Slayer - Repentless (Released 9/11/2015)

Slayer hit us with Repentless today, the first album the band has released since Jeff Hanneman passed away.  The impossible task of stepping in for Hanneman falls upon Gary Holt of Exodus.  Holt is a quality guitarist and he works hard to fill a significant void, though his efforts are somewhat diminished by Kerry King taking on a larger role.  For the most part, King actually plays it straight, but there are enough "Hey, look at me!" solos around to drag the proceedings down at times.  Paul Bostaph fills in nicely for Dave Lombardo on drums; there can be no doubt that he fits this band just as well as Lombardo, though I still give Dave a slight edge in ability and a bigger edge in finesse.  Tom Araya does a fine job with the vocals and bass, but that should come as no surprise.  It's a good album, much better than much of what's out there right now.  How does it stack up alongside Slayer's best recordings?  Come on, man.  Still, an average Slayer album trumps a top-shelf disc from the vast majority of acts playing the heavy metal scene in 2015.  I contemplated giving this album a "C+" but it occurred to me that I wasn't being very fair.  This would get no less than a "B" if it was released by most bands in the same vein, and there are several big name entities out there that have never produced something as worthwhile as Repentless.  The opening track, an instrumental entitled "Delusions of Saviour," is perhaps my favorite cut, though it seems like it should exist as the intro for the title track.  Speaking of the title track, the song is cool but the "Repentless" video is totally gnarly.  Slayer + Danny Trejo + a grisly prison riot = 1 extremely metal music video.  Other standout tracks include "Piano Wire," the punk-esque thrashfest that is "You Against You," "Vices," and "Pride in Prejudice."  I don't think that any of these offerings stack up well against any of Slayer's best cuts, but none of the songs on Repentless fall flat.  In the end, I am enjoying this one, even if it will never be confused with one of this legendary metal band's greatest albums.  It's still Slayer, even if things look and sound a little different, and Slayer still raises hell better than anyone.

Final Grade: B-

Slayer's new line-up delivers a solid album that is head and shoulders above
most of what's out there right now, though it is surely a far cry from their best stuff.

Slayer!

I fell in love with Slayer in the 90s, so Seasons in the Abyss was my favorite album until God Hates Us All unleashed hell in 2001.  Anyway, I've always favored the newer stuff, and while I never disliked the older stuff, I didn't really spend an awful lot of time with it either.  Until recently.  I'm working on a new horror novel and I've been listening to a lot of Slayer while I work.  For whatever reason, it started with Hell Awaits, which I had never really listened to at all, leading to a greater appreciation of Reign in Blood.  Finally, it has brought me to South of Heaven, and I finally see what all the fuss is about.  I've always thought that South of Heaven was good, but I wasn't as keen on it as many of the band's fans are.  I'm still probably going to have to choose between Seasons in the Abyss and God Hates Us All when it's time to pick my favorite, but whereas I didn't fully grasp the South of Heaven camp's argument until recently, I totally get it it now. 

Parting shot: if you didn't already know this, when it comes to heavy metal there is Slayer and then there's everybody else.  That's just the way it is.  You don't have to like it, but it's indisputable.  Slayer is to metal what the Beatles were to classic rock.  True story.

Some Kind of Monster/Lars Sucks

I have no idea why, but I'm currently stuck on the song "Some Kind of Monster" c/o Metallica, a band I've always been lukewarm on despite my love for heavy metal.  Anyway, I really dig this track, particularly the lyrics and Hetfield's performance, both of which seem to represent some of his better work.  And then there's Lars.  I like this song and I'm listening to it a lot, but Lars (a mediocre talent if ever there was one) really sucks it up on this one.  At times, his work on "Some Kind of Monster" is simply awful.

Now, to be fair, I'm a diehard fan of Slayer, a band that has somehow been blessed with both Dave Lombardo and Paul Bostaph in their efforts to rock us all over the years.  That sets the bar pretty damn high, but it still doesn't totally account for my disdain for Lars and his meager effort on an otherwise noteworthy song.  Dude is dreadful, and if being in a rock band was like most jobs, I'm pretty sure he would have been fired during the recording session. 

