Pure Rock Patroller
Thursday, February 7, 2002 @ 4:03 PM
- advertisement -
First off, I'd like thank KNAC.COM for sending me to Slayer last weekend. You guys fuckin rock! Here's my review of the show, enjoy.
I arrived at the venue to find the local metal crowd drawn out in a long line across the parking lot, like a black snake with leather and denim scales trying to burrow under ground out of the cold. Freshly cashed cans of Busch and Nat-Lite littered the ground, and the smell of cheap tobacco hung in the air, along with random cries of “FUCKING SLAYER!” Nice, these were obviously my kind of people. As a refreshing bit of comic relief, the local “pure rock” station had their remote van there so that we Slayer fans could get our daily fix of Greenday and Nickleback; marvelous I say, friggin marvelous.
Once inside, I immediately procured a $4 beer – the first of many – and set about the establishment to get a better feel for the mob I was about to see Slayer with. All of the requisite populations had sent their representatives. Your run-of-the-mill metal head was there in good numbers, along with the ever popular metal chicks - the under age girls in the audience, while doing their best to look even more alluring (in a delightfully trashy manner, which I both respect and applaud) than their non-jailbait counterparts, were kind enough to identify themselves by wearing their Papa Roach shirts. While not as numerous as I had expected, the mullets among us were fine specimens indeed, choice grade AA beaver-paddles, with a few rat-tails thrown in for color. Anyway, on the average it was definitely a Slayer crowd.
Both opening acts, Diecast and Hatebreed, gave solid performances. Hatebreed especially tore shit up – the pit during their set included hardcore kids with a strangely preppy look to them throwing spin kicks at the air, and a fair amount of blood letting. But as good as they were, nothing compares with what was to follow.
To put it simply, Slayer kicked everybody’s ass. To put it like Dennis Miller (that is, to put it not so simply), Slayer was a mechanized panzer assault that tore across the frozen plains of Iowa with a brutal ferocity the likes of which would have made even Rommel’s jaw fucking drop. The set started off on a punishing note, with the opener “Disciple.” After which, Tom Araya paused to inform us that the song was dedicated to Exodus front man Paul Baloff - “a true disciple of metal” - who had died earlier that day. What followed was a furiously emotional set, even though it was the standard song lineup for a Slayer show. Tom, Jeff, Kerry, and Dave Lombardo (yes!) put everything they possibly had into a set that, even for them, was hellishly pissed. It easily ranks as the best live performance I’ve ever seen from Slayer, and I’ve seen quite a few. It’s hard to choose highlights from a show of this caliber, but “Die by the Sword,” “Dead Skin Mask,” “Chemical Warfare,” “Mandatory Suicide,” and obviously the “South of Heaven” – “Angle of Death” encore rang in as favorites among those of us up in the pits. By the end of the show, everyone in attendance had been left bloodied, deafened and drained; it was fucking beautiful - SLAYER ÜBER ALLES!!!