Since its discovery in the North Pacific Ocean by the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in 1989, there has been a whale that has been wandering alone. Its name is 52 Blue. Some have even called it the 52-hertz whale or Alice. It has been alone for 35 years. The reason is that it vocalizes at 52 hertz (G#1), while other whales communicate within the 15–40 hertz range, meaning they cannot hear it. Its calls receive no response, and it cannot become part of a pod. It cannot even join migrations. Scientists, moreover, have never physically seen it. Its species and gender remain unknown… (Liu, 2024, pp. 1–5)
Does this story sound familiar?
It is heartbreaking.
Every story involving whales carries a kind of sorrow that seeps deep into the human soul. They resemble the overweight, bullied child at school—the one who is never accepted no matter what they do. They sit alone in the schoolyard, eating or drinking something by themselves, watching the other children play with their friends. They try to live quietly, keeping to themselves, bothering no one; yet somehow, bullying always finds its way back to them. It feels as though, if we could truly love these magnificent animals and treat them well, they might become our closest companions. But we never quite managed to love them properly.
I have loved watching ocean documentaries since childhood; it was as calming as sitting in front of an aquarium. When it came to whales, however, that calmness would transform into a mixture of fear and affection. I felt that if I were to hug them, their bulk would fill my arms with a soft, gentle presence—but seeing their immense size next to a human figure was also frightening. I thank Gojira for giving me another opportunity to love these animals.
My first encounter with whales was through a heavily abridged, thin, and richly illustrated edition of Moby-Dick. Later came the VCD sets distributed by Milliyet newspaper via coupons—dozens of films and animated features, all neatly boxed at home. I was in the second or third grade. I watched them over and over again. Each time, I felt the same sadness. Even this year, when I asked the AI to recreate the scene in which Captain Ahab hunts Moby Dick for my thesis presentation, the request was rejected for violating community guidelines. Thinking about it now: why would such an animated film even be made? As a child, I sat down and watched it earnestly.
“The first mate, observing that Ahab’s obsessive pursuit of a particular whale ‘will not bring you much profit in our Nantucket market,’ adds: ‘Vengeance on a dumb brute! … that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous.’” (Armstrong, 2008, p. 112)
Indeed. Like blasphemy.
Their only “crime” was being turned into fuel to light nineteenth-century American cities, lubricant for industrial machines, ingredients for perfumes, and materials for the clothes people wore on their backs. Whales were the first victims of industrialization and modernization. Perhaps today’s scientists who study them are trying, in some way, to repay our debt to these poor creatures.
“What made us notice and begin to care about these animals—the largest creatures ever to have lived on Earth—was the song of the humpback whale. Had we not been moved by its song, we would never have been motivated to try to save whales. Greenpeace would never have awakened the world to the brutality of whaling, and perhaps the entire environmental movement would never have grown this strong.”
(Rothenberg, 2008, pp. 3–4)
In the same text, Rothenberg adds that whales are artists—that we are not the only musicians on this planet (p. 7).
(Joe Duplantier raises his voice for animals and environmental disasters.)
Joe Duplantier’s sensitivity on this issue is not merely aesthetic. He also took part in protests against the Danish Ministry of Justice and government, which had arrested Captain Paul Watson—one of the founders of Greenpeace, who later left to establish the Sea Shepherd Society—for his actions against whaling in the Sea of Japan. Duplantier wrote an official letter on behalf of Gojira to the Danish Ministry of Justice, and a few months later, Danish authorities released Captain Paul Watson. You can imagine what might have happened had he been extradited to Japan. This is no empty rhetoric. This man means it.
(Joe Duplantier and Paul Watson)
Joe Duplantier’s brother, Mario Duplantier, in addition to being the band’s drummer, is also an artist. He shared that he raised €14,000 in donations through a paintings exhibition he held for Sea Shepherd Society at Brutal Assault.
