Slayer 66 2/3: The Jeff & Dave Years. A Metal Band Biography. (53 page)

Fans literally lined up around the block outside the 3,700-capacity Hollywood Palladium, for a bittersweet service that kicked off at 3:30 p.m. The crowd could have been drawn from 1988, when Slayer played last played there, which ended in the riot. Long hair and denim were the dress code of the day, for an ethnically diverse crowd of headbangers. The line was capped with a fan in an executioner’s hood, dressed like a satanic vicar. The front doors, smashed out during the ’88 riot, now stood solid and yellow, once again holding Slayer fans at bay as long as they could.

The hardest and heaviest of the L.A. music scene lined up and entered.

“It’s somber,” recalled Howell. “But it’s positive because of the energy from the kids. It was pretty intense.”

Generations of faces from various L.A. rock scenes held an impromptu reunion.

“It was a family atmosphere,” says Howell. “It was like a typical backstage hang.”

Huddled in circles, pros and civilians discussed whether Lombardo would be there. He was. Lombardo greeted Holt with a big hug — at least two of the crew were talking. A football team worth of metal luminaries included former Slayer drummer Paul Bostaph, Testament frontman Chuck Billy, Gene Hoglan, Machine Head frontman Robb Flynn, and former Suicidal Tendencies guitarist Rocky George. Jane’s Addiction guitarist Navarro recalled cutting his teeth playing Slayer covers.

And then the doors opened for what Metal Injection correspondent Johnny Orlando Jr. described as “the loudest memorial service I’ve ever attended, and the first one to break out into a massive mosh pit.”
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A barricaded area of VIP seats separated the audience and the stage. Onstage was a Jeff Hanneman shrine: not only his mortal remains, but stacks of amps from the
Reign in Blood
era on one side, more recent Marshalls on the other. Between them, Hanneman’s babies: His black Les Paul from the
Show No Mercy
era, then newer axes he had played on his last tours. On the stage, a portrait of Hanneman looked a lot like a velvet painting.

A Slayer mixtape played on the PA, and eventually gave way to a roster of speakers.

First up was Nick Bowcott, the Grim Reaper guitarist who found a second career as the Marshall marketing director.

Bowcott recalled going from blown-away fan to co-worker.

“They changed my life,” he said. “I thought I knew what heavy metal was. I was fuckin’ wrong. I had no clue. I thought I knew how to play fast. I was fuckin’ wrong. I had no clue. I thought we were aggressive. We weren’t even close.”

Then Bowcott proudly noted that Slayer always had a minimum of 24 Marshall cabinets on stage. Getting Slayer to use the company’s gear was easy. Getting Hanneman to show up at promotional events was not. Unlike the cooperative King, Hanneman frequently no-showed for scheduled interviews. One night, Hanneman told his rep not to take it personally.

 “Nick, no offense,” Hanneman once told Bowcott. “I like playing guitar. I don’t like talking about it. I like writing riffs. I don’t like explaining them. And I also like to collect World War II memorabilia.”

Next up was Brian Slagel, the first record company guy to see potential in the band. The two had remained friends. And Slagel was one of the few people Hanneman kept in touch with after his injury. They were both hockey fans, and Hanneman was glad to use Slagel’s Kings tickets during the previous year’s triumphant Stanley Cup finals. Slagel recalled Hanneman as a shy, talented kid who grew into an amazing talent.

“It was just a real honor to work with those guys and watch them play and see Jeff writing this unbelievable metal stuff,” recalled Slagel. “Some of this stuff really changed the course of metal.”

Another label exec followed Slagel: American Recordings General Manager  and longtime Slayer co-worker Dino Paredes. Paredes broke down at several points in his touching account of working with Hanneman and Slayer. Their longrunning relationship was alternately demanding and hilarious — often both at the same time.

