When heavy music talks about death, it’s usually from a safe distance — lyrics, artwork, maybe a stage prop coffin. What Queens Of The Stone Age did on July 8, 2024, in the tunnels of the Catacombs of Paris wasn’t just pure symbolism. It involved thousands of bones stacked around them, cold stone, dripping ceilings, and a frontman still dealing with the fallout from a 2022 cancer diagnosis.
In a recent radio interview with ALT 98.7 FM, Josh Homme tried to put that night into words. He didn’t describe it as dark or tragic; however, he made it clear it wasn’t exactly joyful either.
“I think what’s interesting is that place, because it’s so dominating, and because it felt like we were there to serve the place, it’s not depressing or sad, but it’s not happy either. It’s just intense. And I think the fact that I was having some health struggles… I feel great, and I was told that I would be out of commission for a while, and I’m not. And so I’m thankful,” Homme reflected (via Blabbermouth).
“And I think the fact that I was dealing with some serious health things, at the end of the day, actually makes it better. It’s better. Because things that are good are not simple. And also the pain side of that, the physical side of that, is momentary because I never think about that anymore. And even in the moment, it’s, like, ‘So what? So it hurts. So what?’ I wanted it so bad. I’d been working on it for so long. And we were so close. And I’m gonna turn and I’m gonna quit because it hurts?! What would I do then, if I quit? What am I supposed to do? Like, get up in the morning and fucking make coffee and… What do I do?”
For metal and hard rock fans, that’s a familiar kind of stubbornness. It’s the same mindset that keeps bands touring on blown knees, destroyed backs, wrecked throats. But in the Catacombs, that attitude was literally pressed up against mortality. Josh Homme was pushing against the aftermath of cancer surgery in a tunnel of skulls.
What he’s really talking about there is the brutal test every heavy musician eventually hits: when your body stops cooperating but the music still calls. He frames the Catacombs show as one of those rare chances to prove what you’re actually made of: “It doesn’t always come up that you get to show what you’re made of and who you are, what are you willing to do. And so I do think that it makes it more intense, and it makes it worth it.”
“And I know that there are people who care about you, and it’s wonderful to have them say, ‘We shouldn’t do this, and we should go.’ And I understand that. But I’m just sort of, like, ‘No, we’re here.’ I like moments where it’s, like, ‘Are you gonna fucking do it or not? No more talking.’ It’s very much like, ‘Shut up and fuck me.’ Like, are you gonna do it or not? And actually, I sometimes long for moments like that where it’s, like, ‘Are you gonna do it or not?’ I just think they’re important… It’s okay that things are difficult sometimes. And I had a number of moments where I just was, like, ‘I’ll be back in a minute. I have to just like walk off.’ But I also enjoyed being there. And I think it’s okay that those things exist at once,” he added.
That line — “Are you gonna fucking do it or not?” — feels less like something said in an interview and more like the internal monologue a lot of musicians and fans know well. It’s the same question you ask yourself halfway through a marathon set, halfway through a tour, halfway through life going sideways: are you backing down, or are you going through?
Homme talks about it like a moment he’d been hunting for, the sort of all-or-nothing situation extreme music is supposed to be built for: “I think the main part of this isn’t if I was ill or not feeling well or not. It’s that there’s this moment that’s up for grabs, and it’s kind of like I’ve been dreaming about this. It’s been a dream of mine for years, and actually, I’m thankful that I was not well because I learned so much. We came together. We got closer because of it. And it had strange benefits. We just agreed, because it was just this type of environment. ‘Let’s not say anything.’ He’ll say, ‘Action,’ and we’ll just sit there for 30 seconds. And you’re listening to the ceiling drip and you’re looking at everybody. And I just remember thinking, like, ‘I’m fucking doing this. This is the moment.’ And I wasn’t thinking about anything else. There was nothing else. And that moment of being present is a good moment. So I’m glad to have moments like that because that’s what I’m looking for. I’m looking for that.”
That’s a pretty stark admission: “I’m thankful that I was not well.” Most people spend their lives trying to avoid pain. Heavy music fans, on the other hand, have always understood that some of the most meaningful shows, records, and tours come out of the worst possible timing — breakups, deaths, sickness, near-collapse. The Catacombs performance sounds like one of those times when everything that could’ve been a reason to cancel turned into fuel instead.
Earlier this year, the band released Alive In The Catacombs, an audiovisual document of that underground performance. It pulls material from across the QOTSA catalog, but the songs were rebuilt to fit the low ceilings and graveyard acoustics, turned into something more exposed and haunted than the usual festival roar. You get a version of Queens Of The Stone Age that feels closer to doom and goth than desert rock, playing inches away from walls built out of human remains — “the biggest audience we’ve ever played for,” Josh Homme previously said.
What makes all of this especially resonant for a metal and hard rock crowd isn’t just the aesthetic — bones, tunnels, darkness. It’s the attitude underneath. When Josh Homme shrugs and says, “So what? So it hurts. So what?” he’s tapping into the same spirit that keeps people in this scene showing up to tiny clubs after 12-hour shifts, or driving six hours to see a band on a weeknight, or playing through injuries that would keep most athletes on the bench.
The Catacombs show, as he describes it, wasn’t clean, wasn’t easy, and definitely wasn’t comfortable. It was the kind of gig where you have to step away for a minute just to keep going, the kind where you’re wrestling with your own limits in real time. The fact that he can say he enjoyed being there — while also acknowledging how hard it was — feels very true to heavy music’s core. Two things can coexist: suffering and joy, dread and gratitude, pain and the absolute need to plug in and make noise anyway.
Plenty of bands flirt with death imagery. Queens Of The Stone Age went underground with it while their frontman was still dealing with the aftermath of something that could have killed him. And instead of turning away, Josh Homme walked straight into it, asking himself the same question that lives inside every great metal or hard rock moment: Are you going to do this, or not?
