Ever since Slayer were vomited from the darkest recesses of hell onto an unsuspecting public for keeping Beelzebub himself awake at night they've been peddling high decibel thrash metal of the most violent order. Coming up for their twentieth birthday there is no sign of a let up or compromise as new album 'God Hates Us All' proves.
Tonight, with a stage dressed like a church and the ubiquitous wall of Marshall amps they treat the 98 percent male congregation to a couple of hours of deafening anger-fuelled thrash metal discharge. They spew forth guttural, bile-ridden rants, soundtracked by filthy, eardrum damaging sonic turbo-effluent. NNNEEEEEAAAAARRRGGHHH! Guitar solo, GRUNT! Drum solo, ARRRGH! Next guitar solo, URRRGGGH! And so on.
The band handle their instruments as though theyre ringing the necks of Satan's hounds while the drummer pummels away furiously like he's hammering in the very nails that attached Jesus to the cross. Its a relentless, grinding, Neanderthal din.
Imagine being sandblasted with rock salt shortly after a rub down with something extremely abrasive and you're close. Add to that a sensation not dissimilar to having knitting needles rammed in each ear and then shaken violently for an hour and a half and you're spot on.
Themes of pain, violence, anger, suicide and religion are ever present and an air of general nastiness sits over the venue. Aside from a particularly riotous mosh pit with bodies cascading over the barriers and sharpened elbows flying, the occasional fight breaks out and there is the rather sinister presence of a few Nazi saluting skinheads. No matter which particular brand of hatred the band preach there should never be room for this kind.
Attracting this kind of audience is no doubt due in part to their complete lack of irony. If Marilyn Manson is the Devil's court jester - with tongue firmly in cheek - Slayer are his foot soldiers, muscular, workmanlike and humourless. When their number is up rest assured they'll be going way south of heaven. Bet they can't wait.
