Jeff Hanneman: One Year Gone

Photo: Andrew Stuart/Google Images

Rest in Power [1964-2013]

Goodbye, Roseland

It's fair to say that I've spent a lot of time inside midtown's Roseland Ballroom. From big acts like AC/DC to the dozens of Slayer, Pantera and countless other shows I caught there - it's been a fun place to see gigs since my teens.

Last night, I went to pay my final respects at Lady Gaga's closing run of the place; the second-to-last night they'd ever hold concerts at Roseland. Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish it wasn't a harder act I saw there last, I appreciate Gaga's reverence for the place. She's a native New Yorker, so she understands the space was more than just a slab of real estate, it was a temple where tons of music fans like myself went to worship the thing holiest to them: music.

If you're not in NYC - or couldn't get tickets, here is a link to where the Roseland's last show will be broadcast tonight, starting at 9pm ET right HERE.

Posted below are some of the stubs I found from my history with the venue. If you look at the dates, you'll notice one of my many Slayer shows was less than 24 hours from a remarkable Hole show during the Live Through This period.

RIP Roseland, I'll always have my memories... and dozens of ticket stubs.

The rest of my iPhone pics of Gaga's show (including the moment she climbed a rose-encrusted ladder - in heels - up to VIP to serenade Tony Bennett) can be found here.

Savings In the Abyss*

I love Slayer, so it geniunely pains me to see them slowly turning into KISS.

Have a band member complaining about not getting paid fairly? Replace him! The tour must go on. Same goes when your founding member passes suddenly, I suppose. Just announce another milestone anniversary instead of anything reflective!

But the above LivingSocial listing is just hilarious. Apparently for $40, you can get a ticket, parking passes, pizza AND a soda pop. Hopefully it's not anything like the shitty death metal pizza people consume so readily (and drunkenly) in Austin.

Guess that's cheaper than selling your soul.


*headline stolen from the mind of Bram T.

R.I.P. Jeff Hanneman

An end of an era. Rest in power. Slayer forever.

Photo lifted from hornsuprocks.comhornsuprocks.com

My Top Five Most Memorable Concerts

Click for larger view.

At this point, it's fair to say I've been to a lot of concerts. After recently watching the Wetlands Preserved documentary and finding it difficult to recall a specific highlight from the blur of shows I attended at the eponymous club, I challenged myself to come up with the top five favorite concerts of my youth without reference or research, completely biased by the transcendent experiences I had. (In fairness, too, the hazy Wetlands memories could've have had something to the club's liberal smoking policy.)

Nine Inch Nails @ Webster Hall, 5/13/94
My initial impression of this show was seeing the generator they used to power it parked in the middle of E11th Street. How loud was this going to get? Once perched in the balcony, the intense experience played out more like movie scene about a concert than a real gig. Violently running through material from Pretty Hate Machine, Broken and the freshly released Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails was in its raw prime. Dancers writhed on poles, a barrage of strobe lights created trippy illusions, and the balcony shook so hard that I feared it would give out. On Friday the 13th. Trent Reznor was never quite so fuckable ever again.


[Bonus: "The Only Time"]

Jane's Addiction @ Madison Square Garden, 4/24/91
To this day, I don't think any band has ever made a room as big as MSG seem so warm and intimate. Still at the height of their Ritual de lo Habitual popularity, the forefathers of alternative rock recreated the theme of the album—including a huge mural depicting the cover—through a red-hued stage set resplendent with stringed lights and carpets. That freed up the band to dive head-first into a set comprised of "Stop!" "Jane Says" and "Ocean Size" while connecting with the audience in a wholly organic way. Singing along with the majority of the crowd for the entirety of "Three Days" was epic, as was their steel tub drum circle interlude (really!). Good practice for the inaugural Lollapalooza festival a few months later.



Testament & White Zombie @ The Ritz, 8/1/92
Still very much a teenager, this was the first show at which I rode the crowd—during "Alone in the Dark," no less. Surfing through the pit produced an unforgettable sensation of momentary weightlessness, almost as if I was being guided by the song's sinuous Egyptian guitar scales. Coddled during the pre-Limp Bizkit era, male concertgoers hadn't yet started taking it as an opportunity to molest women en masse. And White Zombie were still a local band.



