Sheet Music
Summer Reading
By Marc Savlov, Fri., June 6, 2003
Sound of the Beast: The Complete Headbanging History of Heavy Metal
by Ian ChristeHarperCollins, 385 pp., $24.95
After a flurry of punk and hardcore history books -- among them Steven Blush's American Hardcore and Mark Spitz and Brendan Mullen's We've Got the Neutron Bomb -- a definitive and far-ranging stab at doing the same for metal has finally arrived from former Spin and CMJ writer Ian Christe. Just the briefest of glances at Sound of the Beast's index reveals the full-bore depth of Christe's voluminous research. He's uncovered long-ignored sonic terrorists like UK grindcore wonders Bolt Thrower and former South Austin skins' fave Hellhammer, who would later, as the remonikered Celtic Frost, record the single most bizarre cover in metal history with Wall of Voodoo's "Mexican Radio." There's also the usual suspects: Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, and doomed to an eternal round of punk rock pinochle for their part in the hair-metal collusion of the Eighties, twin abominations Winger and Nelson. The fact that Christe, who succinctly divvies up the epic scope of the book in chapters ranging from "The New Wave of British Heavy Metal" (Saxon, Tygers of Pan Tang) to "Death Metal Deliverance" (Cannibal Corpse, Florida's Godsmacking Deicide), has managed to craft a whirlwind ride through the convoluted span of metal is testament (or is that Testament?) to his fanatical love of the subject. Christe's examination of not only the bands and their twin-Flying-V's aural assault, but also the broader cultural context -- i.e., Ronald Reagan has his finger on the button, so why not form a band and call it Nuclear Assault? -- is eminently readable stuff, and little-discussed topics such as the impact of AIDS on MTV's faltering rotation of sexually turbocharged hair-metal acts like Poison and Warrant and former Judas Priest frontman Rob Halford's unambiguously queer onstage leatherman persona in such a teen-testosterone-charged musical arena are like a breath of fresh air in, well, a moldering crypt of Extreme Noise Terror. Dude, this rocks.
