Slipknot
set out to construct the ultimate
metal
music flamethrower, ever since their genesis in a Des Moines, IA, basement. But they also deployed an agitprop campaign of masks, smocks, and bar codes that helped scare parents (like good
should) and transform
fans into faithful "maggots." The Midwestern origin of all this craziness is genius, as the band's marrow-draining
and twisted, fibrous mythology is antithetical to the region's milquetoast rep. Still, after the gothic nausea of 2001's
Iowa
,
's vitality dissipated in clouds of gaseous hype and individual indulgence. Had they grown fat on their thrones? Probably. But the layoff only makes
Vol. 3: The Subliminal Verses
scream louder. Working with famously bearded helmer
Rick Rubin
-- aka He Who Smites Bullsh*t --
pour the shrill accessibility of their self-titled debut down
's dark sieve, and the result is flinty, angry, and rewardingly restless.
Vol. 3
shares its lyrical themes of anger, disaffection, and psychosis with most of
's
nu-metal
peers. Lines like "I've screamed until my veins collapsed" and "Push my fingers into my eyes/It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache" (from the otherwise strong
"Duality"
) aren't unique to this cult. But unlike so many, the band's sound rarely disassembles into genre building blocks: riff + glowering vocal + throaty chorus =
Ozfest
acceptance. What makes
tick is the dedication to making it a
album, and not just another flashy
alt-metal
billboard. The seething anger and preoccupation with pain is valid because it's componential to the group's uniquely branded havoc.
"Blister Exists,"
"Three Nil,"
and
"Opium of the People"
are all standouts, strafing soft underbellies with rhythmic (occasionally melodic) vocals, stuttering, quadruple-helix percussion, and muted
grindcore
guitar.
Rubin
is integral to the album's power -- his cataclysmic vocal filters and arrays of unidentifiable squiggle and squelch unite
's various portions in wildly different ways. Just when the meditative
"Circles"
threatens to keel over from melodrama, in sputters strings of damaged electronics and percussion to lead it into
"Welcome,"
which sounds like
Helmet
covering
Relapse Records
' entire catalog at once. Later, another counterpoint is offered, when the swift boot kicks of
"Pulse of the Maggots"
"Before I Forget"
separate
"Vermilion"
's gothic and acoustic parts.
doesn't feel like
's final statement. It's a satisfying, carefully crafted representation of their career to date. But there's a sense that whatever
do next might be their ultimate broadcast to the faithful. ~ Johnny Loftus