The Ramones @ Roseland Ballroom, 11/10/92
I'd never experienced a concert by a band with such universal appeal before this. Though it was incredible to see the Ramones play a rapid fire greatest-hits set (and if I recall correctly, "Spider-Man"), the people watching was nearly as stunning. The local stalwarts had an innate ability to pull a wide cross-section of NYC's populace out of the woodwork to see them play. Alongside me were skinheads, punk rockers, metalheads in Manowar back patches, pals from junior high school, various freaks, a former camp counselor, supermodels, and 60+ year old women with fur coats over their shoulders. If you wanted to bump into anyone from your past, a Ramones show would have been your best bet. Nowadays, it's Motorhead.



Slayer @ Anytime, Any town, Anyplace
Slayer is up there with sex and pizza—even when things are a little bit off, they're still pretty good. But if I had to choose, I'd say their most momentous shows were on their Undisputed Attitude run. Slayer had a two-night stint at Irving Plaza in early August 1996 and because they were pimping their superb covers record, they padded several cuts into their sets, including Verbal Abuse's "I Hate You," T.S.O.L's "Abolish Government" and Minor Threat's "Guilty of Being White." Leaving the show, sweaty and bruised, my friend and devoted punk rocker Louhawk turned to me and reveled, "Dude, we just saw Slayer play Minor Threat." The bewildered and consummate look on his face said it all.



[Bonus: "Filler"]

PS: This meme is truth.

Slayer Post of the Week

It still blows my mind that a week ago today, I witnessed Slayer live at Yankee Stadium. It's been a few years since they toured through medium-sized venues, and I'm not a huge fan of arenas. Yankee Stadium, though? That was history in the making. And though everyone is surely sick of Big Four coverage, I just couldn't help posting this drum-cam view video. Look at all those metalheads!

BTW: Dave Lombardo is the only member of the band I choose to be Facebook friends with.

The Big Four... and Hating on Metallica

I probably talked shit about Metallica for a full week before the Big Four concert at Yankee Stadium, even though I'd long secured a good seat for the show. And damn it, I felt entitled to. No band—not even U2—have managed to pull such an incredible 180-degree about-face in their values and ethos.

Believe me, I fully affirm Metallica's capitalist right to go modern-day DIY and fly their own G5 plane around. But I don't support the notion that when they tour Europe, they camp out at the Four Seasons in Paris and fly back there every night from around the continent. Just imagine their carbon footprint. And how silly it is that a band that once abhorred music videos now sells "All Nightmare Long" light switch plates on their website?

It all started so innocently. In my early 'tween days, Metallica were my stars, my moon, my galaxy. I first became aware of them in an issue of Hit Parader, thinking these guys must've been really good to be that ugly yet manage to take editorial pages away from Motley Crue and Poison. I sought out their back catalog, and it was love from there on out—until I discovered punk rock as a high school junior. Then sometime between their suddenly suspicious appeal to local guidos via the Black Album and their attack on Napster, I opted out completely.

Did my initiation make me inherently hate their latter day work? Absolutely not. Metallica and I both aged and evolved, albeit in different directions. And that's within both of our rights. I've often thought about the fact that Jesus Lizard's Goat came out the same year as the Black Album, and how different my musical preferences could have been had I discovered them in 1991. That said, I salute Metallica's 30-year longevity and worldwide success.

And then I made my way to the Bronx. The near seven-hour concert began at 4:00pm, and the wraparound lines to get in foretold my company for the day, 54,000+ BMI-challenged metal fans wearing a nearly split amount of Metallica and Slayer T-shirts. The first of the Big Four, Anthrax, were already onstage and despite having the home team advantage, churned out a sonically flaccid performance to a quarter-packed stadium that included oldies like "Metal Thrashing Mad," "I Am The Law" and "Indians," with its irresistible "Waaaaar Dance" breakdown. I never thought I'd miss John Bush so much.

