Slayer leaves the stage

Tom Araya instructs the crowd before War Ensemble

Slayer was one of those bands that good Catholic kids rejected. In the heyday of fraudulent Satanist cults in the late 1980s, this was music to avoid. 

But a funny thing happened when a teenager flipping between Saturday Night Live and MTV's Headbangers Ball stumbled onto videos for War Ensemble and Seasons in the Abyss. Both songs punched me hard – War Ensemble was just plain brutal. But even when slowed down, Slayer songs shed none of their dark character. The singer’s voice was sharp and clear, unlike the garblers who fronted most death metal bands. The guitar interplay ran deep. The drums galloped. The band wrote songs about real-life horrors more than hellish ones. Listening to a cassette of Seasons in the Abyss, I had a hard time remembering why this band was supposed to scare me. 

Several decades of casual fandom passed. I owned Slayer’s key albums and a handful of later efforts (hard to argue with God Hates Us All). But onstage, Slayer always eluded me. I skipped their shows with amazing regularity. They were a hard sell for most friends, and my fandom was just casual enough to scoff at the ticket prices. 

This time was different. After this tour, Slayer planned to bow out, so I bought a floor ticket. Alone I roamed the concrete, steering clear of the mosh pit and sticking close to the soundboard, its railing the domain of people not interested in the shoving and crowd-surfing up front. I never had much of a metal community, definitely not in Nashville. It was comforting to see those who did. Slayer brought large groups of friends together for the show. I talked with random people when the music stopped, and the aggression of the music did not radiate from its fans. Even extreme music can build a community. There were a small share of gym addicts and fashion-show types (both inescapable in Nashville), but the rabid fans far outnumbered them. 

Slayer brought a small army of bands onto its farewell tour – Anthrax, Testament, Napalm Death and Lamb of God. The openers played truncated sets, and none hid their eagerness to join Slayer on its last voyage. Slayer asked – they signed up. Under the dome of Nashville’s Municipal Auditorium, the show captured a festival feel, with the bands racing toward the inevitable headliner. 

Not every band hit for me.  My interest in Napalm Death never developed, as few death metal bands really pulled me in. But there they were, part of the cavalcade of metal giants opening for Slayer. As I entered the arena, they pummeled their instruments for brief opening set. Most early arrivers saw nothing more than the road crew removing their banner from the stage. I knew nothing about Lamb of God, and felt fine waiting out their set in the arena concourse. My ears needed a break before Slayer.

But I had strong familiarity with the bill’s other openers. Testament followed Napalm Death. I had a few of their albums in the early 90s, but largely forgot the band after the exit of virtuoso guitarist Alex Skolnick, who left to ply his trade at jazz. After my interest waned, Skolnick returned to the band and plays with Testament to this day. Lead singer Chuck Billy has a deep, gravelly voice not unlike a certain Metallica frontman, but Testament has a more technical thrash sound.

Testament can attest to the toll decades on the road take on metal lifers. Billy’s growl has deepened with age, still fitting the music. He lurked around the stage with the right amount of menace for a metal vocalist. But the band was tight, rough yet still polished in places. Their 8-song set included drew half five songs from its late 80s/early 90s peak – Practice What You Preach, Over the Wall and three tracks from The New Order. Skolnick and founding guitarist Eric Peterson weave together effortlessly, boosting songs that otherwise could fall prey to metal platitudes.

Aside from the headliner, Anthrax interested me the most. At one point I owned six Anthrax records. I enjoyed the darker, less jokey Anthrax that emerged with John Bush as vocalist. But that Anthrax was fleeting. Joey Belladonna returned although in concert the band shied away from its sillier material. Belladonna has heavy metal pipes but his stage presence couldn’t compete with guitarist-songwriter Scott Ian, who admonished the seated fans and anyone loafing around the edge of the floor.

Anthrax during Caught in a Mosh

Few can compete with Scott Ian in the charisma department – he has always been one of heavy music’s affable ambassadors. Ian emerged playing the opening riff to Pantera’s Cowboys from Hell, and I couldn’t have been happier. He smiled as he rattled off the late Dimebag Darrell Abbott’s unmistakable riffs before moving into Caught in a Mosh. Pantera drummer Vinnie Paul Abbott died suddenly in June, and the band has added the tribute to their shows.

While Anthax’s set was heavy on covers, they sprinkled in tracks from their entire discography, especially the late 80’s albums Among the Living (Mosh), Spreading the Disease (Madhouse) and State of Euphoria (Be All, End All). Cover or not, their version of Joe Jackson’s Got the Time is electric. The band launched into a long version of Among the Living song Indians. After whipping the crowd to make some noise, Anthrax blistered through the end of Indians and a smiling Ian resumed Cowboys from Hell, playing the song from guitar solo to last note. It would be Anthrax’s last note – the band wasted few this night.

Then came Slayer. A thin blue curtain dropped to the strains of the instrumental Delusions of Saviour, then the blast of pyrotechnics ushered in Repentless and loud music’s least-compromising band. Down to two original members (Tom Araya and Kerry King) and a drummer who has a two-decade history with the band (Paul Bostaph), they were by no means diminished. I expected Slayer to call it a day after guitarist-chief songwriter Jeff Hanneman died in 2012. But they managed one more decent effort (Repentless) and kept on touring and recording with Gary Holt of Bay Area thrash band Exodus).

If their run ended on this tour, Slayer ended on a high note. They left it all onstage. A farewell tour signifies a victory lap, a final round that celebrate the best of a band. Slayer released Repentless in 2015, so it was not beholden to a new album.

This is how a band should close out its 35-year run, playing 19 songs from 11 albums and touching on the high points from almost every record. Nine of the 19 came from the golden trio of Reign in Blood (3), South of Heaven (2) and Seasons in the Abyss (4). There might have been a riot if they skipped Blood Red or Mandatory Suicide. I would have felt cheated if the houselights went up before Season in the Abyss, the track that proves Slayer can be just as dark and intricate when they turn down the tempo. The same goes for South of Heaven, which titled the first record to demonstrate a slower Slayer was no less dangerous.

Riot or not, the night had its casualties. From the mosh pit came one unconscious women hoisted by security staff. A shirtless man passed me, grimacing in intense pain as he clutched his left arm. I cringed at possible diagnosis of a distal humerus fracture. Security walked with him but didn’t rush him. For all the bodies flinging across the mosh pit, it was easy enough to find a placid spot on the floor to cheer, flash the devil horns and mind one’s own business.

Several times the stage lights dimmed except for a single spotlight on Araya, who urged audience participation on whatever song came next. For War Ensemble, he wanted them to shout “War” for as long as he could. The crowd had no trouble matching him. I was glad Araya knew how to whip up a crowd. His bandmates were mostly silent. King and Holt chugged away on opposing corners of the stage. Bostaph pounded the skins and kept the double-bass thumping.

Lesser albums had strong tracks sprinkled among the classics. Dittohead’s frantic punkish progression was the best thing about Divine Intervention, and the same could be said of other tracks in this set.

Slayer saved the core of Reign in Blood for the finale, wedging Haunting the Chapel’s Chemical Warfare between Raining Blood and the Angel of Death – they slotted Postmorten between Black Magic and When the Stillness Comes.

My ears would still ring loudly the day after the Slayer’s last notes in Nashville. But the notes of that brutal set would ring long after my ears healed.

Slayer during Seasons in the Abyss