Slayer's Reign in Blood (33 1/3) (14 page)

In 1986, speaking to the
Village Voice
, some of Rubin’s closest associates proudly described him as “a dick.” In California, as Rubin became a superstar producer, he followed
a personal trajectory opposite what most would expect from a clean-living young man dropped into a world of sunshine, fame, and money. Instead of discovering booze and blow, Rubin became ever more fastidious. In New York, he had already dropped sugar and caffeine from his diet. In L.A., he became a vegan.
⁵⁴

Once settled in California, Rubin began seriously meditating, as part of a spiritual practice as broad as his musical tastes. When he explained his metaphysical persuasion—or lack thereof—to
Rolling Stone
in 2005 he could have been talking about his art, too: “I don’t follow any one path, but I’m interested in them all.”
⁵⁵

By 1991, Rubin was known as a calming, peaceful presence that could coax the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Anthony Kiedis to stop writing fraternity-party anthems like “Party on Your Pussy” and start crafting smash ballads like “Under the Bridge.” His newfound spirituality may have played a role in his reported mellowing; previous reports were not exaggerated.

“He
was
a dick,” says Sulmers. “We were
all
dicks. Every last one of us. And when he commits to something, he is totally committed to it. And it’s not surprising that this calmness came over him when he really got immersed in Buddhism.”

Others who know him say Rubin is still essentially Rubin; and now that he’s successful, people are more quick to defer to him. By the time he got to California, he didn’t have to fight as he did when he was an unknown fresh-faced college grad in a leather jacket. Being a dick wasn’t necessary.

“I wouldn’t say he’s terribly different,” says Wallace. “He grew into his success pretty naturally, without any great changes in character. He was always very self-assured. And
early on, without having the subsequent successful history, people might have felt somebody who is very demanding, who wants things to be a certain way—they might have been less forgiving, like ‘Who is this guy coming on like gangbusters?’”

In 2005, Rubin moved American to the Warner Music Group, where former Def Jam general Lyor Cohen was now CEO. One of Cohen’s major actions was purchasing a stake in the foundry Roadrunner Records; apparently, there
was
some dough in this metal thing.

In 1991, after three landmark albums with Slayer, Wallace added a little more metal to his résumé. It cost him some work, though he wouldn’t be hurting for long. Wallace mixed
Arise
, the fourth album from Sepultura. The Brazilian band were leaders of metal’s next generation. Representing a wave of groups that had 80s metal and hardcore as their primary reference, they played music stripped of 70s classic rock influences.

“I remember why we stopped using [Wallace],” says King. “I think Sepultura used him. Like, ‘Ah, it’s tainted now.’ No offense to them, but it’s just like, ‘We’ve got to do the next thing.’ We’ve always wanted to stay ahead of the curve.”

Losing the Slayer gig wouldn’t become an issue. Months later, Nirvana’s
Nevermind
put Wallace on the map, and his stock has only risen since. Even after his acclaimed work with Jeff Buckley’s
Grace
, he chooses to mix more than produce.

“I never specifically decided to stop producing,” says Wallace. “But the last two records I made, they took me out of mixing for six months. I got on a roll mixing, and I went with that. Instead of doing a project for four months, I can do it in three weeks. It’s good in a financial regard, and I get to work with more bands.”

King says they would work with Wallace again; when the always-busy
Reign in Blood
team planned a reunion over a decade later, they simply didn’t think to invite him.

Lombardo left Slayer again in 1992. The drummer’s first child was due, and Lombardo had put the band on notice. Before the baby arrived, long-running tensions came to a head. One night, Lombardo vented a decade of frustrations, yelling at King and Hanneman like they were Beavis and Butthead. Then he was gone.

The departure led the band to sit out the grunge period. The 1991 Clash of the Titans tour, which featured Slayer, Anthrax, Megadeth, and Alice in Chains, played to arenas. After the easier-to-play, less-challenging, less-threatening, more-emo grunge movement usurped metal’s audience, Slayer would temporarily go back to clubs for its subsequent albums, which had more songs about serial killers than bloodthirsty demons. Rubin executive-produced 1994’s
Divine Intervention
, produced 1998’s
Diabolus in Musica
, and stepped in at the last minute, as executive producer, to salvage 2001’s
God Hates Us All
.

