The Crown Was on Fire, and So Was He

Arthur Brown didn’t just perform 'Fire' — he became it. And for my dad, it was the moment something wild and true lit up inside him.

Self‑Mothering Playlist →

He told me about it like it had just happened.
Even though decades had passed.
Arthur Brown. Live.
The fire crown.
The theatre.
The roar.— layout: post title: “The Crown Was on Fire, and So Was He” date: 2025-06-08 description: “Arthur Brown didn’t just perform ‘Fire’ — he became it. And for my dad, it was the moment something wild and true lit up inside him.” thumbnail: /images/posts/arthur-brown-fire.jpg tags: [fatherhood, music, transformation, identity, aliveness, emotional-truth] emotions: [joy, longing] —

He told me about it like it had just happened.
Even though decades had passed.
Arthur Brown. Live.
The fire crown.
The theatre.
The roar.

But it wasn’t just the performance that stayed with him.
It was how it spoke to something in him.
Something loud.
Raw.
Alive.


“I am the god of hellfire…”

For most people, that’s just a wild lyric.
But for my dad, it was a call — a challenge to the smallness he’d felt growing up.
The emotional suppression.
The pressure to conform.
The rules, the expectations, the voices telling him to shrink himself.

And somewhere beneath all of that, maybe this was his answer to his own mother —
her world of scrimping and saving, of hoarding and withholding.
The belief that money equaled love, that safety lived in control.

But what use is saving, when you don’t know how to give?
What’s the value of comfort, if it costs you connection?

“Fire” wasn’t about burning it all down for the sake of chaos —
it was about waking up to the meaninglessness of things when love is absent.
It was a scream from the soul, not the ego.


That show didn’t just entertain him.
It freed him.
It made him feel understood in a way that few things had.
He wasn’t crazy.
He wasn’t alone.
He was just… built differently. And finally, that was okay.

I think we all have a moment like that, if we’re lucky.
Where the outside world finally reflects the fire we’ve been carrying for years.
For my dad, it was Arthur Brown.
It was “Fire.”


Theatrical? Sure.
Over-the-top? Absolutely.
But it was also truth in costume.
Truth set alight.
Truth screaming back at a world that wanted silence — or savings, or shame — instead of love.

I think that’s why my dad lit up when he talked about it.
Because for the first time, he was lit up too.


But it wasn’t just the performance that stayed with him.
It was how it spoke to something in him.
Something loud.
Raw.
Alive.


“I am the god of hellfire…”

For most people, that’s just a wild lyric.
But for my dad, it was a call — a challenge to the smallness he’d felt growing up.
The emotional suppression.
The pressure to conform.
The rules, the expectations, the voices telling him to shrink himself.

And somewhere beneath all of that, maybe this was his answer to his own mother —
her world of scrimping and saving, of hoarding and withholding.
The belief that money equaled love, that safety lived in control.

But what use is saving, when you don’t know how to give?
What’s the value of comfort, if it costs you connection?

“Fire” wasn’t about burning it all down for the sake of chaos —
it was about waking up to the meaninglessness of things when love is absent.
It was a scream from the soul, not the ego.


That show didn’t just entertain him.
It freed him.
It made him feel understood in a way that few things had.
He wasn’t crazy.
He wasn’t alone.
He was just… built differently. And finally, that was okay.

I think we all have a moment like that, if we’re lucky.
Where the outside world finally reflects the fire we’ve been carrying for years.
For my dad, it was Arthur Brown.
It was “Fire.”


Theatrical? Sure.
Over-the-top? Absolutely.
But it was also truth in costume.
Truth set alight.
Truth screaming back at a world that wanted silence — or savings, or shame — instead of love.

I think that’s why my dad lit up when he talked about it.
Because for the first time, he was lit up too.