’ll ask you: were you leading by example when you used the R-word? Or were you just showing everyone how casually you can dismiss the humanity of others? Because, honestly, if that’s what leading by example looks like to you, I think I’ll pass.