“He would always find a way to crack a joke, probably at the wrong time,” said Paredes. “Jeff did things his way, no matter what. From his personal life to his studio, Jeff only did what he wanted to do. And very few artists only do what they believe in. And Jeff was that guy. It was very frustrating, but at the end of the day, I respect that…. It’s a very rare thing in this day and age… I always had fun with him, even when he was being a pain in my ass.”

Paredes remembered spending long hours in the studio with the band, sometimes working, sometimes waiting. They often butted heads, but always emerged with a worthwhile product.

“It has been nothing short of a true pleasure,” Paredes said. “Even at our darkest and most frustrating moments, we knew what we were working on was important and well worth it. And that the strength of the family would make it through.”

In turns, the psyched crowd made the event feel like a revival, a cult gathering, and a war rally. Mourning but not mournful, they were ready to punctuate poignant moments with a chant of “Hanneman! Hann-e-man!”  then “Kerr-y King! Kerr-y King!”

After Paredes, King followed. As he did at Golden Gods, he wore sunglasses and carried a shot of Jägermeister. Reading notes from his iPhone, King delivered extemporaneous memories of his fallen comrade:

Slayer being banned from the venue he was now speaking in.

Meeting Hanneman and being drawn to his twisted, embryonic guitar style.

Early in Slayer’s career, Hanneman being arrested on multiple DUIs, then gladly relinquishing his driver’s license forever — which gave King and Araya the ongoing duty of driving him to practice.

Inspired by punk, Jeff shaving his head — which, King worried at the time, would cost them credibility with the longhair metal crowd.

King throwing up on Hanneman. And Hanneman finding it hilarious.

King and Hanneman diplomatically agreeing to attend business dinners with label heads and promoters. But that dull aspect of Slayer Inc. often wore them down, and the twin axemen were forced to entertain themselves, weaponizing the entrees, tossing peas into neighboring drinks, hurling soaked cloth napkins at Rick Sales.

“What I’m getting at,” concluded King. “Jeff was a character… Jeff hated being famous.  He loved being on stage. He might have grumbled about it, but if you hit him up for an autograph and a picture, he always made time for you guys. I’ll leave you with my stories… It’s a very sad end to a great story. Remember my brother well.”

After King, more metal royalty: Metallica’s Rob Trujillo. The former Suicidal Tendencies bassist smiled, recalling being hazed by Hanneman and Rocky George, who would prank call him at hours of the morning at hiss their nickname for the new kid: “
Lizzzzzard
!” Despite the razzing, Trujillo remembered Hanneman as “one of the nicest people I ever met in my life.”

Then Trujillo, one of Rubin’s high profile clients, read a statement from the producer: “Although he might have been the quietest member of the band personally,” wrote Rubin. “Jeff was the heart and soul musically. He was an innovator, an original, and a creative force, who we will all miss every day going forward. Thankfully, he left us with recordings we can listen to any time we want to feel his presence.”

Next, Bowcott introduced a gray-haired gentleman he identified as Gary Kahler, the inventor of the whammy [tremolo] bar, which gave many a Hanneman solo its distinct screaming tone. Kahler kept his address short: “Thank you, Jeff Hanneman, for playing my shit.”

Shavo Odadjian, System of a Down bassist and Hanneman’s labelmate, went on next, with concise description of Hanneman as a good guy and big influence. Then the band’s management team followed.

Sales recalled Hanneman as being so withdrawn, he once changed his home phone to an unlisted number — then didn’t share it with his handlers or bandmates. When he finally reestablished lines of communication, he laughed about what a great prank it had been.

Between tours, Sales said, Hanneman would go weeks and months without touching bases. He’d only response to voice mails if they were funny enough.

“Jeff really did teach me to follow my passion, and I think he taught other people here to follow their passion,” said Sales. “Slayer was sacred to him. He always followed his musical passion, and he never compromised. He walked it like he talked it… He’s made an everlasting contribution to the world of music, and the lives of millions. May he rest in peace.”

