Christopher Lord 

Slipknot review – metal mammoths deliver exhilarating sonic brutality

Heads bang, moshpits burst into life and riffs eviscerate every corner of the room as the band tear through their debut album 1999 in a visceral sensory haze
  
  

Menacing … Corey Taylor of Slipknot at the First Direct Arena, Leeds.
Menacing … Corey Taylor of Slipknot at the First Direct Arena, Leeds. Photograph: Calum Buchan Photography

Until you’ve tried it, don’t knock the singular joys of watching a grown man in a horned gimp mask whack a steel keg with a baseball bat. Comical stage antics and horror theatricality have always been a part of Slipknot’s nucleus, but their exhilarating concert spectacle is no joke.

Celebrating its 25th anniversary, the nine-piece US metal mammoths are performing songs from their 1999 self-titled debut album. “Welcome back to 19-fucking-99!” frontman Corey Taylor barks, dedicating this opening night to “the Maggots” – a nickname given to the band’s legions of fans.

There’s new blood in the form of Eloy Casagrande. The Brazilian drummer left Sepultura to join Slipknot earlier this year. He replaced Jay Weinberg whose firing in 2023 – put down as a “creative decision” and “parting of ways” – prompted such a fan backlash that the subsequent social media announcement post was deleted. Weinberg said he was “heartbroken and blindsided”, having replaced the late Joey Jordison almost a decade prior.

Casagrande introduces himself properly on Eyeless, nailing the song’s frighteningly fast drum parts in savage style, while fans in the stands smack their laps in unison. Get This is a similarly furious slice of breakneck bile.

Some of us might not scare as easily these days, but the band can still cultivate an eery ambience. All nine members are wearing matching boilersuits – a nod to their initial look 25 years ago – with unique and invariably grotesque masks. At one point, Taylor’s glowing, blood-red eyes are all that’s visible in the darkness.

Heads bang, mosh pits burst into life, and menacing, razor-sharp guitar riffs eviscerate every corner of the room. The live setting transforms these songs into a visceral sensory experience that the record fails to do justice. One of two guitarists, Jim Root windmills his long hair in perfect motion as he chugs away violently on Spit It Out.

“This is your own national anthem. Get those middle fingers in the fucking air,” Taylor commands before Surfacing, the band’s nihilistic epitaph. “Fuck it all, fuck this world, fuck everything that you stand for!” he bellows.

The 20th century already feels like a long time ago, so it’s a strange indictment that this sonic brutality seems to resonate more now than it ever did. And like most hard-rock heavyweights with decades on the clock, Slipknot have endured death, addiction, bitter break-ups and everything in between. Behind the masks, they remain ageless and indispensable.

 

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