ANTHRAX: Better Than Death
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.
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.