South of Heaven

This is definitely the best album Slayer put out. After the brutal-as-fuck but nonetheless maddeningly incoherent and underdeveloped Reign in Blood, Slayer released this classic.

And got promptly shat on by the legions of the "tr00" and otherwise brain-damaged individuals who apparently like getting half a song twice as fast. This album is just as heavy as its predecessor, and while it lacks the overall speed, it certainly makes up for it with a fair share of smash-a-guitar-over-your-skull riffs. This is definitely the most overall memorable Slayer album, on a riff level. All of these songs are very distinctive, unlike the general mishmash of some of Reign in Blood.

The title track, which is the opener, is a midpaced, menacing number - assaulting the senses both musically and lyrically (yeah it's fun to run around yelling "bastard sons begat your cunting daughters!"). It speeds up slightly at the end, and finishes at killer intensity. One of Slayer's finest songs. Silent Scream and the first half of Live Undead are a slight bit more pedestrian, but nonetheless have some nice riffs, especially the middle of Silent Scream... "death is fucking you insane!" This is a harbringer of things to come. Same with "the paaaaaaiiiiinnnnn!!!!!!" on Live Undead. You can sense the imminent doom approaching.

Hold on to your esophagi, people, and have the Depends Undergarments ready, for it is halfway through song three where this album really turns to "11" and grabs you by the throat, flips you upside down, and shoves you face-first into a toilet bowl full of burning acid. Insane pain burns through your brain, thorasine eats your veins!! Satan laughs as you eternally rot... and this is just the beginning!

Behind the Crooked Cross is one of those insanely catchy thrash numbers that immediately forces you to get up and headbang and play air guitar and headbang some more and if, after three minutes, your spleen hasn't ruptured, crawled out of your anus, and run off to join the circus, then consider yourself lucky, and HEADBANG SOME MORE, damn it, because here comes Mandatory Suicide!!

Three out of four doctors recommend MANDATORY FUCKING SUICIDE!!! (The fourth likes disco and Slipknot.) The ending little spoken word part is totally fucking insane, as is the rest. "Spikes impale you, as you are forced off the crest..." You like the spikes, damn you.

ARISE!!! Ghosts of War is the sequel to Chemical Warfare, and is just as fucking intense - it doesn't have quite as many riffs, but is nonetheless a worthy followup. Next is Read Between the Lies... "There is no Heaven! Without a HEEEELLLLLLLLL!!!" Probably the best line on there, and by this point your liver has suffered cirrhosis, your kidneys have given you brain damage, and your trachea was last seen attempting to hitch-hike to Saskatchewan. But, it's not over yet. "Cleanse the Soul" is a highly, HIGHLY underrated song, that turns into the most monstrous thrash this album has to offer ... at around 2.10 into the song, I SEE DEAD PEOPLE!!!! Empty altar waits its victim!! One of the greatest thrash riffs of all time here - this one is kind enough to rip your skull straight through your chest before setting it on a pedestal and smashing it repeatedly with a cinderblock the size of Kansas. THRAASSSSHHH!!!!

Next up, the Priest cover. Dissident Aggressor. It's what Judas Priest should've recorded in 1977 - finally, the guitars are turned up to the requisite volume, and the vocals are just plain vicious. This song totally destroys the original, which is not an easy task considering who wrote the original!! Then, a bit of a downer in Spill the Blood, which is kind of another average song, but tracks four through nine, and even the second half of track three, are just about PERFECT - those six stand on a level with ANY other six and one half thrash songs in a row on any album, with the bare exception of those that begin with Darkness and end with Descends.

Yes, of course the album is worth getting. Unless of course you would like to stay alive, in which case, you're a pussy. Go back to The Haunted, thrash needeth you not.