Kristen Mulderig of Rick Sales Entertainment (which was now the management company behind Slayer, Ghost and Mastodon) read a statement from Hanneman’s widow, Kathryn. Mrs. Hanneman thanked the business team and his product reps for handling her husband’s business, making his life possible, and helping her through this hard time.

The address concluded with a personal note to her late husband: “I love you very much, and I miss you. May you continue to reign in Heaven.”

And followed another crowd chant: “HANN-A-MAN! HANN-A-MAN!”

Stuart assembled a slide show that was the event’s closing catharsis, set to two songs: Metallica’s “Fade to Black,” then Slayer’s “South of Heaven.” One picture followed another, documenting Jeff’s growth from a baby (sometimes happy, sometimes stern) to an adult (often happy, often stern). All over the venue, eyes became misty. Then, as the music changed to Slayer’s haunted chapel theme,  half a dozen circle pits broke out across the vast floor.

And at 6:06, the ceremony ended. The era it celebrated had already concluded. And the next age was underway.

Chapter 58:

On the Outside

“The one thing that
didn’t
come from the memorial that people hoped would,” says DJ Will. “Dave was not welcomed back into the group.”

After the split with Slayer, his legal fees mounting, Lombardo got back to work.

Before Hanneman’s public memorial, in April 2013, Lombardo announced he would revive the Grip Inc. name. Grip vocalist Gus Chambers had died in 2008. So Lombardo tapped singer Casey Chaos, a skateboarder turned musician, whose punk band Amen has a respectable cult following. Lombardo and Holt had recently collaborated with Chaos on a soundtrack project with a throwback hardcore flavor. Chaos’ higher vocal pitch and nasal style make him an odd match for the band, but he’s a bona fide talent. (Sales had managed Amen years before.)

After the memorial, Lombardo started filling his dance card. He announced a Sepultura cameo and a new Philm album. In October, he performed with the 60-piece Golden State Pops Orchestra, playing along to Christopher Young’s theme from the
Ghost Rider
movie.

Following the Slayer split, Lombardo aligned himself with Merck Mercuriadis, former CEO of the Sanctuary Group, a legendary worldwide management-entertainment company. For a time, it had included Slayer’s Rick Sales Entertainment under its umbrella early in the century, and its roster had featured Guns N’ Roses, Elton John, and Iron Maiden.

“Because communication was lost with Slayer’s management, Merck was brought in as a mediator of sorts,” explains Lombardo. “He was not my manager at the time. He was simply enlisted to help negotiate my contract so we (the band) could get back to work.”

The alliance lasted a few months. But the two had philosophical differences. They parted ways in November 2013. Lombardo was still not in Slayer.

Lombardo’s divorce settlement could play a major factor in his career choices: If he remains legally responsible for $100,000 a year in alimony, he very likely won’t earn that much playing clubs with Philm, or by joining Testament the next time the group needs a drummer. Even in top club- and theater-level bands, drummers rarely make $150,000 or more a year. Gary Holt couldn’t afford a house before he joined Slayer. Unless the court rules in Lombardo’s favor, he needs a high-profile gig that pays well.

In the end, maybe Slayer could have treated Lombardo better. Maybe Lombardo is hard to live with. Maybe he’s too big a talent for a metal band, even a great one.

In November 2013, my short exchange with Lombardo ended with a final question about his future. His defiant tone suggested he had nothing left to lose, and already knew he wouldn’t be back. If Slayer made him what he considered a fair deal, would he return?

“I love my fans [and] Slayer fans,” wrote Lombardo. “But the fact is: Today's Slayer is not SLAYER. They can play all of the songs, but the heart and the backbone is gone.  If the current mindset was present at the beginning, we would have never made it this far.  We were not greedy sellouts, going through the motions on stage merely to cash a check. We were the epitome of the punk/thrash mentality. If they ever get back to that... my door is open.”

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