Metal Evolution - "Early Metal UK"

Metal Evolution - "Early Metal UK"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review: A-

Demo in hand, Jim Simpson shopped Black Sabbath’s first recordings to 14 record labels, and not one of them had the foresight to sign this fearsome foursome. Not one to hold grudges, especially all these years later, Simpson understood their reticence. As he tells filmmaker Sam Dunn in the “Early Metal UK” episode of the “Metal Evolution” documentary series, why would any A&R representative with a cozy job at some British record label jeopardize his or her career by signing somebody who sounded like that? There was nothing on the charts that sounded anything remotely like Sabbath, recalls Simpson. And, as Simpson points out, label executives have never really gone out of their way to seek out fresh, new sounds. They want something safe, something marketable that bears some resemblance to songs they know will sell. The A&R representative who likes his or her job and wants to keep it will then, predictably, not risk it on four soot-stained lost souls from an industrial hellhole like Aston, Birmingham whose ghoulish sonic menace couldn’t possibly sell more than a handful of records.

Impenetrably dark and truly demonic, Sabbath was playing the devil’s music, even if the charges of Satanism leveled at Sabbath would never stick. Just when it seemed that nobody loved them, along came Olav Wyper. Working for Phillips Records, Wyper saw something in Sabbath, and signed them to the recording giant. One of the unsung heroes of heavy metal, Wyper shepherded Sabbath through the maze of Phillips subsidiaries, finding them a nest at Vertigo. And the rest is history, thanks to Wyper … and Simpson, too. After all, were it not for Simpson’s diligence as manager in the service of his client, Sabbath might have returned to the factories and labored in obscurity until death.

Wyper and Simpson are not exactly Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. The guitar legend and the golden god turned down requests for interviews for “Metal Evolution” because they felt Led Zeppelin was no more a heavy metal act than The Rolling Stones. And maybe they’re right. Producer and sound visionary Eddie Kramer, famed for his work with Jimi Hendrix and Aerosmith, agrees when discussing the matter with Dunn during “Early Metal UK.” Though undoubtedly pioneers in the realm of heavy music and hard rock, Zeppelin’s expansive oeuvre encompassed so many genres – including a strong foundation in the blues – that pigeonholing them in a box marked “heavy metal” would be a sin. The presence of Page and Plant are not required, however, for Dunn and his partner, Scot McFayden, to craft an engrossing, informative and curious study of the role such bands as Zeppelin, Sabbath and Deep Purple – not to mention the contributions of glam-rock upstarts Sweet and T. Rex – played in the development of heavy metal in the early to mid 1970s.

 With eyes wide open, Dunn, fresh off exploring the impact of American bands like KISS on early U.S. metal, seems giddy about the prospect of meeting rock icons from Sabbath and Deep Purple, two sides of the British proto-metal triangle. After a brief, but detailed, study of the British blues boom – with John Mayall sharing his memories of the scene’s explosion and vintage black-and-white live footage of the Yardbirds’ slamming through “Train Kept A-Rollin” – and how slowing things down, as Cream so vividly illustrates during a particularly heavy, psychedelic reading of Willie Dixon’s “Spoonful” onstage in rich video unearthed from the vaults, led to a U.K. metal awakening. Zeppelin’s transformative reinventing of the blues and its influence on metal is thoroughly debated (Dunn makes it into the offices of Plant’s manager, but that’s as close as he gets to him), before Dunn runs headlong into Sabbath, who, as Kramer says, is the definitive metal band.

Heady, punishing live footage of Sabbath pounding away in concert gives way to Bill Ward and Geezer Butler talking about the barren, dismal and violent existence of Birmingham, England in the ‘60s. Of keen interest is Ward’s discussion of how his drumming helped thicken the gloomy atmosphere of the title track to Black Sabbath – in particular, it was the funereal march of his toms that did the trick, the vintage live performance of the track providing the incontrovertible evidence of the fact. But, it’s how deftly Dunn pieces together the story of Sabbath’s early search for a record label, stringing together segments of Butler humorously relating the story of A&R reps abandoning a Sabbath gig two songs in and Wyper’s incisive initial impressions of the band, that speak to the respect he and McFayden show for the material and their ability to communicate it in interesting ways. The fact that Dunn spends so time with Wyper and Simpson, without dwelling on their contributions too long, is indicative of his willingness to go the extra mile, and it is appreciated.

