Exodus
Let There Be Blood

THE REVIEW

Here comes 1985, I was a metalhead teenager and I didn't have an easy life. I'll add a small detail: I've always been straight. You might say, what's the relevance? Easy to explain, I couldn't go around being a charmer talking about the release of Black Metal by Venom, or that Neil Turbin was leaving Anthrax after a fabulous album. How could I talk about Kill 'Em All that was blowing me away or about Slayer erasing my neurons. The only way to approach was getting closer to the New Wave, so it was Talk Talk, Adam Ants, Simple Minds, and Depeche Mode at full blast. Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet lyrics by heart. Double wardrobe and double attitude. Lab coat with the Venom goat and a denim jacket with a giant Ozzy patch on the back from Bark at the Moon. But also a black herringbone coat with a black scarf, black pants, black shoes, and black fingerless gloves. Damn, what a struggle.

The music had divided us into two groups: long-haired and dark, both pretty blackened. I was blacker than the others because I lived in both worlds at the same time.

And there I was, living 1985. A great year for Metal music. Maybe you're thinking “Falloppio, you're making a mistake, the album you're presenting is dated 2008. Did you eat broccoli, beans, and other ingredients that caused gas from your intestines to your skull?” No. Don't worry. The Exodus album I'm slowly reviewing is a reissue of the debut album “Bonded by Blood” titled “Let there be Blood.” The title “Patto di Sangue” (actually the translation would be “Bound by Blood,” but allow me a less literal and more theatrical translation), is easily explained. California, beach, a group of totally drunk boys listening to Venom and Mercyful at full volume from the car stereo. Taken by the nonsense coming from the speakers, they decided to cut their palms and join them to seal a blood pact, instigated by a young Kirk Hammett, perhaps more messed up than all the others.

Like an avalanche in a clear sky, an important album is born for the new musical genre renamed “thrash,” which I like to translate as “whack,” not to be confused with “trash,” garbage. Due to a record company problem, the album comes out the year after its creation and is a blast of violent and original music. Paul Baloff's voice gives you chills like chalk on a blackboard, Holt's guitar is a blow on the back, and Hunting is a crusher that flattens your eardrums.

After this debut, world tour, wild messes, drugs, and Mr. Baloff is kicked out. The years pass, and the push and pull with the singer is periodic. Too bad that the one “pulling” more was just him. Snort today, snort tomorrow, and after a bike ride, Mr. Baloff collapses to the ground. He falls into a coma, and having no close relatives, given the impossibility of saving him, the band members make the drastic decision to unplug the machines a few days after the heart attack.

The clock hands have moved quickly, and we have arrived in 2008. The dream of Baloff and all Exodus was to redo their first album with more modern sounds. And so the tribute to their first singer, “Let there be Blood” is born, which presents nothing new, the pieces are identical and have the same timing. Of course, they are interpreted by a new singer who does well. The guitar solos are much more fresh and clean. Nothing exceptional, just a simple memory of the past with a new outfit. Perhaps avoidable? Yes, but the greatness and esteem that the metal world has towards Exodus was recently reiterated by Dave Mustaine in organizing a tour for the Big Four Thrash Metal: Megadeth, Slayer, Anthrax, and Metallica. Since Metallica are the fanciest and probably won't agree to stoop to the level of the other bands, the fourth group could even be that of Exodus because the blood pact continues over time.

I wish you itchy bums and short arms.