“It’s an odd relationship we have with Rick Rubin,” says Araya. “He’s always asked for more. And when we can’t agree, then he says, ‘I want to hear more. But since you don’t want to give me more, go ahead and find a producer. I’ll tell you whether I like him.’”

In the year of 6-6-06, the planets aligned, and most of the
Reign in Blood
gang got back together.

Two full decades after its release,
Reign in Blood
was more highly regarded than ever.
Metal Hammer
’s August 2006 issue ranked it as the Best Metal Album of the last twenty years. Even Vh1 ranked “Raining Blood” as its number eight
heavy metal song, ahead of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” and behind Iron Maiden’s “Number of the Beast.”
⁵⁶
Guitar World
’s October issue ranked it as the number 29 greatest guitar album.

Lombardo had rejoined Slayer in 2001, shortly after the release of
God Hates Us All
. By then, all four had realized their history and chemistry was irreplaceable. The reunited classic lineup took it a tour at a time. Lombardo’s return was announced as permanent in 2003. In 2006, Slayer had begun work on their ninth original full-length studio album. Slayer had long been the sole holdover in Rubin’s stable from the Def Jam days. They wanted to work with Rubin for the new album, but the producer couldn’t fit the band into his schedule. He would remain on board as executive producer, approving or disapproving the final product.
Reign in Blood
artist Larry Carroll returned to create the cover, a picture of a dismembered Christ floating in a sea of muck and dismembered heads. In August, American released the ten-track, thirty-eight-minute
Christ Illusion
.

Christ Illusion
was generally hailed as the band’s best effort since 1990’s
Seasons in the Abyss
, their final record with the dream-team nexus of talent. Arriving during a much-touted thrash revival, the album debuted at number five on the
Billboard
album charts—the band’s highest chart position ever. Like every album before it, it featured not one single full-on acoustic intro, long solo, or ballad.

“We’re just programmed to write Slayer stuff because we’ve been Slayer all along,” says King. “Mötörhead have made the same record for thirty years. And it’s not out of the realm of possibility to think we’ve done the same thing: refined it, did the same thing differently. I think that’s my gift,
to be able to say the same things differently. How many ways can you say, ‘God hates us all’?”

Slayer’s catalog remains as on-average-solid as any in the business, without a single drug-addled embarrassment in the bunch, no tragic attempt to show the kids they could emulate the new hotness. Some diehards hate the band’s post-
Seasons
records, which saw the group remain blasphemous, but depart from
Reign
’s Satanic majesty. At very least, unlike most hard-rock bands that have been at it for over twenty-five years, Slayer has never released a forgettable besmirchment of its name featuring a different singer and fill-in guitarist.

“People need continuity,” says King. “We’ve changed drummers, sure. But if you take people out of the front positions, people are like, ‘Well, Slayer’s coming to town—who’s playing with them? Not the opening bands, with Slayer?’”

Even people who weren’t Slayerheads recognized
Christ Illusion
.

The National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences nominated Slayer for Best Metal Performance, their second Grammy nod, for “Eyes of the Insane,” another war song, with lyrics by Araya and music by Hanneman. On February 11, 2007,
fuckin’ Slayer
won a Grammy.

“Jeff’s a phenomenal writer,” says Lombardo. “Jeff has the songwriting capabilities and the expectations of Rick Rubin.”

Rubin was also on the ballot, nominated for Producer of the Year, for work with Slayer, embattled country group the Dixie Chicks, longtime collaborators the Red Hot Chili Peppers, his metallic discovery System of a Down, and pop king Justin Timberlake. That evening, Rubin claimed part of five Grammys. Rubin says the common thread between his diverse clientele isn’t a matter of style or production. “They are
all unique artists who follow their truth out of time, with no influence of anything else going on in music, pioneers of original sounds who take what they do to unapologetic extremes,” explains Rubin. “I would also add, from my point of view: They are all soulful musically, even if they don’t realize it.”

With the Grammy win, the man who punched up
Reign in Blood
was officially the hottest rock producer on the planet. For as long as anybody could remember, Rubin’s touch had been golden. More than most, anyway.

