Slayer 66 2/3: The Jeff & Dave Years. A Metal Band Biography. (4 page)

The album was not only influential, but its reach was far and enduring. A passage turned up on a Public Enemy album. The
de facto
title track inspired a cover version by Tori Amos, which in turn inspired a short story Neil Gaiman
^1-1
, one of the more popular authors of our day.

In short,
33 1/3: Slayer’s Reign in Blood
identifies where and how Slayer — the lords of the perpetually ghetto-ized genre heavy metal — fit into the grand story of rock and roll. How did the album come together, how did it change music, and what does it mean? Four-dozen people weighed in on the subject.

I interviewed the members of Slayer’s classic lineup between 2003 and 2010. Between 2004 and 2013, I talked to their peers, handlers, contemporaries, and successors. Since my
Reign
book appeared, piles of fresh material have accumulated — and I have read, watched, and listened to all of it I could find. So be ready for some fresh testimony from those who witnessed Slayer from near and far. You’ll hear from the people who rode the waves the seminal thrash bands set in motion — musicians like Gene Hoglan, Dan Lilker, Katon W. De Pena, and more. Of course, you’ll read more from the various members of Slayer. And, perhaps just as important, you’ll share the perspectives of the obscure-but-important people who helped make the group a force to be reckoned with.

Compared to the
Reign
book, this is more of a biography of the band. But to a lesser degree, this companion piece attempts to do what the previous book did: Where does Slayer fit into rock history? What does the sadly lacking leadership of Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren have to do with Slayer’s career and Kerry King’s public persona? Maybe something. And what does it take to keep an art-based business enterprise running in the black, decade after decade? A few comparable contrasts underscore just how remarkable Slayer’s career is. Bear with me; it all ties together.

The book
33 1/3: Slayer’s Reign in Blood
is more accessible to the casual reader. It features more details about the Def Jam days and the exciting time surrounding the
Reign
album. If you want to read about the cover art or witness the hilarious story about rappers pretending to be Slayer, give it a look. If you want to know what was going on in Lombardo’s mind around those fateful weeks before he brought a knife to practice and quit the band, this book is for you. It features some outside testimony from other artists about what makes Slayer a remarkable group — but not nearly as much as my previous piece.

If you’re looking for details about the band’s gear, this book won’t help you. (Check out the
Guitar World
and
Modern Drummer
archives if that’s what you want.) It does include cursory accounts of the band’s entire discography. Future Slaytanic historians would do well to assemble a “Slayer in the Studio” book.

I don’t cover the band’s singles and EPs; Joel McIver’s Slayer book documents them well. 

Slayer have everything they need to produce some truly worthwhile official documents. If they’re not sanitized like typical rock bios, sanctioned memoirs could provide the ultimate account of Slayer’s hazy history. Even after revelations from inside and outside the camp, Araya and Hanneman’s offstage lives remain mysterious, maybe moreso than the group’s inner workings.  It would be fascinating to see a frank and open discussion of the band’s finances, periodic hiatuses, and surprisingly limited touring history. But Slayer, for all their amazing gifts, are not prolific storytellers, especially about their personal lives. That wall can be frustrating, but rock and roll is better when it’s mysterious.

King has the ultimate treasure trove of Slayer artifacts; mere photos of his collection would make for the most kick-ass coffee-table book ever. Slayer’s management team employed ace photographer Andrew Stuart for the final decade of Hanneman’s life. And Kevin Estrada has taken official pictures for years. Both certainly have a book worth of striking images. (I tried to license some of Stuart’s breathtaking pictures from Hanneman’s final concert for this book, but the band is saving them for official use. I understand, and I can’t wait to see the images on a full-color page or posters, as large as possible.)

Regardless, this account of Slayer’s years with Hanneman and Lombardo should illuminate one of the music business’ great tales of perseverance.

When I wrote the previous book, Slayer’s rare distinction was its consistency: After some nasty splits, drummer Dave Lombardo had rejoined the band. His return reaffirmed Slayer’s existence as four unassuming California guys with a uniquely volatile chemistry in the studio, on stage, and off.

The rock world has other great legacy groups. Teenagers may attend Rolling Stones concerts. They do not, apropos of nothing, stop what they’re doing and shout “FUCKIN’ STONES!” the way Slayer heads holler “
FUCKIN’ SLAYER!
” Twenty-somethings listen to U2, a band that’s older than they are. But rabid young people do not carve RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS into their flesh, as the occasional Slayer fanatic does to salute his favorite band. To quote Slayer’s longtime benefactor/producer Rick Rubin, “People lose their mind at Slayer gigs, and rightly so.”
^1-2

Slayer and its fans manifest a phenomenon like no other.

“There are no fair-weather Slayer fans,” observes KNAC/That Metal Show DJ Will Howell. “You’re in or you’re out. I don’t know anybody who’s just into Slayer for a year.”

In the metal community, Slayer aren’t just icons. They’re role models.

“Slayer’s definitely an inspiration to all metal bands,” says Testament guitarist Eric Peterson. “For us, we look up to them: ‘How do
they
do it?’”

But Slayer now isn’t what Slayer was then. And it never will be again. Sadly, it can’t. Slayer isn’t
who
it used to be anymore.

Still, Slayer remains the all-time quintessential heavy metal band. And metal, more than ever, is significant. The genre has established itself as a permanent part of popular culture. And Slayer are metal’s pre-eminent prophets of rage.

Once maligned and marginalized, metal was assaulted by the United States government itself. It not only survived. Metal won.