During the interviews I conducted for my thesis on Gojira, the most frequently mentioned songs and album artwork belonged to From Mars to Sirius. One listener interpreted the album cover as depicting the front planet as Earth and the smaller planet behind it as the Moon, suggesting that the whale was leaving our world (Interviewee 7, personal communication, April 7, 2025). Another listener thought both were planets, interpreting it as Earth being exhausted and humanity moving on to another planet (Interviewee 8, personal communication, April 7, 2025). On Instagram, there was a page called “Ampute Gojira Listener” and a message group named “Balina Severler” (Whale Lovers) formed by its active followers.
Another listener stated:
“The song even uses whale sounds, which is another reference. That makes it great for me. When they played at Hellfest, for example, visuals from their album covers and other imagery were used in the background. These guys know they are making art, and they transmit that awareness to the audience. This isn’t just music. If you’re going to listen, you should pay attention to the music, the lyrics, and the visuals behind it. Nothing about it is empty.”
(Interviewee 4, personal communication, February 10, 2025)
There is much more to say, but let us not stray from our context. On October 31, the 20th anniversary of From Mars to Sirius, Gojira shared a video. At Silver Cord Studio, they performed and recorded three songs live—Ocean Planet, From the Sky, and Where Dragons Dwell. Mario shared this recording on Instagram with the following note:
“This clip is taken from our song WHERE DRAGONS DWELL, a beautiful metaphorical song about personal exploration. In the lyrics, Joe talks about dragons living in mountain caves that symbolize our personal demons, and about the quest not to turn our backs on them, but to face them—even with the idea that they might devour us. It feels very real and powerful to me. Between Joe and me, because some demons are born in the same places we share, this becomes an even more cathartic and emotional experience, and we drive them out together, loudly.” (Mario Duplantier, 2025)
In that same performance, Joe’s voice trembles as he shouts “I saw a monster,” his face flushed deep red, while Mario crashes into the toms behind him. It is a testament to how sincerely this story is told, and how they try to live that journey while performing it.
I also watched them play Global Warming, recorded in the same studio seven years earlier. The jack cables were in the same place, the studio unchanged—but Joe’s gaze and facial expression were completely different. Watching these people age before my eyes saddened me deeply. When you follow a band over time, you begin to notice changes not only in their sound but also in the repertoire they choose for live performances. They are human, after all. They age. They grow tired. Anyone who has ever tried to pick up a guitar, drumsticks, or a microphone and play Gojira’s repertoire will understand just how physically demanding these songs are. I cannot imagine how difficult it must become after a certain age and level of exhaustion. For instance, I would have loved nothing more than to be among those who witnessed The Link Alive recording in Bordeaux…
They still play with the same passion. I can see that continuity. But while listening to Gojira, I have aged too. I know this from myself. No matter how much you want to do something, sometimes your body stands in the way.
Two songs on this album—Backbone and Flying Whales—carry an additional meaning for Turkish metal music listeners. They were played in dedication after the announcement of Ozzy Osbourne’s death on July 22, 2025, at KüçükÇiftlik Park. Joe described the moment as follows:
“We were playing in Istanbul. During the third song of the concert, a fan raised their phone while we were playing Backbone. On the screen it said ‘RIP OZZY.’ I thought, ‘What is this? Is this a joke? Please don’t do this—I’m working here!’ Then I started wondering if it was real. At the first chance, I ran to the side of the stage, and my manager confirmed it was true. I told the crowd in a very straightforward way; I didn’t want to turn it into a show. The reaction was unbelievable: not a single sound from anyone. We played Flying Whales for Ozzy, everyone turned on their phone lights. I could see people crying.”
(Childers, 2025)
While Ahab attacks the “monster” outside, Joe and Mario attack the monster within. Every metalhead I spoke to expressed a sense of exclusion in one way or another. Şeyma also addresses this through labeling theory in her thesis. I know—it can feel lonely to be a metalhead, much like the 52-hertz whale, and while listening to these songs, you may feel as though you are battling your own personal demons.
Metal Oda On Whales: Star Trek IV – The Voyage Home
Derived from the Star Trek canon, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986), directed by Leonard Nimoy (Mr. Spock), is, in my view, the most environmental and emotionally resonant film in the entire Star Trek universe. While it appears on the surface to be a science fiction film centered on time travel and humor, at its core lies a powerful narrative of environmental ethics.