Sharing top billing on “Early Metal UK,” Deep Purple and its metamorphosis from progressive-rock hopeful to proto-metal force of nature – as told by Roger Glove and Ian Paice – is dealt with on a scale equal to its legendary status. Def Leppard’s Phil Collen indulges in a bit of Ritchie Blackmore worship as he recounts seeing Purple live as a defining moment in his young life. An in-depth assessment of Deep Purple In Rock follows the touchy subject of Purple dispatching of singer Rod Evans and bassist Nick Simper in favor of Ian Gillan and Glover, respectively – Paice reiterating that it was a necessary housecleaning that had to take place for Purple to become the powerful, muscular rock engine that would drive such classic LPs as In Rock, Machine Head and Fireball. Of course, Deep Purple would fracture due to internal friction, most of it having to do with Blackmore. Gillan and Glover departed eventually, their shoes filled by the soulful tandem of David Coverdale and Glenn Hughes.

The transition was a rocky one, as Paice tells it. Though Coverdale and Hughes bonded instantly, Blackmore, as has been told time and time again, wasn’t on board with the more R&B-inclined direction of Purple and disavowed Mark III’s first foray, Stormbringer. All of this makes for great drama and fodder for Dunn, as he ties together the seemingly disparate histories of all versions of Deep Purple and shows how all of it did, indeed, shape the future of heavy metal. And that includes Mark IV.

Sabbath’s deterioration is dissected without pity, as Dunn digs into the disastrous Rick Wakeman experiment and the band’s prodigious drug use. Purple was also savaged by substance abuse, creative differences and personnel shuffling. Then along came glam. England was reeling from economic despair and labor unrest, and with the working-class heading to the pubs for a good time, bands like Sweet stepped into the void. The Zeppelins, Sabbaths and Purples of the world had become unapproachable millionaires – and their work was suffering, although in the case of Zeppelin, it was John Bonham’s tragic death that did them in – and the people wanted something different. “Early Metal UK” chronicles the fall of metal’s birth parents and glam-rock’s glittery stomp to the top with aplomb. Always easy and relaxed, but with the inquisitive restlessness of a detective obsessing about a cold case, Dunn and company again weave richly filmed, incendiary period live footage with wide-ranging interviews. And though they play a small role in “Early Metal UK,” the recollections of Simpson and Wyper are essential to Sabbath’s story, and they provide some of the most fascinating commentary of the series. They may not be stars, but Dunn has elevated their level of importance to metal’s growth, and it’s one of the gratifying surprises that Dunn and company plant throughout “Metal Evolution” as if they were Easter eggs, even if some of the stories and photography aren’t always of the rare and never-before-seen variety.

-        -   Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - Early Metal UK

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Metal Evolution - "Early Metal US"

Metal Evolution - "Early Metal US"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review:  B+

Back in Aerosmith’s salad days, the early- to mid-1970s to be precise, the only way a band could hit every target demographic it hoped to reach was by touring all over and then going back out on the road to do it all over again and again. Today, they call that sort of thing “viral marketing,” as Aerosmith bassist Tom Hamilton jokes in the second episode of Sam Dunn’s incisive documentary series “Metal Evolution.” Others might refer to it as “paying your dues.”

Hamilton and company had no other choice when they were starting out. Neither did KISS or anybody else of that era that possessed dreams of rock ‘n’ roll world domination. In “Early Metal US,” the road to stardom is paved not with gold, but with broken-down tour buses, empty booze bottles, smashed bongs and used condoms, and while Dunn doesn’t delve deeply into the more tawdry aspects of touring, metal’s most intrepid documentarian does manage to illustrate how important it was from a business standpoint for KISS, Aerosmith and Alice Cooper to be road warriors. To spread their hard-rock contagion, gigging incessantly was the only way to get your name out there – that is unless you happened to get lucky and score an unlikely radio hit, like Alice Cooper did with that anthem of youthful rebellion “I’m Eighteen.” Getting it played on a Toronto radio station, which transmitted the song to parts throughout the North American Midwest, was certainly a coup for a band that, up to that time, had been ignored by radio, even as their elaborate stage show, a fun house of horrific thrills and chills, garnered the kind of publicity they would have never been able to buy.

Recollections of life on the road are peppered throughout “Early Metal US,” with Hamilton providing insight into how vital it was for bands like his to knock ‘em dead every night. It was certainly no different for the face-painted KISS, whose traveling circus of a stage show – what with Gene Simmons’ blood splitting and fire breathing , Peter Criss’s levitating drum kit, and Ace Frehley’s guitar gizmos – surely did the trick as far as building up a fan base goes. However, as Frehley explains to Dunn while vintage images of KISS’s theatricality in concert go rushing past, it was recording the explosive live album, Alive!, that ultimately launched them into the stratosphere and perhaps saved them from calling it quits. Delivering the goods onstage meant everything to KISS, and bringing that same excitement to vinyl was just as crucial.

