Slayer, Melvins, L7: concert review catch-up
My earplugs have seen a lot of action lately. As the unofficial Heavy Metal Correspondent for Local Spins, I've been hitting the beat hard with the type of hyperbole-ridden live reviews of bands of an extreme nature.
Most recently, I stoked the nostalgic coals of my Dad Thrash-slash-Bullshit Old Guy Metal brain by attending Slayer's final tour, which visited Van Andel Arena with Lamb of God, Anthrax, Testament and Napalm Death in tow. I might have cried a little at the thought of never seeing Slayer again. An excerpt:
Tuesday’s show gave fans one final opportunity to yell the timeless and integral metal war cry “SLAYER!” in the same building as the band. The faithful hordes bellowed their approval as they filed out, the arena halls echoing with the name of true metal gods. Now that Slayer is calling it quits, those sounds resemble howls of existential pain.
Notably, my Bullshit Old Guy Metal podcast colleague, Damian Master, and I cranked out a surprise free episode recapping and reviewing the show. Listen to it here. We've also recently released episodes about King Diamond, Sanctuary, the non-Ozzy Black Sabbath albums and the two Sabbats. Of course, you have to be one of our Patreon subscribers to hear some of them, so cough up a fiver for more argumentative metal-worshipping spoken balogna here.
I also previewed the Slayer tour by assembling a remorselessly Dad Thrashing playlist featuring two tracks from each of the five bands. Excerpt:
Slayer, "Spill the Blood": Dig deep on “South of Heaven,” the album, and you’ll find closer “Spill the Blood,” a coagulated gem of laconic, evil vocals, tyrannical drums and big ugly chords hanging open like a freshly butchered kill. And the pick scrapes! Jesus, the pick scrapes. They’re unholy.
Last week, I trekked to the Pyramid Scheme for the sold-out return of wacky sludgesters the Melvins, with Jon Spencer as an opening act. Excerpt:
To know the Melvins is to understand that their brand of musical shenanigans will be appreciated by the few weirdos who wondered what might happen if Black Sabbath and Captain Beefheart had a love child and only ever put lemon-scent dishwashing liquid in its baby bottle.
And finally, the show I'd been looking forward to for months: L7. The barely famous grunge band played it loud, ugly and dumb - in other words, perfect. Excerpt:
L7’s collective heart beats with the affably moronic qualities of Venom and the crisp punch of AC/DC, tuned down to the key of F-you.