52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #3

Slayer – Reign In Blood

(American Recordings, 1986)

Buy the album here

In honour of Slayer’s legendary speed during the recording of this album, I’m going to attempt to write this review in 28 minutes. That’s just enough time for you to have your skin sliced from your face by King and Hanneman’s duelling solos, your eardrums pierced by Araya’s screams, and your neck thrashed into submission by Lombardo’s incessant snare and bass pedal attack. Rick Rubin infamously cleaned up the band’s sound and played a huge part in shifting the mainstream in the direction of thrash metal, but Slayer still sound more extreme than that today. The album’s grizzled darkness played at hyperspeed still burrows under the skin nearly 22 years after its release, and the original production is heavy, crisp, and fresh. In “cleaning” up their sound, Rubin didn’t set out to make them more palatable, but rather give each perfectly timed note its due respect. There are few heavy metal albums in the mainstream that do more to prove the untouchable musicianship that exists in the genre. From death-obsessed beginning to blood-soaked end, Reign In Blood refuses to be denied its due respect with blistering solos, cord-ripping vocals, and a beats-per-minute count that set a standard for technical death metal for years to come.

What’s more is that Slayer didn’t just perform like heavy metal superhumans, they wrote perhaps the perfect extreme metal record. While the most memorable, covered, and referenced tracks are the opener “Angel of Death” and final song “Raining Blood”, these actually serve as bookends to the most incredible blast of anti-religion, death-dripping, gore-drenched musical violence that has ever been recorded.  From the chugging groove at the start of “Piece by Piece” to the insane catchiness of “Postmortem” and its vicious speed metal segue into the bloodstorm of “Raining Blood”, the album’s concise, thematically united sub-20-minute body is extreme metal purity: lyrics are spat at you, riffs are barely repeated, and there is not a single deviation from the ultimate purpose of aural destruction. There is no balance here.

“Necrophobic” is evil in audio form. It races by in little more than a minute and a half, and there is barely time to register everything that has happened. Araya’s faster-than-possible vocals and sickening screams are matched by King and Hanneman’s overlapping solos and abusive rhythm sounds, all while Lombardo and Araya hammer through an intense hardcore rhythm section barrage. It’s as stunning as thrash metal has ever been. “Altar of Sacrifice” doesn’t let up the evil sound but feels outright expansive next to the brutal brevity of “Necrophobic”. There is more space for dynamics with the move towards groove-laden moments which in turn paves the way for the insidious slow build of “Jesus Saves”. This momentary patience capitulates to a frantic verse riff and three solos which will melt your ears. Hanneman’s solo in particular feels like its tearing the skin from your flesh and flaying your unprotected body.

“Criminally Insane” is a creeper punctuated with big floor tom sounds from Lombardo, expressive solos, and astounding vocal delivery of the line, “I have yet only just begun/To take your fuckin’ lives”. It leads us to the most uncompromising portion of this mid-section. “Reborn” is an onslaught of ever-changing riffs, vicious drumming, and vocal delivery so fast and snarled it defies belief. To this day it makes me feel sick to listen to “Reborn”, but Slayer care not as they tear into the equally potent and vile “Epidemic”. There is 10 seconds of some sort of catchy, bouncy riff just after the 90-second mark which quickly descends into the chaos of Araya’s screams and garrotting wire solos, but for one brief moment on this album Slayer allow you a peek to the world above, before reminding you that there is no escape once you’ve gone to hell. The giant riffs and atmospherics of “Postmortem” follow and are matchless in their sinister yet addictive qualities, providing ample set-up for the crushing and iconic sounds of “Raining Blood”.

And while the harmonised guitars, thundering gallop of the drums, and pit-starting glory of both “Angel of Death” and “Raining Blood” are electrifying, what exists in between is in many ways the crowning achievement of Slayer’s career. It is rare for a collection of such unforgiving, focused, and frantic tracks to claim such widespread acclaim and acceptance, but by placing the body of this album between these towering monoliths of modern metal, Slayer were able to satisfy the hordes while simultaneously taking a surgeon’s knife to the burgeoning genre of thrash metal. What was left behind after they finished cutting was akin to Thomas Geminus’ engraved platesof a flayed man: concise, exact, brutal, and eternally alive in death. Slayer’s Reign In Blood is the perfect embodiment of thrash metal.

[Note: the 28 minute limit was exceeded, going some way to proving you can’t get anything done in the time it takes to listen to Reign In Blood.]     