Next up were Megadeth. In the days prior to the show, rumors percolated that there was a chance they wouldn't play given leader Dave Mustaine's neck injury. Soon related stories emerged, from Exodus booking flights as replacements (I would've preferred Testament) to having ambulances on standby to escort the cantankerous ginger straight to the hospital for surgery immediately following their set. Mustaine ultimately pulled through and performed a nearly triumphant set, at times looking visibly in pain. Though some complained about their set list—not enough off of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying, too much newer material—I thoroughly enjoyed Megadeth. They were technical, precise and riveting when playing "Holy Wars," "Hangar 18," "Peace Sells" and "Symphony of Destruction." Even with his health on the line, Mustaine still managed to make a few political statements. To that end, playing "Foreclosure of a Dream" instead of "A Tout Le Monde" would have been more apt. Get well soon, Dave. Sorry for all the schadenfreude.

As dusk set in, Slayer finally emerged and then came the moment I'd been waiting for: to hear the "Slayer!" chant echoing throughout Yankee Stadium by the thick crowd and all the sweet subversion it brought. By far, Slayer were the loudest, the best sounding and the most relentless act of the day. Even the New York Times couldn't front on the fact that they blew Metallica off the stage. Bathed in red lights, their hour-long performance was a well-concocted greatest hit selection that plowed through "Chemical Warfare," "Dead Skin Mask," "Mandatory Suicide," "Disciple," "Silent Scream" and my beloved "War Ensemble." Not even the absence of guitarist Jeff Hanneman (Exodus' Gary Holt subbed and did a fantastic job) deterred from their laser focus. No bullshit, all pounding metal. I headbanged. To quote a first time witness: "I was waiting for Satan himself to show up."

It was nearly time for Metallica. Surveying the packed house before their set gave me a proud feeling, reminiscent of my very first concert—the Headbanger's Ball Tour '89 at Madison Square Garden's Felt Forum, featuring Helloween, Exodus and Anthrax—and how it awed me to be surrounded by so many like-minded people who understood all the ostracizing and prejudice that came along with having "different" musical tastes and wearing black T-shirts emblazed with skulls.

Despite the nostalgia, I wondered how many songs I'd manage to last through. Four? Less? The majesty of Metallica opening with "Creeping Death," followed by "For Whom the Bell Tolls" and "Ride the Lightning," could not be denied. But during "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" something happened. I found myself disconnected and unmoved, associating the song with its ominous presence in the Paradise Lost documentary, rather than the track on Master of Puppets that exposed the band's fervid side and completely drew me in. And quite frankly, after seeing Some Kind of Monster, it was difficult to ignore the connection between psycho-speak and James Hetfield's whole "Do you feel good? We want to make you feel better!" banter. That was the moment it crystallized that any emotional connection to the Metallica "tribe" I once had was gone forever.

Though I'm glad I caught the second-ever live performance of "Orion" on my way out (I hope y'all have realized that Robert Trujillo is by FAR the coolest dude in the band these days), it disappointed me to learn that the last two songs of Metallica's main set—the marquee, signature songs they saved for last—were "Nothing Else Matters" and "Enter Sandman." [And seriously, did "Blackened" need the accompanying laser show? The fucking song is called "BLACKENED."] Still, considering I stayed for 10 whole songs, I'd like to think I gave them a chance to recapture my attention and faith, but it's clear they belong to the masses now. So I dub thee unforgiven.

War Ensemble

I get why the kids don't dig Slayer these days. They're not kvlt, the speed records they set in the '80s have long been surpassed by bands with four-word names, and one can't deny that they're quickly turning into the AC/DC of thrash.

Yet it's hard for me to think of any other song besides "War Ensemble" that gets my heart racing in the same way, inducing goosebumps even after its 1,000th spin. So here's a little six-minute long reminder of why it is that people scream "Slaaaayyyeeeer!!!" at shows across the world—regardless of who is playing.

Five Not-So-Metal Holiday Gifts

Like it or not, we're surrounded by the holidays. Beyond the insipid music and under-tipping anxiety, there's also the bombardment of ads for all forms of shlocky gifts. We're not even safe from the metal bands we know and love. Here's proof.

Slayer Christmas Ornament

One can only imagine that any tr00 fan would smash this ornament in half and carve Slayer's name into their forearm. Almost as good as the Human Centipede Christmas ornament.

High on Fire Hot Sauce

 So this is what Matt Pike has been putting in that belly of his. Get your bottle right here.

