If the streets around Rogers Arena seemed livelier than usual Wednesday evening, it wasn't hard to identify the reason. The continual cries of "SLAAAAAYYYEEEERRR!" spewing from men in black t-shirts heralded the arrival of the heavy metal event of the Vancouver summer; The Hell on Earth Tour, co-headlined by Slayer and Rob Zombie.
Rob Zombie (rock star, horror movie director, Woolite endorser) is a man of many hats, including the top hat he wore as he strode onto the stage attached to one giant prosthetic skeletal arm. That arm was the first visual effect in an hour full of pyro flashes, costume changes, repeated stage invasions from giant robots, zombies and monsters, all taking place in front of projections of vintage horror movies and one of Zombie's personal offerings, The Devil's Rejects.
It was all gloriously entertaining. And as it appeared that no one was offended by the many bare breasts on the video screen above the stage, the crowd lapped it up.
Unlike his movies, there's nothing shocking about Rob Zombie's music. It's been 16 years since his original band, White Zombie, unveiled industrial metal standouts like ‘Super-Charger Heaven' and ‘More Human than Human', and they still sounded like highlights in a set that prioritised visual excitement over musical dexterity. That's not a criticism. Rob Zombie's artistry has never rested on his singing or song writing ability. Instead, he's moulded himself into a heavy metal pop star, matching the spectacular, effects-heavy show with the broad physical gestures necessary to work an arena audience.
The show climaxed in an orgy of overstatement; the faux-trailer for his Tarantino Grindhouse contribution, Werewolf Women of the SS, followed by Zombie emerging atop a podium shaped like a satanic ram's skeleton to sing ‘Dragula', with him and his band dressed in Maple leaf tunics, as flames flew and confetti filled the arena.
In comparison, Slayer presented a model of understatement. Two of the band's logos hung at the back of the stage, and a pair of enormous Marshall cabinet stacks framed Dave Lombardo's imposing drum kit. There would be no explosions. There was no flamboyance. Instead, guitarists Kerry King and Gary Holt steadily patrolled the stage head-banging continually. Dialogue with the crowd was minimal.
"I want to thank you very much for coming tonight," nodded Tom Araya, Slayer's remarkably polite singer and bassist, moments before launching into ‘War Ensemble', a brutally fast and heavy blast documenting humanity at its worst. Pretty much like every song Slayer played.
Even though every Slayer performance emphasises music over visuals, witnessing them tear through tracks from their epic 30-year history like ‘Dead Skin Mask', ‘South of Heaven', ‘Raining Blood' and ‘Angel of Death' was more than an audio experience. The music was ferocious and unrelenting. Just listening to songs of this velocity at this volume was physically exhausting. Even the shirtless maniacs in the moshpit were taking occasional breaks.
It goes without saying that the music of Slayer isn't for everyone. Radio doesn't play it. Everything supposedly cool and sexy about rock and roll is entirely absent from what they do. That's why they're so fascinating.
Becoming a Slayer fan isn't a choice. Ninety-nine percent of people would reject their music as being an appalling racket, an assault on the ears. But for that one percent, the sonic punishment that Slayer delivers is unique and irreplaceable.
The magic of a Slayer live show is seeing those fans experience what nothing else can give them. They don't even look like heavy metal kids. They're baristas, students, doctors and accountants by day. But for one night, they can feel the guitars, drums and spirit of Slayer enter their bodies. They punch the air, bang their heads and lose their minds.
It's far from pretty, but it's still a beautiful thing.
