As the two heaviest and most uncompromising groups in the integrity-starved
world of new metal, Slipknot and System of a Down have become inextricably
linked to each other. After watching their respective major-label debuts go
nowhere for the better part of a year, they hit the road together on OzzFest
1999 -- the ultimate boot camp for struggling metal bands. Their apocalyptic
live performances struck a chord with legions of angry young concertgoers, and
before long both groups were all over the airwaves: Slipknot with the
irrepressible death-pop hymn "Wait and Bleed," System with the gleefully
psychotic rant "Sugar." Suddenly, listening to rock radio was scary again.
The two bands have maintained their high visibility ever since, and now they're
back with a vengeance. Slipknot's ferocious new Iowa (Roadrunner) hit
stores last week and is poised to become the heaviest record to debut at the
top of the charts since Pantera's Far Beyond Driven (Atlantic) in '94.
Not to be outdone by their masked brethren, System will likewise storm the
charts when their exotic second album, Toxicity (American), drops this
Tuesday. And in mid September, the two groups will head out together on what
they're mischievously calling the Pledge of Allegiance Tour. (East Coast dates
were unconfirmed at press time.)
Parallel career trajectories aside, it doesn't take more than a quick listen to
the title track of each disc to realize that Slipknot and System are going
after two different kinds of aggression -- and representing two different sides
of the American experience. Slipknot have always considered themselves the
musical manifestation of all the shit that goes down in their native Midwest,
and the 15-minute "Iowa" is their most disturbing portrait of rural insanity
yet. The last track on the album, it consists of little more than a static bass
line accompanied by muffled sounds of human torture and frequent interjections
from frontman Corey Taylor. "I will kill you to love you," he sings over the
band's final roar, as he lays the object of his homicidal affection to rest.
It's Pantera's "This Love" crossed with Eminem, and a perfect example of
Slipknot's determination to make metal evil again.
The cover of the new System disc -- a photo of the Hollywood sign with the name
of the band spelled out where the name of the city should be -- makes it clear
that these guys are into examining the more urbane kind of darkness that's
endemic to their native LA. Using the word toxicity to mean "toxic city" may be
only slightly more clever than Red Hot Chili Peppers' naming an album
Californication (Warner Bros.), but System are such an original band in
most other respects that they can get away with a crass move like this.
"Toxicity" floats between the group's two favorite modes: somber Jane's
Addiction/Chili Peppers art rock and seething thrash à la vintage
Anthrax. Frontman Serj Tankian cries out for sacred silence and sleep in his
pseudo-operatic wail, only to concede in the face of the disorder that
surrounds him. People may commit uglier crimes in Iowa than they do in LA, but
at least in Iowa you can get some peace and quiet when you want it.
Geographically and culturally isolated cities like Slipknot's Des Moines have
long given rise to bizarre hybrids of rock and roll -- and especially heavy
metal, which since its inception over 30 years ago has rarely waned in
popularity in rural America. But Slipknot take outlandish backwoods
reconceptualization to an entirely new level. Their music explores the
cavernous middle ground between traditional grindcore/death metal and
hip-hop-influenced Korn psychodrama. There are nine members, including two
percussionists, a DJ, and a sampler. In concert, they wear matching coveralls
and individualized masks; they've just had the latter gruesomely redesigned in
anticipation of the new album.
System of a Down
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Needless to say, they piss off purists. And after the masks, what probably
irritates purists the most about Slipknot is the band's unabashed fondness for
radio-friendly choruses and actual singing. Despite its overall sonic
depravity, "Wait and Bleed" was one of the sharpest hooks on metal radio last
year. The lead single from Iowa, "Left Behind," goes one step further:
it's an old-fashioned, driving hard-rock song, with minimal screaming and an
even better chorus than the one on "Wait and Bleed." Then again, it's also got
a dark, asymmetrical opening guitar riff that you'd never hear in a Korn song,
plus prog-death lyrics about calcification and thalidomide robot faces. Even
Bad Religion have never gotten words that big on the radio.
Just as Slipknot's masks help make death metal safe for mass consumption, the
band's soft side gives their anger a sense of authenticity that's often lacking
in the rap-rockers and underground metalheads they draw inspiration from.
