Text by Adam Pugh
Photos by Eric M. Jukelevics

When I go to concerts, it usually involves a bunch of crazy guys piling into a car and heading at least two hours away to Phoenix. This was one of those times, except this one has a nice twist to it - we were going to see Slayer. The most disgusting band in the thrash/metal scene - four men who can take a regular crowd and turn them into a rioting group of sweating bodies.

So there we were on 40th Street in Phoenix, 10 minutes away from the venue with our right bumper smashed in. A great way to start a show.

After sitting in the car for more than an hour in the freezing cold, the officer on the scene let us go with a warning (mind you we did not mention that we were going to see Slayer). As my friend went to start the car, there was a funny noise - or should I say a lack of noise - since the battery was dead. So myself and another occupant of the vehicle ended up walking down to the nearest gas station to see if someone in all of Phoenix could give us a jump start. Yet, for some reason, no one happened to have a pair of jumper cables. Long story short - a highway patrolman bailed us out and we were on the road again. Of course that doesn't mean we had any idea where the Celebrity Theater was.

We ended up asking for directions from a Spanish-speaking individual who gave us great directions - but we just happened to be on the wrong side of the freeway. So at 9 p.m., after having almost having given up and driving back to Tucson, we found the venue.

The lights flickered as we walked in the door (there was no checkpoint or body search - and it was a Slayer show!) signaling that the next band was about to start. We made our way up to the main stage and not more than three minutes later, Slayer took the stage.

Smoke poured out of the fog machines and the lights went to black. Three silhouettes crept onto the stage with a fourth crouching behind his massive drum set. Then, the silence was slaughtered by the sound of "God Hates Us All," from the bands new album by the same name.

Tom Araya, the group's lead singer and bassist, towered over his microphone and growled like a deranged psychopath for three straight songs. Then the band hid in the darkness once again - save Araya who reemerged to greet the crowd and to thank everyone for coming out.

I was a bit taken aback by the kindness the singer had toward the crowd because the band is notorious for being sinister and evil. This observation is valid with songs like "Angel of Death," "Dead Skin Mask" and "Mandatory Suicide" - they are not exactly the poster children for cheerfulness.

The group screamed through a set that lasted a little more than an hour and which managed to get about a hundred beer cups thrown in the air and all over everyone. There was also the prerequisite moshing and head-banging going on all over the place with random bodies flying through the air, landing in some unseen place on the floor.