Vomit is funny.
Okily dokily... and here it is, Umlaut's Final Gig Review of 2004:
Slayer
The Warfield, San Francisco
December 14, 2004
Nothing says "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" quite like a Slayer show during Holiday time.
It's been 20 years since I last saw Slayer twice in one year. There are alot of things I find wrong with Slayer shows in the 21st Century: The White Power element in their audience, the low brow drunks, the low brow violence, etc. etc.. However, I think it's important to go to concerts that still have that musky, smoky atmosphere of danger. Not a sterile arena show where "danger" means there could possibly be gum stuck under the chair of your $500 Gold Circle seat. I mean "danger" akin to going to a show at a dive club in the bad part of town. I mean "danger" like being at a show where you could be randomly punched by a drunk skinhead. Lock 'N Loll shouldn't be safe. Keepin' it real.
While there are a good percentage of Aryan Brothers in a Slayer crowd, how can you not appreciate the irony that they're following a band whose frontman / bassist isn't White?! I've said this many times over the years, but dudes, his name is Tom ARAYA and NOT Tom ARYAN. Some skinhead kid leaped on top of the crowd and as he was about to fall into the waiting arms of security in the photo pit he threw a well-rehearsed "Zieg Heil" salute towards the band. Kid! What did I just say?! ARAYA, NOT ARYAN... You knucklehead! Now go fuck off and die.
If anyone hasn't been to a METAL show I would say all you have to do is experience Slayer performing 'Angel Of Death' and you will witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station.
BEST QUOTE -
The Wag Man: "I'm probably the only one here wearing an Animal Rights shirt."
Me: "Is there a picture of a dead animal on it?"
The Wag Man: "Yes."
Me: "No one here will read the words.. They'll just look at the picture and think it's a band."
Favorite song of the evening = 'South Of Heaven'. Number of Pantera shirts seen = I lost count after 8. On the way back to the car some pimply-faced teenaged skinheads called us fags. The much ballyhooed "raining blood" effect was completely underwhelming... at least from where we sat in the balcony. I was expecting a deluge of blood.. but it only looked like a sprinkle to me.
Sitting up in the balcony, another thing that humored me were the people down front who made an effort to turn around towards the balcony section and flip it off since some weren't standing up out of their seats. I felt their anger at my comfort and it made me stronger. Old man take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you...
However, while the jarheads down front were subconsciously acting out their sweaty homoerotic fantasies in The Pit, I didn't come close to breaking a sweat the entire night.
"On and on South of Heaven..."
