ANTHRAX: Better Than Death

ANTHRAX: Better Than Death

by

David Sprague

It seems like everybody’s got a bone to pick with Anthrax. Depending who you ask, the kings of New York speedmetal are either a bunch of clowns or too serious for their own good. They’re so strident about maintaining their thrash “credibility” that they’ll never get anywhere. Or they’ve already sold out, and no dyed-in-the-wool amphetametaller will have anything to do with ’em anymore.

Which means they must be doing something right.

Largely, what they’ve done is manage to amass enough of , a following to break the Top 100 with no discernible image. And this, mind you, in a genre rife with pigeonholes and sorely lacking in crossover success. Anthrax, unlike the other three-fourths of thrash metal’s entrenched elite, don’t bring much of anything to mind. Whereas Slayer can readily be tethered to Satan, Megadave Mustaine to loud-mouthed techno-babble, and Metallica to liver-obliterating alcohol consumption, even the five members of the ’Thrax don’t always seem altogether sure what they’re about.

F’rinstance, the omnipresent (if you’ve ever spent any time gazing at graffiti-scarred Apple walls) New York hardcore symbol that’s adorned Anthrax gear since their 1982 inception, even though they don’t consider themselves to be a hardcore band.

“It’s on all our shirts partly just outta New York pride,’’ explains drummer Charlie Benante. “We really dig the New York scene and a lot of the bands that’re in it. We used to go down to CBGB’s all the time. Plus, they, like, accepted us, too. We were really the first metal band to cross over info that territory.’’

Sure enough, while many of New York’s Displeased Youth were skateboarding across the Lower East Side, skinheaded and tattooed, a passel of outer borough kids were continuing the ageold quest to recreate the perfect “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath’’ and/or “Strutter.” Some of the more adventurous ones, like Bayside High’s Scott “Not” Ian and pride of Da Bronx Charlie Benante, began investigatin’ the punk scene (though they shied from the barber’s shear).

"We liked a lot of that stuff,” confirms Benante. “We really don’t sound like a hardcore band or anything, though. I don’t think we ever did. It’s not like we started as a bunch of guys who just wanted to play fast and then learned our instruments, Basically, each record sounds different. Like, Among The Living was more Of a ‘thrash’ record than Spreading The Disease."

But now we’re getting ahead of ourselves. As any attentive reader knows, this is where you read all about the history of the subject under the microscope (if it’s a new one to you, that is; aficianados can skip ahead, say, six or seven paragraphs), jj The early Anthrax, who at various times featured members of any number of current metal bands (including the soon-tobe-famous John Connelly of Nuclear Assault), solidified in 1982, with a line-up of Ian, Benante, vocalist Neil Turbin, bassist Dan Lilker and guitarist Dan Spitz. Besides slogging it out at L’Amour, the Brooklyn hangar known far ’n’ wide as every metaller’s home away from home, the band actually played a number of shows on the hardcore circuit.

“It was, like, the ultimate release of energy back then,” Benante recalls with a chuckle. “The Shows were really wild.” That energy was transported pretty successfully onto their debut album, Fistful Of Metal, which deviated enough from the plod most metal combos were dishing out at that point to excite the jaded and also held enough conventional around to earn the band a support slot with the not-quite-legendary Raven (primarily known for their hockey mask-wearing drummer Wacko’s penchant for punching out unsuspecting journalists).

The tour, which gained 'em a larger audience, also tost ’em Noo Yawk families bein’ what they are, Benante got his nephew, Frank Bello, to fill his shoes. Not too much later, Turbin followed suit (word is that his exit was a little more pushed than Lilker’s) just before the band was about to return to the studio. His replacement? A tri-state bar band veteran with the somewhat unlikely moniker of Joey Belladonna.

Here’s where things start to get a bit sticky. With Joey, the band went on to record an EP, Armed And Dangerous, which nudged close enough to standard metal to cause a few double takes—largely due to the high-strung yowl of their new frontman.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m always bein’ told my voice don’t work in a band like this,” snaps Belladonna. “Sometimes people think they’re gettin’ down on me by sayin’ my singing reminds ’em of Triumph or somethin’ else from the ’70s. Hey, that’s fine by me. I think it adds a dimension most of these newer bands don’t have. Wouldn’t ya rather hear somebody sing than hear ’em just.. .bark?”

He came to Anthrax from an aggregation known as Bible Black, who apparently made a pretty good living traipsin’ around the backwaters of the Northeast covering Journey, Rainbow and the like—a far cry from the Ramones meet AC/DC inna comic store amateurism that spawned the other four members of Anthrax.

“I never listened to much punk or thrash or whatever,” confirms Joey. ‘‘I can appreciate the aggression, but that’s about it. I listen to music to learn, and I think there’s more to get from listening to Steve Perry. I also really like Yes, Kansas...”

All the same, the rest of the band leans more toward, as Charlie puts it, “Anything aggressive. Stuff like Warzone (a New York hardcore band), the Ramones. No pussy stuff like Bon Jovi or Poison.” He and guitarist/co-writer Scott Ian even threw their weight behind the (slightly greater weight of) king of New York skinheads Billy Milano for the on-and-off Stormtroopers Of Death project two years ago. The resulting LP, Speak English Or Die, was a right-wing comedic masterpiece, right up there with Joe. These days, both Scott and Charlie are reluctant to broach that much-criticized subject—after many months of Milano/Anthrax wars in the underground metal press, the two camps seem to’ve buried the hatchet. Uneasily.