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #10

Fantômas – The Director’s Cut

(A&M, 2001)

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The Director’s Cut is an act of genius.  Like many iconic films that bring us a new perspective on familiar material with the release of director’s cuts, such as Blade Runner and Apocalypse Now, Fantômas take recognisable film themes and score and nefariously twist and abuse them.  The result is a mesmerising concoction of batshit crazy tunes that briefly touches down in every genre imaginable, all the while managing to harness the essence of the original music it is distorting.  Every song is injected with joy and enthusiasm for the source material that cannot be faked, and even though those sources are disparate the album holds together in part due to the utter excitement each track builds.  Fantômas is the brainchild of Mike Patton (Faith No More), Buzz Osborne (Melvins), Dave Lombardo (Slayer), and Trevor Dunn (Mr. Bungle), and is named after a French supervillain created in the early twentieth century, and perhaps most recognised from the film Fantômas (1964).  The band pursues this not-quite-esoteric tone with a track listing that tows the line of being interesting and important while never completely obscure.  If you love the films from which they draw inspiration this is a fun way to experience having your ears drummed off the side of your head by Dave Lombardo, but if you don’t there is still texture, melody, inventiveness, and a sinister energy that will bring you back again and again.

Mike Patton always feels like the maestro behind his various side projects (with the exclusion of Nevermen perhaps), and if you’ve had the chance to see Fantômas live you will have seen him conducting the group from behind his desk of a million noises.  Whether or not they are paying any attention to him is another matter, but it’s a joy to behold and to imagine as the album cracks through this classic film music.  Things get underway with one of the most famous pieces of film music, The Godfather theme, TRANSFORMED INTO UTTER BEDLAM.  All seems well and normal until the band tear into an insane thrash reimagining of the music, as if the band asked themselves what The Godfather would feel like if the entire story happened in thirty seconds, and from that point you expect anything.  The fact that Patton decides to retain his “who needs lyrics when you have barks and grunts” vocal approach from the band’s first album is barely surprising, but it is incredibly effective.  Lombardo’s drumming is off the charts, and when combined with Osborne’s wrist-wrecking riffing, creates a dizzying desire to destroy your neck.  For the duration of that song, NOTHING ELSE EXISTS. 

The fact that they slow the whole thing back down again is only testament to the craziness – as if they thought they might get away with it.  Their adaptation of Henry Mancini’s work on the 60s thriller Experiment in Terror sounds like Melvins playing a fictional David Lynch stage with its drone and lounge jazz components, while “Cape Fear” mimics King’s X but fronted by angels struggling in the spiralling fires of hell (an unbelievable interpretation of one of the greatest and most accessible film music composers, Bernard Herrmann).  Their intent is to inspire a fear in the listener akin to that felt by contemporary viewers of most of these films.  Stories with dark hearts, suspense, and often inexplicable evil met by modern music made of the same.  In “Rosemary’s Baby” Mike Patton’s high-pitched lullaby vocal and distorted xylophone perfectly capture the creeping fear of that film, but the vicious explosions of guitar and drum violence don’t allow the audience to deal with it rationally, keeping them perpetually perched on the edge of their seats.  Alfred Hitchcock would be proud.

“Spider Baby” lightens the mood with its Halloween party atmosphere, mental samples, and background horns.  If anything, it’s an easier and dancier track than the original and shows Patton’s more playful side.  “Vendetta” (not the Danny Dyer one) isn’t as light-hearted an interpretation, it carries the full weight of King Buzzo’s guitar for one, but its inclusion of twinkling keys, vocoder effects, and reality-bending theremin sounds provide effervescent relief from crushing heaviness.  And it’s the perpetual guessing game of when these moments of frenetic insanity will burst forth that give the album so much life.  The peak of this art of destructive homage is found in “The Omen (Ave Satani)” and a frankly bizarre and brilliant reimagining of the music from the Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant romantic comedy, Charade.  Buzzo’s guitar scratches at the beginning of this song only give slight warning of the unexpected barrage of belligerent rhythm section and weird staccato vocal barks.  Patton does his best to smooth this out with his insatiably rich voice, but the hardcore attack has the final word and, much like The Omen, brings out the darkness that exists beneath the surface of even seemingly innocent characters.  “The Omen” is an almost indescribable thrash/hardcore outburst with the original Latin prayer lyrics sung in hyperbolic, monk-like fashion with a hardcore edge.  Lombardo’s drumming is sensational, and the speed of the whole thing has you bewildered and seeking respite as the track segues into the dark slough of “Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer”.  Fantômas, at this point, have me in the palm of their collective hand.         

And talking of being in the palm of someone’s hand, given David Lynch’s leaching, leaking, and blending of realities in Twin Peaks: The Return, it is a shame that Fantômas weren’t invited to play their great version of the music from Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me on the stage at The Roadhouse.  The mix of breakneck snare, Sci-Fi laser sound effects, overly earnest vocals, and portentous bass would have suited Lynch’s unsettling combination of pure evil, human kindness, and confused/confusing realities.  With all these realities colliding at once I may have avoided the fanboy embolism that this album induces on every listen.  Fantômas made one of my favourite ever albums.