Metal is
in there
. Maybe the music itself won’t ever penetrate the collective consciousness of this fractured and niched-out age. But heavy metal has taken root. True metal. Not the party-rock/hair metal/hipster-approved bastardizations of the genre. We’re talking about the true heavy metal aesthetic.

The Walking Dead
is the most popular TV show, especially with the coveted 18-49 demographic. It’s a weekly drama set after a zombie apocalypse. On average, over 12 million people watch its first broadcast run alone. That’s like a Slayer album selling as many copies as the Eagles’
Hotel California
.

One of TV’s more beloved prestige dramas is the epic, medieval-style fantasy
Game of Thrones
. It’s about people who are slaves to power — some of them leatherclad, steel-wielding warriors. Pure metal.
Star Trek: Into Darkness
? Pierced people in gnarly outfits slugging it out all over the universe. Rather metal, I’d say.

Take the CBS drama
Under the Dome
. In its first minutes, a cow is cut in half by an unseen, inexplicable force. Cattle mutilation. On TV.
Metal
.

Television hosts four prime-time vampire shows. The phenomenal
Twilight
series — a saga about warring vampire and werewolf clans, which is plenty popular with teenage girls — was created by a Mormon woman. These horror tropes existed long before metal. But in decades past, they stalked the underground far from cheerleaders’ bedrooms, relegated to scary movies, gothic literature, and metal artwork. Metal subject matter has penetrated the national consciousness like never before.

It’s true for the grownups. And it’s true for the kids. And it’s true for the geeks (please don’t read a negative connotation into the term “geeks”). As Kevin Smith and Ralph Garman put it: If the blockbuster Superman reboot
Man of Steel
were a piece of music, it would be a Metallica song
^1-3
. We live in an age where technology and imagination have combined to give us 40 straight minutes of big American Superpunching. That is
metal
.

Prime-slot TV features no fewer than
four
shows with plots centered on serial killers — not to mention overachiever criminals for whom killing is a business, not a hobby. Most Slayer albums don’t have that much content about mass-murderers. During season one of
Hannibal
, NBC censors objected to visible butt cracks, but not
bloody
butt cracks
^1-4
. Standards & practices aren’t what they used to be.

This creeping metal invasion is not just an aesthetic trend.

If you don’t watch TV and you don’t spend double-digital dollars to see superhero flicks on the big screen, maybe you follow the news. America has been at war over a decade. World War I and II combined didn’t last this long.

In 2012, military suicides outnumbered the number of troops killed in combat, with an average of one self-inflicted death every 17 hours, according to the Department of Defense
^1-5
. Slayer wrote a Grammy-winning song about the depressing phenomenon on the
Christ Illusion
album, which was released in 2006, years before the count reached that all-time high.

Large-scale carnage has become a reality of American life. In that regard, we’re just catching up to Europe and other less fortunate countries.

It’s Slayer’s world, and we’re living in it.

So step right up and read more about the kings of metal.

It’s a good time to check in.

Click here to Google search “early Slayer photos”

Chapter 3:

Postmortem

or

Hanneman Made the Difference

“If you pass away and you know that you sang your song, you gave your gift… that is the greatest accomplishment that I could ever hope for anybody.… The playing of ferocious music is the healthiest release of anger for the performer of it. It is alchemy. It is a metamorphosis. It is turning something potentially destructive and a source of misery into something beautiful…. It is uplifting, and it brings people together.”

 —  Flea, speaking about Cliff Burton and metal in general at Metallica’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum
induction speech
3-1

Jeff Hanneman died.

Shit.

This is unacceptable.

Slayer as we knew it is over. Even if the group is still playing, Slayer’s classic lineup is now part of rock and roll history, lost irrecoverably in the past.

Drummer Dave Lombardo is no longer in the band, either. He departed and rejoined before. Twice. Still, Slayer soldiered on. Slayer was still Slayer, more or less.

And the band may well be approximately what it used to be: a metal institution with a catalog that is as solid as it gets. Slayer Mk. II (or III or VII, depending how you count it) might even be relatively awesome on its own merits. But Slayer will never be
who
it used to be. And
who
it used to be, that is a big part of what made the classic lineup special.

“By all accounts,” singer-bassist Tom Araya told
Guitar World
reporter Jeff Kitts after Hanneman passed, “he
was
the band.”
^3-2

Hanneman was Slayer’s guitarist and co-founder. He died Thursday, May 2, 2013. Hanneman didn’t have the band’s most writing credits in recent years, but he surely had its best ones. The beginning and end of 1986’s landmark
Reign in Blood
album demonstrated a new potential for metal that has seldom, if ever, been matched in the many years since.

The
Reign in Blood
lineup held together for 23 years of a 31-year run, with a big break in the middle. Still, the wonder of that four-man unit is that it represented a continuity. The same four people did a difficult thing better and longer than anybody else.

Opinions are deeply divided on the non-Lombardo years. While fans accept that diminished lineup as legitimate if regrettable, a mere minority rank those albums among Slayer’s better efforts — regardless of whether they prefer
Divine Intervention
to
Diabolus in Musica
, or how they feel about
Undisputed Attitude
.

But now the Lombardo issue is muted. Whether the legendary drummer ever rejoins the band — be it on a ongoing basis or for a farewell tour — Hanneman cannot.

As Rubin, Slayer’s longtime producer, wrote in statement that was read at Hanneman’s public memorial service: “Although he might have been the quietest member of the band personally, Jeff was the heart and soul musically.”

Hanneman named the band. And in the early 80s, “Slayer” was one transgressive title.