Scattered criticism also came their way for their recent foray into rap. Some people found I’m The Man offensive, which is all well and good. Some found it racist, though, which the band—and just about any clear-headed individual out there— found pretty amusing.

“Mostly, it’s been taken the way we wanted it to be taken,” Benante ventures. “It’s not a serious thing. Not something we’d really wanna do again (though Belladonna later says he’s hoping for another rap on their upcoming LP) but the kids into rap who actually got to hear it, dug it. The people up at Def Jam, who we know, played it for the guys in Public Enemy, who’re like the most black pride-oriented guys, and they loved it. So as far as it being racist—I think that’s just bullshit, OK?”

Cholly, who could argue? But the problem of following what’s stacked up to be their biggest disc remains. Anthrax are in the studio now—if the band’s presstime plans hold true—recording State Of Euphoria, their fourth full-length LP, and one they quite sensibly believe will nudge them into the chart’s highest reaches.

“We’re not writing any hit singles or anything,” snorts Belladonna. “But I hope the record’ll be in the pocket, y’know? Really rockin’.” Joe talks this way a lot. Charlie’s glad to translate.

“Some of us weren’t too happy with the last LP—especially production-wise—but I’d better not get into it. Let’s just say we didn’t think it was all it could be. A lot of our fans who really got into Spreading The Disease kinda criticized Among The Living, and I can understand some of that.”

I tell Cholly that his singer mentioned there’d be a bit of a departure from the speed this time.

“Not at all,” he says, a trifle confused. “Oh God, what did Joey say?” A quick check of the ol’ notes insures the exact words of Mr. Belladonna are related.

“We’re trying to use the best of both of those albums this time.” Benante retorts. “The melody of Spreading The Disease and the energy of Among The Living.”

The pair’ll agree that Anthrax’s first non-English language disc is imminent. Not a cover of “The Internationale” designed to launch their full-scale passage into the Communist Party but (much in the tradition of snotty punk covers they began with God Save The Queen ) a version of Euro-core forefathers Trust’s “Anti-Social.” “That was a huge hit in France,” Belladonna muses. “Musta sold a million copies. We’li probably do a version for over there that I’ll sing in French.”

The rest of the material for Euphoria, a lot of which Scott and Charlie are still writing, shouldn’t be too much of a departure from their “reality rock” roots, as they like to say. Though they’re often perceived as clowns, what with the Judge Dredd fixations, the Monkee-like horsing around that makes ’em a photographer’s delight and Scott’s now-dormant habit of shaving “NOT” into his hirsute chest (“I always had to help him with the‘T’,” recalls Benante. "He could never quite get it straight”), Anthrax songs are hardly devoid of serious comment.

Running through all their songs, save a few toss-offs like “I’m The Man,” is a basic message familiar to anybody who came of age in punk’s heyday—society is oppressive, the individual always ends up getting screwed. “A lot of it comes from personal experience.” says Benante. “People can identify with that more than songs about getting loaded or getting laid; it’s all such a cliche.”

One of the standout numbers on their last LP was a song called “Indians.” Pretty straightforwardly titled, it featured Ian’s take on Native American oppression. Charlie nods. “They really got screwed. The stuff we’ve read talks about how low the standard of living is among them. I know it’s real naive to think you’re really gonna change the world or anything with a rock ’n’ roll song. But maybe we’ll open some eyes.”

Charlie, who initiates the ’Thrax songwriting process by presenting lists of titles to Ian & the rest, has part of State Of Euphoria’s roster on hand. He’s slightly guarded about it though.

“Well, there’s a song inspired by Blue Velvet—what a f—ing great movie! And there’s one called ‘Schism,’ which means troble, which is what the song is all about,” he laughs. “And there’s one called ‘Isolation,’ which is about this.. .well, it doesn’t have to be a rock star. But it’s about this star who surrounds himself with all the things his money can get him and hides away, and he dies there. Alone.”

Kinda hard to believe these are the same guys who mosh around stages doin’ that peculiarly white-male-metal happy dance their fans seem to favor clad in Kangol caps (or in Joey’s case, headdresses for “Indians”) and bermuda shorts, actin’, well, like basic surburban goofs.

“In a sense, we are,” insists Charlie. “I mean, I can go out into a crowd before one of our shows and kids won’t recognize me. We’re really no different than the people who come to see us.”

Joey’s feelings are pretty much the same. “As far as the ‘clowning’ like you call it, it’s just fun to have fun,” he says. “It doesn’t impede the playing or anything, and it helps involve the crowd more. I think it’s better to get people involved than just go ‘Here’s your music, listen to it and then go home!’ ”

It also helps separate them from the death metal lumpen hordes their sheep-disease name might associate them with.

“That’s so played out,” Charlie chuckles with more than a hint of frustration. “Why do people wanna sing ‘death, gore, death, kill... ’ and all that shit?? You can look at life that wayjust seeing all the negatives. After all, we are all going to die at the end of life. But while you’re living, why not enjoy it? Why get all wrapped up in death? It’s not all that interesting!”

An admirable thought, to be sure. And a strange one to have to ponder in the first place, considering how foolish the flipside actually is. It’s been said that the greatest rock ’n’ roll makes you feel good to be alive. Whether Anthrax succeed in doing that is a matter of opinion, but at least they’ve cast themselves into the battle on the right side. ©