Mastodon Remission Switchblade Comb

No doubt inspired by the beardos of Atlanta, this classy comb was surely meant as a stocking stuffer for their fine facial hair. Bonus: there's also a "Hail Santa" T-shirt. #srsly

Metallica Sweat Socks

Perfect for sweating to the oldies. And they'd look smashing with some coordinating ...And Justice For All lounge pants.

Merry. Effing. Christmas.

My 10 Favorite Singles of 2009 (...This Week)

I'll be the first to admit it, I'm milking the whole end-of-year list thing. But the Village Voice's Rob Harvilla asked me to vote in their annual Pazz & Jop poll, and with that came the opportunity to pare down my Top 10 favorite singles of the year—which then evolved into a more personal list. (Here's a hint, it has something to do with the above-pictured Yeah Yeah Yeahs.)

Quite frankly, even I was surprised by this compilation. So much pop candy, so few hip-hop bangers. I'm sorry to say that no club-ready rap track made me want to pop, drop, hit or shake anything that my mama gave me. (Where are you, Lil Jon?) And there was so little metal. If I'm citing artists I listened to before Taylor Swift was born, there's definitely a problem.

With that rant aside, here are my 10 favorite singles of 2009 (...this week), with a few videos below.

1. "Heads Will Roll" - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
2. "The Royal We" - Silversun Pickups*
3. "Run This Town" - Jay-Z featuring Rihanna
4. "Remember December" – Demi Lovato**
5. "Head Crusher" - Megadeth
6. "When Doves Cry" - Twilight Singers featuring Appolonia
7. "You Belong With Me" – Taylor Swift
8. "Gives You Hell" – All-American Rejects
9. "Freedom" - Clipse
10. "Americon" - Slayer

*No, I can't explain it either. This is worse than the time in 2005 when I couldn't stop listening to Midtown's "Help Me Sleep."

**Just close your eyes and think of it as a lost Femme Fatale cassingle.

CMJ 2009: The Final Dispatch

Though CMJ officially ended this past Saturday night, nothing could have been better* than marking its unofficial close than the metal- and rain-soaked festivities of Friday evening. First off, I attended a Slayer siesta hosted by Metal Insider and scored some fine Simon & Schuster swag courtesy of my favorite quipper, Bram T. And though I'd already been privy to hearing World Painted Blood, Slayer's forthcoming masterpiece, there was something really comforting about listening to it played loudly over a club's PA whilst sipping on free PBRs. Also previewed were "Playing With Dolls," a creepy cluster of vignettes inspired by WPB songs that'll be featured on the deluxe edition, and Gallows' short film, Grey Britain.

From there, the heavy hitters migrated into Chinatown to witness the showstopping Relapse Records/Brooklyn Vegan extravaganza. Headlined by Misery Index and featuring no less than seven of the label's finest, it was nonetheless difficult for the remaining acts to overshadow the opening salvo from PA's Gloominous Doom. "I can't even describe them, just go watch them," advised Relapse's Dave Ehlrich. And he was right.

Unable to pigeonhole Gloominous Doom into any genre, the best I can do is "bipolar-core." Punctuating their plentiful grinding riffs and bellowing growls were rhythms that evoked surf rock, ska, reggae and death metal. Quite unique, to be sure. What else, besides their erratic sound made them so memorable, you ask? Maybe it was their embrace and liberal usage of the Claw, ie: the Invisible Orange. Or perhaps it was the fact that vocalist Jeff Kruppenbach closed their set by playing a cowbell ON HIS PROSTHETIC LEG. I can't make this stuff up; bravo to you, Jefe.



That finale was hard to top, but the rest of the bands did their best. Salome, Howl and Black Anvil all put on intense performances for the packed-in crowd, but for many, it was Revocation's blistering death metal set that stood out the most. Though I'd already witnessed them perform at a Tones of Death event a few months prior, the positive reaction to their label debut, Existence is Futile—plus the audience's crackling energy—really pushed the Boston trio over the top to triumph. Check 'em out immediately.

With all due respect to Misery Index, the free-flowing booze had taken its toll and I found myself upstair in Fontana's main room—in an impromptu therapy session with Ben from Metal Sucks (Ben Sucks?) and Earache Anthony—for the majority of their set. I mean, c'mon, how could they have possibly topped the cowbell moment?

