Band plays anti-war anthems at Fillmore
Not too many bands can dedicate a song called “Mandatory Suicide” to our “brothers and sisters in Iraq” and get away with it.
But if anyone can, it’s the Bay-Area thrashers in Slayer. Before your jaw drops in appalled awe, Slayer’s lead vocalist and bassist, Tom Araya, isn’t wishing harm on any troops. In fact, he told Wednesday’s crowd at the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver that he hopes for their safe return. Plus, the keen listener will notice that many of Slayer’s tunes are anti-war anthems – including “Mandatory Suicide,” which describes the horrors any modern soldier faces on the battlefield.
Denver locals Cephalic Carnage and Boston-based Unearth opened the show, but the open space on the Fillmore’s spacious hardwood floor showed just exactly how many of the night’s fans were there for Slayer. Despite skipping any theatrics typical of many modern bands and a lineup consisting of men all over the age of 40, Slayer didn’t skip a beat.
Cephalic Carnage is a grindcore/math metal/what-the-hell-kind-of-whacked-out-music-is-that quintet who’s destroyed Denver’s music scene for years. Their lyrical ponderings of marijuana and all things psychedelic are interesting, and give everyone a small hint of what they might be smoking when they write music. The riffage is intense, the blastbeats faster than you can keep up with – all a music lover’s dream. But Cephalic Carnage’s technicality is also its worst enemy – there isn’t a song in the bunch you can really nod your head to, so it’s hard to get into a groove. Admittedly not the best opener for any show.
Unearth was sadly doomed by the Fillmore, which is simply too big for it’s own good. The fist-pumping brutality of Unearth is better-suited to smaller venues (much like Boulder’s Fox Theatre). If you stood near the front, hearing every instrument clearly was a near impossibility. The only way to get a crisp sound from the auditorium’s P.A. system was to stand rear-center. And that is simply too far from the circle pit to allow for any kind of fun. If you don’t get a boot to the face served up with your metal, then it simply ain’t metal.
That’s not to say that guitarists Ken Susi and Buz McGrath aren’t two shredders the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles wouldn’t stand a chance against. The two are impeccable guitar players, with unbelievable energy and charisma. They proved an excellent set-up for Slayer with their reputation as modern-day thrash metallers: play it fast, play it loud and drink plenty of beer along the way.
But Slayer is simply too bombastic to be defeated. Guitarists Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King have been playing for 25 years in Slayer alone, and you’d think they’d slow down a bit. You’d think they’d have to turn the volume knobs down from their permanent spot at “all listeners shall be rendered deaf after one hour.”
Think again.
Drummer Dave Lombardo, who thankfully reunited with Slayer after a hiatus of nearly 10 years in 2001, also showed why he’s an innovator behind the kit.
Araya and crew forego the typical band-audience banter, alcoholic shenanigans and overall hijinks many bands go for on stage. They simply put their heads down and play as loud and fast as they can.
Luckily, it works for Slayer.
And for all the headbangers wielding the devil horns – tuck your thumb in while raising only your pinkie and index fingers, and you can be just like the metalheads.
During the show, Slayer revisited most of the classics in their extensive catalogue.
Opening with the tepid “God Hates Us All,” a plodding anthem that calls to mind images of whiny high schoolers with black makeup and baggy bondage pants, was a bad call. That at first appeared to be a bad omen, as 2001’s “God Hates Us All” and 2006’s “Christ Illusion” can both be given a ranking of “they don’t make my neck hurt like ’80s Slayer does.” But Slayer delivered.
“War Ensemble,” a physical violence-inducing headbanger, thankfully appeared on the set list.
But the highlights, by far, were the nods to Slayer’s glory days in the ’80s San Francisco thrash metal scene: “Raining Blood,” “Postmortem,” and “Angel of Death,” all off of 1986’s “Reign in Blood.”
The galloping triplets. The pummeling double bass. The disturbing imagery.
It was so amazing, for a short time it felt like being transplanted to San Francisco in the 1980s. And then the house lights brightened as Araya bid his loyal followers farewell.
“Angel of Death” was the closing song – and sadly, its end killed the nostalgia. But thank the metal gods that it can’t kill Slayer.
