Richmond's Lamb of God plays The National before launching world tour

It's weird when people you know are rock stars. I was killing time in a New Jersey bookstore this past weekend, and there was Randy Blythe, a guy I've known for nearly 20 years, staring back at me from the magazine rack. The first thing I thought was what was he doing in this Godforsaken mall in New Jersey?

And then I remembered. Randy is a rock star.

On the eve of the release of their seventh full-length album, "Resolution" (Epic), Randy's band, the twice Grammy-nominated Richmond metal band Lamb of God, is one of the biggest bands in the world. They sell millions of records, sell out shows all over the world and have become bona fide rock stars. Talking to them, though, you'd never know it.

"We are really, really lucky to be in a popular band," Randy told me over a cup of coffee the week before. "We never thought we'd be this successful."

What's funny is that he seems almost embarrassed by the group's mainstream success. "I'm just a dude that sings in a heavy metal band," he rasped. He was still hoarse from providing last-minute vocals for local metal group Cannabis Corpse at the Cory Smoot Experiment CD Release and Memorial Show at the Canal Club when the group's singer unexpectedly quit.

"I didn't get into music because I wanted to get famous," the 40-year-old said. "I got into music because I loved it."

Echoing his sentiments is the group's 39-year-old, gray-bearded bass player, John Campbell. "Our popularity happened by accident," he said when I talked to him on the phone earlier in the day. "We didn't do anything to appeal to the mainstream; the mainstream came to us."

That's not entirely true. The band changed its name from the more inflammatory Burn the Priest to the more user-friendly Lamb of God in 1999. One thing is for sure: The name change made things easier for Randy, who grew up the oldest son of a former Southern Baptist minister in Cape Fear, N.C., before moving to Hampton Roads. "It didn't hurt," he said, smiling. "My dad and I get along pretty well these days."

"Resolution" is an unforgiving assault built on relentless riffage, indefatigable beats and inexorable intent. If anything, it's more obstinate than any of Lamb of God's earlier assimilations of punk, metal and thrash.

Blythe is in fine form throughout. From the Black Sabbath drudge of the opening "Straight for the Sun" to the closing track, "King Me," featuring a full orchestra and mezzo-soprano opera singer Amanda Munton, Randy's extreme vocalizations command attention as they've never done before. The whole band seems reinvigorated with his renewed focus, which makes "Resolution" the pinnacle of modern metal music-making.

Starting with Sunday's sold-out show at The National, the band begins a two-year tour that will see the group play all over the world. Blythe and Campbell rattle off itineraries like soldiers prepared for battle. "For one 40-day stretch, I'll be flying for 30 of them," John told me with a mixture of dread and excitement.

With the exception of Randy, all of the band's members are parents, so tours are scheduled with family in mind. "As I much as I like to play live, I don't want to be a stranger to my wife and kids," Campbell, the father of two, said.

As someone who has known the band since they started playing in 1994, what makes Lamb of God's continued success so inspirational is that they are the living embodiment of the American dream. I know that all of them skirted poverty for years working menial jobs so they could play the music they wanted to play. Their success was built on a blue-collar work ethic that doesn't take anything for granted. Like the music they make, Lamb of God is a very loud reminder of the benefits of persistence.

It's a timeless American gospel that we all can believe in.