And at the time, the music industry needed some gold. Digital music had upended the record-business cart. Companies were scrambling to find an outside-the-box thinker to set things right—someone who didn’t work for Apple. Enthralled and sinking, Columbia Records, which had once refused to release
Reign
, hired Rubin as the co-head of the company.

Rubin was charged with no less a job than saving the traditional music industry. To sweeten the deal, Columbia (now part of the Sony BMG group) gave him the freedom to produce artists for any label. The move also reestablished his rivalry with Cohen, putting the two at opposite corners of a shrinking ring, with each former Def Jam big dog now a commanding force at one of the four remaining majors. (Simmons had sold his Def Jam stake in 1999 and become an executive producer and clothing mogul.) At Columbia, as with Def Jam all those years ago, Rubin’s exact title and responsibilities remained vague. Doing what he does, apparently, was good enough to bet the future on.

As always, Slayer’s present guaranteed a future. More important to King than the trophy—after all, Jethro Tull has a Best Hard Rock/Metal Grammy—is the band’s status in the metal community.

“All the new bands don’t even reference Priest and Sabbath any more,” says King. “You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who knows [Deep Purple/Rainbow guitarist Ritchie] Blackmore. They reference us.”

As Metallica entered the studio with Rubin on board to help them reignite their spark, Slayer were still playing more or less like they did in ’86. Metal fans held out hope for Metallica, but they
believed
in Slayer.

“When they come out with a new record, never do I think ‘Slayer’s too old to be doing this,’” says Throwdown’s Dave Peters. “Records like
Reign in Blood
and
South of Heaven
are valid twenty years later. It makes me excited too, because like those guys, I love playing music. And I think the genres of metal and hardcore and thrash keep you young. And I think Slayer is a testament to that. You don’t look at Slayer onstage and think, ‘There’s a dude onstage that’s five years younger than my dad.’”

The accolades kept coming. In its March 2007 issue,
Spin
readers voted Slayer the Best Live Band.
Revolver
readers voted King and Hanneman Best Guitar Team, and named Dave Lombardo as Best Drummer. In June,
Metal Hammer
gave the band an Icon award. Slayer spent the summer on the road, still playing as fast and loud, taking the stage to a tape of “Metalstorm,” an instrumental from their 1983 debut. 2007 ended with the group’s third Grammy nomination.

“I think we’re pretty consistent,” says Hanneman. “We wanted to stay true to our roots, not change like
all
of the other bands we listen to changed. They do a couple great albums, and then they say, ‘This is what we wanted to do all along.’ Like, ‘
What
?’ To us, it’s like you either didn’t mean what you did on the first album, or you’re just trying to make
money, because you got a little bit of success, you tasted a little green. We just wanted to stick to our guns.”

After a busy year, Slayer wrapped the
Christ Illusion
tour just months before becoming eligible for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame—which famously dragged its feet before inducting even the mighty Black Sabbath. King was just looking forward to football season.

And just after the Super Bowl, Slayer chalked up another win: “The Final Six”—another Araya-Hanneman composition added to a reissue of
Christ Illusion
—netted the band a second Best Metal Performance Grammy. This time Araya attended the ceremony, dressed in a black suit, with his wife and kids in tow. At the podium, the singer thanked Rubin, his family, and Sales.

“I guess we’re part of the industry now, above ground,” Araya said at the backstage ceremony. “None of those tunnel diggings anymore. It’s kind of exciting. We’ve been fortunate to have been around this long with no radio play. We’ve gotten support from satellite radio recently, MTV gave us minimal support, but it’s all on word of mouth and people liking what we do and passing it on to their friends.”
⁵⁷

Despite recent acceptance, King wasn’t holding his breath to see the band enshrined alongside Elvis, Van Halen, Chuck Berry, and R.E.M. in the Hall. “If it does happen, it’ll be after it’s important,” King says. “If anybody gets in from this genre, it’ll be Metallica, for sure. If we get in, it’ll be an afterthought, or [because of] pressure from fans. I don’t think it’ll be in a timely fashion. They won’t say, ‘You guys did a lot for the music, you changed shit, you need to be in today.’ I don’t expect that shit. We’ve always been the blackball band, the bad guys. Unless you’re a fan, that’s a bad thing.”