SLAYER: PINBALL > WORLD PAINTED BLOOD?
Am I crazy or does World Painted Blood suck? Is Slayer moving forward or caving to the post-Slipknot shitty production trend? Am I a fossil who can’t deal with a classic band’s evolution? I love serial killers and hate religion, so what’s the deal? Why did critics splooge all over this record, and do fans agree?
During a recent plane trip, I played about four hours of Slayer pinball on my mobile tablet device — to the dismay of my westerly neighbor, who frowned from behind her religious-themed novel presumably at the game’s huge glowing pentagram — and it got me thinking about World Painted Blood. Like 2006’s mehtastic Christ Illusion, the 2009 record arrived amid a rush of acclaim — as though a spiteful metal media corps had a chance to bestow retroactive cheers upon a critically spurned but iconic band. Or maybe the album is awesome, and therefore deserving of warm reception even from fancy music writers at The Onion and All Music Guide. But I don’t think so.
But Slayer rules, so after hearing the pinball game’s loop of the title track riff interspersed with segments of “Beauty Through Order” and “Hate Worldwide” to the point of hypnosis, I took a lot of time to reconsider World Painted Blood and why I don’t give a rat’s ass about it. Back in spring 2009, I was poised to love it — Kerry King and Jeff Hanneman personally promised that I would — but, ugh, aside from “Human Strain” and “Public Display of Dismemberment,” the shit puts me to sleep.
The problems start with the flat, cold production; but that’s not a deal-breaker, plus I expected to grow accustomed to this big departure from the hot, crackling Rubin/A. Wallace/Hyde treatments that preceded it. But Blood fails elsewhere: Riffs often have a “that’ll do” quality, Dave Lombardo’s drumming is sapped of groove and impact, and Tom Araya has never sounded so indifferent — though King and Hanneman’s rote, Slayer Mad Libs-style lyrics provide scant excitement. Overall, Blood sounds like Metallica on Death Magnetic (each was helmed by Greg Fidelman and Rick Rubin): all chopped, wonky, and top-heavy. Oh yeah and I hate the guitar solos, which sound like the work of a few drunk guitarists in a garage parodying King’s and Hanneman’s chops. For the first time, there is not a single moment of magic on a Slayer record.
It’s enough to induce an identity panic, my being so at odds with critical perceptions of this record. Worse, I loved Diabolus In Musica, which no critic praised and no fan swears allegiance to, and I regularly groan at the jizzloads lobbed at Reign In Blood (though Sergeant D. has my back on that one). Am I a shitty Slayer fan?
-ADF