In the film, a mysterious alien probe emerges from deep space and threatens Earth by emitting extremely powerful energy waves that disrupt the planet’s magnetic field, triggering global catastrophes: oceans rage, severe climate anomalies occur, electrical and communication systems collapse, and the planet teeters on the brink of uninhabitability. Initially perceived as an “alien attack,” the phenomenon turns out to have an entirely different cause.
The probe’s signals are incomprehensible at first because it is attempting to communicate specifically in whale frequencies, using whale songs. However, by the 23rd century—when the disaster unfolds—whales on Earth have been driven to extinction by human greed and exploitation. The catastrophe, therefore, is an instance of cosmic karma: nature’s retaliation against humanity’s own destruction.
“Original Captain” Kirk (William Shatner) and his crew travel back in time to 1980s San Francisco to rescue two humpback whales from captivity. This is not merely a rescue mission; it is a journey of confronting humanity’s past mistakes. Whales are not presented as “objects,” but as ancient, wise beings carrying the planet’s memory and voice. The film challenges an anthropocentric worldview: humans and human rules are not the only ones that exist in the universe. Once brought to the future and released into the oceans, the whales respond to the unanswered call that had pushed Earth to the brink of disaster. When they sing, the probe receives the answer it was seeking and silently retreats back into the depths of space.
Star Trek IV deeply affected me because it frames the environmental crisis not as an accusatory narrative but as an ethical warning, prompting reflection—much like the message Gojira seeks to convey. The film emphasizes that technological progress, when not accompanied by moral consciousness and conscience, produces not advancement but destruction—much like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which is fundamentally a critique of Enlightenment rationality. The extinction of whales and nature’s silence create a vast and unsettling void, while the chaos caused by the probe becomes the cosmic echo of that silence. In this sense, the film whispers a simple truth: a civilization that does not listen to nature, cannot attune itself to nature, and fails to coexist with it, cannot survive—no matter how advanced its technologies may be.
Produced in 1986, at a time when environmental issues had not yet gained today’s prominence, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home occupies a uniquely special place—not only as one of the most “human” films in the Star Trek universe, but also as one of the rare ecological science fiction manifestos that remains profoundly relevant today. — Güzin Paksoylu
References:
Armstrong, P. (2008). What animals mean in the fiction of modernity. Routledge.
Childers, C. (2025, 21 Ağustos). Gojira frontman reveals surprising way he learned of Ozzy Osbourne’s death mid-performance. Loudwire. https://loudwire.com/gojira-joe-duplantier-learned-ozzy-osbourne-death-mid-performance/
Liu, Y. (2024). ” The 52 Hertz”: Chamber Music for the Loneliest Whale in the North Pacific Ocean (Doctoral dissertation, University of Miami).
Marioduplantier. (2025 31 Ekim). Our live session dedicated to FROM MARS TO SIRIUS [Instagram Reel]. Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DQetGeNDfkH/?igsh=Mm5uYXVmMGtwdm5h
Pristed, M. (2024, 15 Ağustos). Interview med Joe Duplantier: “Paul Watson er min helt”. Metal A Day. https://metaladay.dk/interviews/interview-med-joe-duplantier-paul- watson-er-min-helt/
Rothenberg, D. (2008). Thousand-mile song: Whale music in a sea of sound. Basic Books.
Yüksek Lisans Tezim “Çevresel iletişim, çevresel aktivizm ve müzik: Gojira (Band) izlerkitlesi örnek olayı”
https://tez.yok.gov.tr/UlusalTezMerkezi/TezGoster?key=Xau5rw3KuCgEuy-FuJQtsE_ODmewxc7a58HQYdgKTDWd3w4vc1apmhCZVfIn-1xA
Şeyma Sever Master’s Thesis “Sapkınlık ve suç bağlamında metal müziğin antagonist kodları”
https://tez.yok.gov.tr/UlusalTezMerkezi/TezGoster?key=1pwTzRXnomYf6jwqVORfUbdDilvW5uzyMCTzcQ_LdHTbJjEWy1YOIRqOB7eu7-8x
All rights reserved. Quotations without reference is forbidden.
