Tom Araya of Slayer Roseland Ballroom, NYC, 11/16/01 Photo by Paul E. Dogg © 2001 NY Rock

It's a fairly well-known fact that bands opening for Slayer have been reamed by impatient audiences (hell, even System of a Down were booed when they opened). But Chimaira (pronounced kim-ear-uh) from Cleveland, Ohio, were an incredibly impressive metal-hardcore act that escaped persecution. Far from sounding like your Papa Roach/Korn band, Chimaira were full of brain-smashing chords, growling, nightmarish vocals, and hard, dense beats. Their hyper-ballistic performance spawned a formidable mosh pit (I stayed on the outskirts, dodging flying boots from angry boys). The bulk of the set was from their debut Roadrunner release, Pass Out of Existence, and included the songs "Dead Inside" and "Sp_lit." Everyone dug into the music. You could tell the crowd could separate the nü-bands from the authentic ones. A few attendees were handing out flyers for local shows; other people were wearing T-shirts of local hardcore bands, including NJ Bloodline and Sworn Enemy. Fifteen minutes into Chimaira's set and some lug in the pit was already bleeding from his nose. It may be early, but I'd say it's time for him to cash in his chips.

Kerry King of Slayer Roseland Ballroom, NYC, 11/16/01 Photo by Paul E. Dogg © 2001 NY Rock

Chants of "Slyyyr! Slyyyr!" were hurled at the stage and, unfortunately, the second opening band, American Head Charge, failed to do more than crank out lots of fuzzy noise. The band's album, The War of Art sold over 12,000 copies in its first week, but save for a few fans in the front, I don't think anyone in this audience owned a copy. When the band emerged in their Marilyn Manson-meets-the-Toxic Avenger-meets-the Cure ensemble, well, they weren't exactly welcomed warmly. "Fuck you! You suck!!" was what I heard. Still, it amused me when a guy in the audience spit at a member of the band, who spit back and taunted the guy, all while the band forged ahead with some Nine Inch Nails-ish/Slipknot-ish sounding music. American Head Charge have a hell of a lot of members, like the industrial version of Parliament Funkadelic. Well, maybe not that many. Anyway, props to the bass player, who jumped off stage at the end of the set and shook hands with some fans in the front row.

There was no point in trying to stay by the stage. I was put through a wringer of frantic, slimy bodies and found myself all the way in the back of Roseland, right by the bar (fancy that). Even way back there, big dudes were vying for the best position in which to hail Tom Araya, Kerry King, Jeff Hanneman, and Paul Bostaph.

A mosh pit formed before anyone got on stage to do a sound check. Talk about building up anticipation. Lights down. Very dark. People ready to pop like zits. I'll admit it – I'm scared.

When Slayer took the stage, the crowd reminded me of William Wallace's Scottish warriors in Braveheart. A sea of savages – male and female – in their makeshift battle gear, threw their fists in the air and howled. The band opened with "Disciple" from God Hates Us All, and almost every mouth in Roseland was screaming the lyrics and whipping their heads back and forth.

If King ever got tired of being in a band, the World Wrestling Federation would hand him a contract faster than you can say "headlock." King is huge. His bald head, enormous arms, and intense playing style were pure WWF, minus the theatrics. All this from a guy named Kerry. Araya and Hanneman, the lanky metal heads with long hair, displayed a seasoned talent for headbanging and unleashing riffs that could slice through leather pants. Bostaph lambasted the skins so wickedly, the force joggled your eyeballs. With a package like this, it's no wonder Slayer have their fans by the roots of their stringy hair. Well, that is, until the sound system blows a fuse and the speed metal is halted.

Three songs into the set, Roseland prematurely gave in. One of the last places you want an amp to blow or a wire to die is at a Slayer concert. The fans started getting unpleasantly hostile. Chants of "Roseland sucks!" and "Refund!" replaced the Braveheart cries. Riot, anyone? Araya walked up to his mic and screamed for everyone to "be a little more fucking patient." I can't say this crowd honored his request, but I can tell you the sound system's sudden stall – which lasted for at least 20 minutes – weakened the momentum of the show. When the show finally resumed, however, the band proceeded to demolish everyone's eardrums with a mix of new songs and classic older ones. By the closing number, "Angel of Death," Slayer had saved their performance and exhausted their fans. One exhilarated fan's T-shirt said it all. The front read "Fuckin' Slayer." The back read "Fuck the Other Guys."