I've Been Slayed

I thought I'd fallen into the seventh realm of hell, but it was just the Electric Ballroom.

Last week's Slayer concert was definitely the heaviest show that's gone down in Knoxville for quite some time—probably the heaviest show ever. Fans waited in line not so patiently for two hours beyond the posted opening time, only to find out that none of the scheduled national and local acts would be playing. No matter, Slayer stormed on at 9:30 p.m. to play almost two hours of new and old favorites, delighting the packed house of die-hard headbangers.

Much uglier than Slayer's music was the crowd that assembled for the show. Black metal T-shirts were in abundance, and pentagram tattoos were as common as UT Vols T-shirts on The Strip on game day. Being amongst such a lovely bunch of individuals harkened back memories of the early '80s metal era, because many showed up as messed up as they did in the good old days. A little puking here and there always adds to the ambiance of a death metal concert.

Slayer delivered the goods, thrashing through all of their hits including sing-along favorites like "Angel of Death." The music was heavy, and the band was heavy. Bassist Tom Araya looked like he'd been standing next to a keg of beer for about 15 years. I guess you need that kind of liquid therapy to deal with such an infernal audience response night after night after weary night. "Seasons In The Abyss" indeed...

The God of Revelry

His presence is sadly missed on commercial airwaves, but fear not: Col. Bacchus' finely honed aural lunacy can be found weekly on WUTK. Knoxville's radio madman (AKA Trey McReynolds) can be heard weekly on New Rock 90.3 from 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. on Wednesdays with his new show, Kosovo Rush Junction. Like Bacchus' constantly evolving monikers, the show has gone through a series of titles beginning with Skylab, before being known as The Moon, Postcards, Envelopes, Gold Rush Junction, and the current (ahem) socially aware title.

Never one to merely play music and jabber between songs, McReynolds offers the listener a totally twisted exploration of sound. "The whole idea of the show is to play stuff that nobody will play anywhere else," says McReynolds. "I like to play things like crows and cartoons, extended jungle noises, and really bad music played at the wrong speeds." Needless to say, this show is for the truly adventurous.

As to his return in the world of commercial radio, McReynolds says he'd consider it if and only if the circumstances allowed him total freedom and the ability to broadcast live. Our fingers are crossed, but we'd be surprised if any of the local stations are really "extreme" enough for McReynolds' unique brand of radio madness.

Calling All Thespians

Nashville is just the happening hub for all that is filmic as of late, which is swell for all Knoxvillians who reach for the stars. The latest in a long line of projects is Ms Dolly Parton's upcoming TV movie: The Blue Valley Songbird. A call for extras just came rolling off the fax, asking for anyone who would want to be paid for a day or two of standing around wearing make-up. If that sounds like a spiffy gig and you are an adult of either sex, haul your cookies to Nashville's Regal Maxwell House Hotel (one block north of 265 at 2025 Metro Center Blvd.) on Saturday, July 3 between noon and 3 p.m. It is very, very, very important that you bring a non-returnable recent photo that is no larger than 4 inches by 6 inches. And, whatever you do, do not call the hotel for information.

Local CD Review

Greg Horne, Floating World

You can spend months in another country or city, have a great time, but never really see the place. Greg Horne's CD, Floating World (sent to us with a snazzy note requesting a Put Up or Shut Up review) is a ride filled with a number of kicks, but like a tourist brushing through strange lands you never really get to know any of these places.

Floating World is not what you would call world music—it would, however, fit right in on public radio show World Cafe. He works off a number of different folk styles—a form prone to confessional, personal musings, but which paradoxically may be (in its modern form) the most veiled of all music genres.

The musical trip starts with two boogie woogie tunes—"Fat Tuesday" and "Be With Me"—both reminiscent of Little Feat. Vocally, Horne's no Lowell George, but both songs find a nice groove. "Fat Tuesday" is about getting dumped, saying the heck with it, and running off to New Orleans for Mardi Gras (the song contains the non sequitur of the singer driving a beat-up Volvo, yet calling himself a "hillbilly"—giving you the suspicion that Horne isn't exactly who he says or who he thinks he is).

Horne is too restless to stay in party mode for long. From there, the music changes to wistful, intellectual folk ballads in the style of Loudon Wainwright III/John Prine. In "Calling from where I am" a prodigal husband tries to win back his wife's trust.

The cryptic, tongue twisting "Risks of exposure" seems to be about a couple running from and haunted by their coal mining ancestors—it smartly remains dreamy and avoids didacticism. Horne's lyrics are a maze to stumble through—Looking for a home in the pace between the coals that glow like devils eyes. The silence of your listening to the breathing of the evening is loud as the night. Once more you try to feel your back against a moving planet once more you try to know the world that holds you. And I never got used to it...And the stars shine bright on a cold cold night when you're naked in the wind—but work because they're so evocative.

The songs then become more electric and upbeat with "She moves through time." The next musical shift is a jarring one—"This heart takes all kinds" falls into a acid-rock jam, with distortion and echoes tossed in. The studio tricks lend the song a feeling of liberation, and make it sound better than it really is.

We move on again—back to folk—but a style more reminiscent of Woody Guthrie, with "Siberian Express," which may be the disc's standout track. "Castrato" has a Byrds (circa Gram Parson's) feel to it.

You simply cannot pin Horne down. He seems to want to dazzle listeners by showing them the wide repertoire of styles he can do. And for the most part, he manages them well. Which is good to a certain extent. But at the same time, Horne wanders so much, it's hard to get any sense of who he is.

—Zippy "Needs more space" McDuff