'It speaks to the core essence of the human psyche, bro," says Metallica guitarist Kirk Hammett, explaining thrash metal's enduring appeal. "It's true. There's a beat and an energy that speaks to you no matter what cultural background, what age, what demographic. If you hear it and you make a connection, you're done man, you're in for life."
Who could argue? After all, when we meet, he is in the midst of a run of playing to half a million metal fans across Europe over seven nights. They were there to witness the show they said could never happen – thrash metal's "Big Four" of Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax and Megadeth – playing the same stage for the first time in their near-30-year careers, as part of the Sonisphere tour. It's an occasion that, despite bitter rivalries, has seen unexpected reconciliations and a surprising amount of humility given the size of the egos involved. ("Metallica draws people out of the caves; everyone comes to see them," concedes Slayer's Kerry King. "The rest of us are just icing on an already killer cake.") And, most of all, it's a testament to the survival of a genre that seemed dead and buried only a decade ago, and to the rehabilitation of four bands whose careers have seen innumerable obstacles thrown in their way, from personal tragedy to drug addiction to complete creative and communicative breakdowns.
Thrash was forged in the early 80s by a handful of predominantly California bands. They took the headbanging gallop of New Wave of British Heavy Metal groups such as Judas Priest, Angel Witch and Iron Maiden (for whom, fittingly, Metallica and Megadeth will make way when the Sonisphere roadshow hits Knebworth next week) and melded it with the aggression, nihilism and political discontent of the burgeoning hardcore punk scene. The result was a riposte to the hairspray-heavy preening of glam metal. Scott Ian, guitarist and founder member of Anthrax, who bucked the trend by coming from New York, explains: "We were the underdogs, and we looked at the bigger bands and thought, 'We're true metal. Not you.' It's so fucking stupid when I think about now, but I totally get the mindset that we were in." That mindset caught the spirit of the times, however. "Kids might grow up listening to Bon Jovi or whatever, but then they get to 15 and they just don't want that any more – so they start listening to Anthrax and Metallica. And that was our mission, to stop kids from going to the dark side!"
By the late 80s, with no support from MTV or radio, the Big Four, with a fast-expanding second tier of like-minded acts worldwide, became the defining force in metal. Slayer released Reign in Blood, still regarded as one of the best metal albums of all time; Anthrax aligned themselves with the New York hardcore scene, and their members spawned further thrash outfits in Nuclear Assault and Stormtroopers of Death; Megadeth, formed by acrimoniously exiled Metallica guitarist Dave Mustaine, threw down the gauntlet to his former charges and sold millions of albums in their own right; and Metallica, having put the death of bass player Cliff Burton behind them, were slowly but surely positioning themselves to become the biggest metal band in the world.
For Mustaine, this was when heavy metal's new order came into its own – uncompromising in its vision, musically and lyrically, and a million miles away from the airheaded party bands the Big Four ousted from the top table. "There's probably people still putting out glam metal and somewhere there's a bunch of girls with fake tits buying that shit, but for people who really like heavy metal, thrash is thinking man's music," he says. "They try and stigmatise metal people and make them look stupid. When I went to the White House in the 90s [as part of the Rock the Vote campaign], a lot of people thought, 'Well he's not going to be very smart,' and to the contrary, I was very articulate."
Nevertheless, when grunge arrived in the early 90s, thrash's trailblazers suddenly found themselves in the wilderness. Metallica may have propelled themselves to superstardom – even as hardcore fans suggested they'd softened their sound to do so – but they left their peers in their wake. Anthrax, the most cartoonish of the four bands, found the shift to the more sombre, introspective musical landscape hard to deal with. "When 'alternative rock' came out in the 90s, we were like, 'They're all over MTV, how the hell are they alternative? We're the alternative!'" bemoans Ian. Slayer's fearsome live reputation won them a fanatical following, but their 90s output was patchy, both in terms of quality and quantity. And creative issues were the least of their worries when the band was implicated in the murder of a 15-year-old girl in California by three of her classmates who, it was alleged, had been repeatedly listening to Slayer beforehand. The lawsuit against them was finally thrown out in 2001. In the Megadeth camp, Mustaine, in between his endless feuds with bandmates and former colleagues alike, spent half of the decade addicted to heroin.