Singer Corey Taylor gets particularly vulnerable on the spurned lover's lament
"Everything Ends," muttering "Everything I see reminds me of her/God, I wish I
didn't care anymore" -- not that you'd want to call him emo to his face or
anything. But Slipknot have feelings: they're famously effusive in thanking
their fans, and quick to declare love for their home state, even as they
outline its moral decay in song.
Still, the band put their grind foot forward on Iowa with "People=Shit" and
"Disasterpiece," both of which could easily hold their own in the
virtuosity-crazed metal underground thanks to superhuman drummer Joey Jordison
(himself no doubt a veteran of countless lesser Midwest speed-metal outfits).
Their knack for great one-liners remains impressive: virtually every line in
"Disasterpiece" is worthy of being carved into a wooden desktop, starting with
"I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound." "The Heretic Anthem" is their
middle finger to the nay-sayers à la 'N Sync's "Pop," complete with its
own abbreviated Slayer-style drum solo. "If you're 555, I'm 666/What's it like
to be a heretic?" growls Taylor -- and if that somewhat hackneyed display of
mettle doesn't convince you Slipknot are for real, the frightening barrage of
beats behind it will.
System of a Down have had less trouble establishing credibility. Slipknot work
with former Korn/Limp Bizkit production guru Ross Robinson, System with revered
hip-hop/heavy-metal/folk-rock iconoclast Rick Rubin. Slipknot sing anthems of
schoolboy rebellion; System give their rage a political backdrop. System do
have a new-metal-approved penchant for weird beards and ghoulish eye make-up,
but they stop short of performing in costume. And the novelty of their shared
Armenian heritage has been stressed by the media, not the band.
Toxicity is not only their LA album, it's also the one where they
confidently assume their position as the new Rage Against the Machine. I don't
mean sonically, though they do share a certain primal Zep force with their
fellow Angelenos. The similarity lies more in their eagerness to make
politically motivated music for the apathetic teenage mall-rock contingent,
with a marked emphasis on entertainment -- something for which the dearly
departed Rage caught no small amount of grief in their heyday. (The
old-fashioned lefties in System don't claim to be full-blown socialists like
Rage, and so far that has helped them deflect similar charges of hypocrisy.)
Indeed, one of the most mosh-worthy tunes on Toxicity is "Deer Dance," a
savage rant against police brutality that makes reference to the 2000
Democratic National Convention in LA. Where, of course, a free outdoor Rage
performance was followed by a violent confrontation between fans and the
fuzz.
Most of the disc's highlights are of a similarly topical nature. The opening
"Prison Song" starts with a whisper, ends with a bang, and protests angrily
against imprisonment for minor drug offenders in between. Drummer John Dolmayan
whips things into a hardcore frenzy on "X," a passionately open-ended treatise
on population control. As they did on "Sugar," the band shift violently between
neck-snapping thrash and quiet, free-associative breakdowns in almost every
song.
When frontman Serj Tankian isn't growling, he can be one of the zaniest singers
in rock, so System aren't always so straight-faced. Tankian encourages kids to
skip school on "Shimmy," and he confesses that he himself would rather
shimmy-shimmy-shimmy through the break of dawn than get a house and a wife. On
"Bounce," he shows a girl his pogo stick and later invites all her friends over
for an industrial-strength new-metal dance party. He draws the line at
groupies, though -- they get a polite but stern rebuke on the darkly humorous
"Psycho."
Tankian's lyrics also have a spiritual side, which tends to coincide with the
group's more melodic work. Near the end of the disc's first single, "Chop
Suey!", he commends his spirit into the hands of the Father and echoes the last
words of Christ over a schmaltzy piano interlude. It's the band's most
ambitious pop move to date, albeit one that would probably benefit from a
little more heavy-metal thunder. On "Science," Tankian rejects science in favor
of faith, like some kind of fundamentalist freak, but the Judas Priest riffs
behind him make it the most satisfying spiritual turn on the album. The singer
gets in touch with his inner West Coast hippie on the ominous "Ariels," which
ends the disc with a solemn Middle Eastern chorus. System came to rock the
party, that's for sure. But they're not leaving till the kids start thinking.
Issue Date: August 31 - September 6, 2001