Say "So Long" to Solos

Disclaimer:  The following story was birthed from an informal interview with an unknown source reputed to be an actual representative from an alleged band that wished to remain anonymous.  No real names, dates, or places are mentioned, and the author cannot be considered financially responsible for any insult or injury that may occur to any individuals, fictional or non-fictional, resembling those represented in this depiction of a band reported to be quite famous.  No one was harmed in the writing of this story and rest assured, reading it will not harm you. 

Proceed with caution.

Montana found himself in the final stages of what had surely been an awful performance.  His sweat stank of cheap liquor and his heart was threatening to burst.  The crowd was giving him the benefit of the doubt, but that had never mattered for him.  It was shit, absolute shit, and he knew it.

He looked to Bernie and saw disgust registering on the lanky guitarist’s typically stoic face.  Bernie was a good chap and you could always count on him for a truthful response.  

Mickey was another story altogether.  Montana was hung over, and he had smoked at least six joints and snorted half as many lines of coke in the four hours he had been awake prior to the rise of the curtain, but he was good, really good to be honest, feeling just damn great actually.  His drummer was wasted.  Montana would bet every dollar in his bank account that Mickey had no idea where they were playing tonight—not even so much as the state.  Nothing mattered to Mick the Hick but his next ride, and he was never coming down.

Montana turned back to face the hungry crowd, uncertain of how to proceed.  Should they stick to the script and continue to fuck it up, or try something else completely and take the risk of fucking that up far worse?  It was his call, . . . his and his alone.

“Excuse me,” he spoke into the microphone, trying to find his stride.  “I’m looking for some people who want to tear this fucking place down.  I'm serious.  I want this fucking place to burn.”

A ripple seemed to spread throughout the crowd, which was suddenly gaining energy and enthusiasm.  The head security guard gave Montana a stern glare, but the vocalist ignored it.  He needed some magic and he was going to take a stab at shooting the moon.  Singers always bluff when there’s money on the table.

“That's right, motherfuckers.  I mean you people understand that we only live once, right?  At least in this incarnation, that is if you believe in such things, but the point remains the same.”

Bernie was looking at him like he had flipped his lid.  Maybe he had. 

But maybe, just maybe, he was primed to explode one last time.

“Once.  That’s a hefty fucking word as far as I’m concerned.”

The people were getting into it.  They were moving.  They were getting loud.  Next they would get rowdy.

The security chief was still looking at Montana, but he seemed uncertain now.  Maybe he was thinking about splitting.

“So why don’t we join together, . . . right here, . . . right now, . . . tonight, and make this fucking moment burn.”

What followed was the finest moment in the band’s infamous history.  Only the bizarre notion of telepathy can account for the incident that forever defined them as rock icons and tragic heroes.  

Montana and Bernie exchanged a prolonged stare, their minds melding into one.  As the crowd writhed and chanted, their frenzied intensity blossoming into full-blown mayhem, the singer and the guitarist turned to regard the trashed drummer.  Mickey met their gaze and nodded his head, vowing to go the distance.  “Fuckin’ A,” he slurred, raising his sticks high overhead before screaming and simultaneously striking his cymbals.  

Magic was the word of the day as the band launched into one of their heaviest songs, an unheralded gem from their second album that wasn’t on the setlist.  Truth be told, prior to that glorious night of debauchery, the band hadn’t played “Sewer Bitch” in so much as a practice session within months of the show.  Maybe years.  It was an awful song, but awful times call for awful measures.

As the musicians gave way to the primal power that controlled them, the music brought out all of the passion and angst of those in attendance.  There was chaos, bouncing bodies churning in a sea of violent emotion.

There was rock, there was love, and there was glory.  Oh sweet glory.

And then some asshole accidentally burned the whole place down. 

"Stuck" Video for Drowning Delilah

What's up, peeps?
I've been pretty busy promoting Never Look Back Again and working on my next book, but I also found time to direct a music video.  The band is Drowning Delilah and they are totally badass.  They were cool enough to provide a song for Never Look Back Again and in return I directed the video for that song.  The track is "Stuck" and it's killer--they gave me the opportunity to pick any track from a previous release and this one really worked for me.  I'm equally pleased with how the video turned out.

I went for a high energy, high contrast approach, and I think I nailed it.  Most importantly, I think it captures the spirit of the band, and they're really pleased with it.  With that in mind, I wanted to share it with you guys, so here it is: "Stuck" from Drowning Delilah.