The California quartet hasn't lost a single beat in middle age. Tom Araya's clenched wails, the mind-bogglingly quicksilver fretwork of Kerry King and Jeff Hanneman, and the double-barreled bass drum of Dave Lombardo were locked as one while they powered through a compact 70-minute set of '80s favorites like "Raining Blood" and "South of Heaven" and newer tracks like the raging "Jihad."
The ferocity of the music and the dizzying assault of lights were balanced by Araya's mild-mannered stage demeanor. If he was a caterwauling, headbanging, bass-punishing Superman in action, he was definitely Clark Kent between songs, saying in an almost comically calm voice "thank you very much. I trust you're having a good time." Considering the chants of "Slayer! Slayer!" and the roiling mass of bodies on the general admission floor, it seemed safe to answer yes.
If Slayer's set was more about songs than show, Manson's performance was the opposite.
His imagery, props, and theatrical persona were riveting but after a strong start the musical mood nosedived along with the tempo.
The segue from fury to frightfest was ably handled with haunted-house piano and string music playing behind a black curtain -- emblazoned with two "bleeding" M's -- as if the band were conjuring the singer from the crypt. "If I Was Your Vampire" oozed appropriately with menace as Manson, sporting an orange stripe over his eyes, welcomed his minions. "Disposable Teens" followed with a shot of community-building, industrial funk, and "Mobscene" was a glammy good bump and grind.
But a string of muddy, dirge-like tempos --especially after Slayer's crisp articulation -- broke the spell. A few songs threatened to break out, closer "The Beautiful People" among them. But no amount of top hat donning, blood red confetti spewing, or demented shrieking was able to build Manson's 70-minute set back up to that early peak.