But Metallica's fall from grace was as spectacular as they come. Although there had been grumblings about their musical choices through the 90s, it was the battle with file-sharing website Napster in 2000, following the online leak of an unreleased Metallica track, that was the last straw for many. For a group whose fanbase had been consolidated by underground tape-trading in the 80s, the Napster episode seemed petulant and short-sighted, and turned drummer and band strategist Lars Ulrich from a hero to a hate figure. It's to Metallica's credit that, at the height of their artistic and personal troubles, they let film-makers Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky access to make an astonishingly candid documentary. The result, Some Kind of Monster, captured a group in crisis as they squabbled and sulked their way through the making of their creative nadir, St Anger. Hammett, however, believes that record had to be made. "It kept us from falling apart – we had something to focus on, and it kept us together as a unit. We've always taken chances and a lot of the time we've ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. But we never made a rap metal record, thank God."
While the Big Four trod water, drifting further and further out of vogue, superseded by nu-metal in the mainstream and the burgeoning death and black metal scenes at the genre's extremities, something exciting was happening at metal's grassroots. From the beginning of the new century, interest in thrash was picking up, and a handful of new bands (see panel) were packing out basement shows and creating the kind of word-of-mouth buzz that Metallica had enjoyed a generation ago. The Big Four were being talked about in hallowed terms again, by people who weren't even alive when their first albums were released.
It's hard to believe this went unnoticed by thrash's founding fathers. Before too long, Metallica and Slayer enlisted Rick Rubin, the producer of Reign in Blood, to make Death Magnetic and Christ Illusion, respectively. These became their most commercially and critically successful records in more than a decade. "In 1985 to 90, everybody was just slamming great records out," acknowledges King. "And here we are doing it again." Mustaine overcame a career-threatening arm injury and reformed Megadeth, while Anthrax re-enlisted singer Joey Belladonna, the voice of their best-loved recordings. And, through the efforts of thrash's most derided figurehead, Lars Ulrich, the four bands finally came together to play to half a million devoted headbangers. "If you look back over the last 40 years you couldn't find another four bands that could do this. We're all here and we can do it – it's awesome," Ian says.
It's a remarkable turn of events, but arguably most staggering of all is that Mustaine, metal's eternal curmudgeon, seems to have made peace with his past and finally buried the hatchet with Metallica. "Backstage, James [Hetfield, Metallica's frontman] and I were talking, and hugging each other, and apologising for the things we've done to each other in the past. And Lars and I were talking about going out for dinner. Who would have thought that would ever happen? But here we are, kicking ass and taking down names in the name of heavy metal."
Slayer and Anthrax play Sonisphere, Knebworth Park next weekend. Details: uk.sonispherefestivals.com
The new big four: The new generation of thrash metal
The undisputed kings of thrash's new wave, Municipal Waste were formed in Richmond, Virginia in 2001. Four albums and countless tours later, their rowdy, unrelenting live shows are fast becoming the stuff of legend, and Metallica's Kirk Hammett has given them his seal of approval.
Inspired by the singular vision of Swedish metal legends Bathory, Toxic Holocaust is essentially an exercise in metal multitasking by sole member Joel Grind, who uses a revolving lineup of hired hands for live shows.
British thrashers Evile started out life as a Metallica cover band in their native Huddersfield. Unfortunately, the parallels with their heroes didn't end there: bass player Mike Alexander died unexpectedly during a Swedish tour in 2009, echoing Cliff Burton's untimely death in the same country 23 years previously.
Taking their name, and musical cues, from the debut album by seminal Bay Area metallers Exodus, the LA five-piece have thrash running through their veins. Exiled to Earth, their new album, is released next month on Earache.