And though CMJ's lineup this year wasn't its finest, there's still something to be said galavanting around NYC under the influence of free tequila, opening your mind to new music, seeing bands from all across the world, and meeting lots of new people to make out with. See you next year, fuckers!

Shout-outs to all of the above mentioned, plus: Grim Kim, Relapse Bob, Dan Rodriguez, Justina V., Munsey, Fred BvBBG and the Cycle Sluts From Hell. If my brain were bleeding, you'd be my tourniquets.

More CMJ photos can be found on my Flickr stream, and you can always follow my real-time delusions on Twitter.


*OK, maybe being on the Eyehategod boat show would have been a better ending. Que sera sera.

"Get Thrashed" Back To A Simpler Time

The past has been coming back to haunt me as of late.

It started when my mom found a batch of old photos, awards and report cards that captured my youth—plus some pretty wack hairstyles—and made me think about a simpler time when I was one of only maybe three metal kids at Seth Low Junior High, located in the bucolic cultural mecca known as Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.

Soon after, some of my middle school classmates started finding me on Facebook and reminding me of just how notorious I had been for choosing to rock skin-tight acid-washed jeans instead of rolled-up parachute pants with two pairs of pastel socks back in 7th Grade. To this day, I feel vindicated whenever I see four different shades of black nail polish at the Chanel counter—even teachers gave me shit for making this my consistent choice at the time.

Sure, it sucked sometimes being stuck in that guido hell, but it almost didn't matter. I knew the truth: Metallica were the unequivocal kings of all music, heavy metal was the Alpha and Omega of my existence, and it was obvious that Death Angel were by far better than Dark Angel ever could be (sorry, Gene!).



Maybe it's appropriate, then, that I recently took in the documentary, Get Thrashed, which pretty much summed up my musical soundtrack from the ages of 13 to 17 perfectly. Not only did the film touch upon local haunt L'Amour, the Bay Area scene (Ron Quintana still rules!), crossover (Go Sick Of It All, D.R.I. and Leeway!), it also served up super-size helpings of the so-called Big Four and a segment devoted to Suicidal Tendencies—all before wrapping things up nicely by introducing thrash's forbearers: Pantera, Shadows Fall and In Flames.



Better still, since the documentarians are also based in New York City, I attended many of the shows they highlighted in the film—albeit in an underage Kamikaze haze. They even displayed a ticket stub from the Madison Square Garden date of The Clash of the Titans tour that I went to on June 28, 1991. I'd postponed my Sweet Sixteen until the following night, opting instead to see Anthrax, Slayer, Megadeth, plus openers Alice In Chains (and a brief appearance by Public Enemy).



The movie even helped me remember why I worshipped Metallica so much as a 'tween, instead of blurting, "I want my money back," when I saw a photo of my room from back then—covered floor to ceiling in their posters. What's even crazier is that a lot of the people interviewed in Get Thrashed are my Facebook and Myspace friends now, too.

Get Thrashed far and away surpasses Sam Dunn's Metal: A Headbanger's Journey, which struggled to ensure each sub-genre was included and over-explained, yet offered no conclusion to the metal phenomenon's resilient vitality. So, wholeheartedly, I recommend Netflixing this bitch instead.

And since I'm a nitpicking asshole, below are some wise-ass observations:
* I really enjoyed the extended band coverage in the international, region-based Bonus featurette, which focused on lesser-known acts like Testament, S.O.D., Death Angel, Overkill, Sacred Reich and Carnivore. But Forbidden? Heathen? Atrophy? Razor? Really?
* Gary Holt is the Norm MacDonald of metal.
* I think I heard Brian Fair call the band "Nuke-lee-er" Assault.
* Cliff Burton still fucking rules.
* Dear Lord Satan, please help me un-see those spandex enormity pix of Billy Milano's balls.
* Why wasn't any footage of Dave Ellefson used during the Megadeth segment?
* Municipal Waste must be interviewed for any metal-related documentary in current or pre-production. Period.

New Slayer!!

Just in time for Halloween, here's a streaming version of Slayer's "Psychopathy Red." Opinions? Holler.