Slayer's Reign in Blood (33 1/3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Rick Rubin’s once-photographic memory. The band didn’t slow down or take a long break until 1992; by then, they’d been going constantly for a decade. When they talk about their records, it’slike Randy Moss explaining how he shook coverage, suddenly accelerated, and extended for an amazing catch: He didn’t plan it out. He just made it. If you see
Reign
as a concept album, or you think a King-Hanneman solo symbolically represents the howl of a soul trapped in the abyss for all eternity, you’re thinking about it on a level the band never did.
    Like their music, Slayer aren’t much different since their rise to renown. They’re still focused and confident. Following their tastes and instincts has taken them this far.
    Over the years, Slayer has stayed competitive by inviting A-squad groups on tour. Mastodon’s Bill Kelliher has played 150 shows with the band. Kelliher notes, “Jeff Hanneman told me once, ‘We formed this band right out of high school, and it’s like we never had to grow up.’ And they didn’t: They still wear jeans and T-shirts, and they’re still like
that hellion guy
.”
    King concurs. “I’m still seventeen,” he told the Cincinnati
City Beat
’s Alan Sculley. “That’s probably why our music kicks so much ass, because we’re still kids.” 6
    Now and then, Slayer are hellion guys who can
play
.
    “Slayer was like well-trained athletes who had a shitload of training and could go out and kick your ass all the time,” says former Overkill drummer Rat Skates. “They knew what they could do, and they did it, never going like, ‘Heh. Look what we did.’ They’re four Michael Jordans. Four Michael Jordans on a team are always going to win the championship.”
    Add producer Rick Rubin and engineer Andy Wallace to the team, and that makes a lucky six.

Slayer Guitarist Jeff Hanneman
    The
de facto
title track of
Reign in Blood
began in one of JeffHanneman’s nightmares. The guitarist is a ball-buster, a boozer, and a Grammy-winner. He’s the principle creative force behind the signature moments from Slayer’s signature album.
    Like Snoop Dogg and Sublime, Hanneman hails from Long Beach. The popular version of Slayer history says he’s from Huntington Beach, though he isn’t. He was Slayer’s first punk enthusiast, so it’s natural to link him to the home of Black Flag and the Circle Jerks.
    “At the time, it was pretty middle-class, white, whatever, nothing exciting,” says Hanneman, reflecting on the LBC. “I was the last of five kids, so my life was pretty…. My parents didn’t even bother with me. As long as I wasn’t doing anything wrong, ‘Ah, whatever, he’s fine.’ I think [Slayer] were all basically middle class children.”
    Hanneman had an unusual tour guide to the metal. Real metal wasn’t on the radio often, and you had to learn about it from someone or somewhere. If you wanted more, you had to do some digging—and that arcane knowledge often came from the older local headbangers at school, work, or the record store. Hanneman didn’t discover it through the hesher network.
    “My older sister Mary got me into Black Sabbath,” says Hanneman. “She was the 60s hippie-type girl, partying, into metal. And I think I was eight, nine years old, hanging out at her house. She was playing Black Sabbath. ‘Who the hell is this? This is good.’ ‘You
like
this? I’ve got some more crazy stuff …’”
    Hanneman became his peer group’s metal evangelist, telling everyone the good news about Tony Iommi, whether they wanted to hear it or not.
    “I rub off on people,” says Hanneman. “Like, ‘Listen to it. No,
listen to it
.’ I’m very forceful. If I’m into something, I makeeverybody into it. Ask Kerry about that.”
    King, a fan of classic rock’s fretwork and soaring vocals, hated punk until Hanneman twisted his ear with D.R.I.’s
Dealing with It
in 1985. The two met when King was auditioning for a sub-Sabbath rock group called Ledger. On the way