Metal. Heavy metal. The words conjure instant images.

Long-haired scruffs with guitars wired to mammoth walls of amplifiers blasting major riffage at ear-rupturing decibels; muscled stick-wielders blasting beats behind mountainous drum sets; possessed singers abusing microphones with growls and high-pitched screams; a sea of fans banging heads hardcore, arms raised to the heavens with hands flashing devil horns in appreciation.

Taken collectively, it’s an awesome sight — one that’s threatening, forbidden, dangerous, tempting and exotic. But it’s also ripe with clichés and stereotypes, and proudly so.

Like many musical genres, metal depends on its imagery for part of its allure, both as an accessory to the music and as a communal rallying point. And it looks wicked, to boot.

Terence Hannum understands this well.

The Chicago-based artist and musician plays keys in the dark, metal drone act Locrian and has lectured on the intricacies of metal and satanic imagery in cinema at Facets Cinematheque. Hannum’s latest endeavor finds him plunging similar depths — with magnificent results.

Negative Litanies, an exhibition running at Western Exhibitions through February 14th, collects a project that consumed the artist for a full year.

Every month in 2010, Hannum created a metal-inspired zine and published it in a limited edition run. However, unlike typical homemade fanzines full of fawning interviews, band snapshots and other geeked-out nonsense, Hannum’s creations take a broader view, recontextualizing and reinterpreting metal’s most recognizable symbols.

The color black dominates as a bold, impenetrable universe in the books. Within this world, drawings and photos of amplifiers, massive drums, skulls, candles, ornate church interiors, chandeliers, smoke and fire creep out.

The darkness is complemented by chaotic, Brakhage-like abstracts, quotes from Claude Levi-Strauss and others, brightly colored pencils drawings by Chicagoan Elijah Burgher of nude men engaged in ritualistic slaughter, CDs of original compositions, ancient symbols and more.

The twelve zines of varying sizes and shapes are displayed chronologically by month and are open for perusal. The presentation allows Hannum’s artistic progression and choices to be charted and, most importantly, invites patrons to thumb through the books themselves. Doing so, one is struck by their sophisticated construction.

Though printed on Xerox copiers, the zines have a surprisingly sturdy brilliance, full of texture and nuance. Obi bands and wax seals on some books make the collection all the more impressive. A limited edition boxed set containing all twelve books is on display as well, presented ceremoniously in the middle of blood-red lit candles.

Negative Litanies also includes a handful of Hannum’s large original drawings. The best showcase the place where metal truly reigns — on the concert stage.

Spotlights, backlines and audiences cut through darkness, only to be blurred by thick smoke and haze. The density hides the magic, but it is absolutely felt. It’s a note-perfect approximation of the Church of Rock, where musicians and fans convene to pray to the gods of metal — loudly.