And as KISS went along, they would use any tool they could to make money, even going so far as to record a chart-topping ballad in “Beth” – Criss, laughing all the way to the bank, talks at length to Dunn about how Simmons and Stanley didn’t want to do it and did everything they could to sabotage it in the studio – and go along with the trends of the day by releasing, horror of horrors, a disco song. Meanwhile, in Boston, Aerosmith set about bringing its furious, Rolling Stones-inspired blues-rock to the masses, with a Jagger-like lead singer in Steven Tyler and a guitar slinger by the name of Joe Perry. Hamilton is open and candid about how Aerosmith took on the critics and won over the people with a rugged, rollicking sound that became electrically charged in a live setting, and Dunn is just as honest in describing Aerosmith’s fall from grace due to substance abuse.

There would be a period of malaise in hard rock before Van Halen came along to inject a little hedonistic fun and a whole lot of heavy metal testosterone into an arena-rock corpse that needed to be shocked back to life. Young and cocky, with a supernatural guitar player in Eddie Van Halen, the California foursome boasted a “big rock” aesthetic, as former bassist Michael Anthony describes it to Dunn, and their thundering drums, blazing riffage and David Lee Roth’s showmanship made rock fun again. Unfortunately, Dunn and company cut short any exploration of Van Halen’s influence rather abruptly, as if time had gotten away from them and a quick-and-dirty edit was needed to wrap things up.

On the plus side, Dunn doesn’t drop the ball in detailing the impact of surf guitar legend Dick Dale and garage-rock, especially the variety that made Detroit famous, had on heavy metal’s development. Lenny Kaye is particularly articulate and concise in his analysis of garage-rock’s influence, while Dale passionately and without artifice explains how his use of thick strings and a revamped Fender amp led to increased volume. The role Blue Cheer played in drawing the blueprints for heavy metal is explored, as well, but it’s when Dunn travels to Detroit to revisit the incendiary, scene that birthed the MC5, The Stooges and Ted Nugent’s Amboy Dukes that things really get interesting. Fiery, visceral concert footage of the MC5 kicking out the jams back in the day – some of it familiar, and some of it not so familiar – and Nugent’s wild-eyed tribute to the Wayne Kramer and the boys is something to behold. And Dunn does a fine job playing up the blue-collar influence on Detroit’s toughest, most confrontational acts, like Iggy Pop and The Stooges, with James Williamson and Scott Asheton establishing a link between the automobile industry and the bombed-out ruins of The Stooges’ drugged sonics.

As usual, Dunn and his partner Scot McFayden do a wonderful job of weaving interviews with astute, knowledgeable insiders and great period video footage – the Alice Cooper material, comprised of Q&A and live imagery, is fascinating, fully realized and visually dynamic – together to tell a story. With the exception of the short shrift given to Van Halen, the editing is superb, and Dunn’s winning personality as a tour guide and intellectual vigor as an interviewer make “Early Metal US” another strong episode. Though made of compelling stuff, the KISS segment feels a little short on depth, as does Dunn’s look at Aerosmith. But, in such an exercise, time is of the essence, and for the most part, Dunn and company make good use of it.


- Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - "Pre-Metal"

Metal Evolution - "Pre-Metal"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review: A-

Pinning down that exact moment of conception when heavy metal became a living, breathing entity is next to impossible, as most observers know all too well. There was no “big bang” that, in the blink of an eye, brought this screaming, bloody musical anti-Christ – something akin to that evil baby with the fangs and devil horns that graces the cover of Black Sabbath’s Born Again album – into existence. Although some will argue that heavy metal’s arrival was heralded by Steppenwolf when John Kay uttered the words “heavy metal thunder” in “Born to be Wild” or that its birth occurred the moment Blue Cheer dropped that sonic atom bomb of psychedelic blues that was their cover of “Summertime Blues,” others might point to the first Black Sabbath album or the tragic industrial accident that claimed the tips of Tony Iommi’s fingers as the origin of this particular species. No doubt, all of these events played a role in giving life to the genre, but heavy metal’s creation story is a far more complex tale than even filmmaker Sam Dunn imagined when he undertook his “Metal Evolution” documentary series, an extension of his highly acclaimed “A Headbanger’s Journey” film. And it’s no accident that he included the word “evolution” in the title.

With the probing mind of an anthropologist and a fan’s heart, Dunn, ably assisted by partner Scot McFayden, examine in great detail the roots of heavy metal in the inaugural episode of VH1 Classic’s “MetalEvolution,” “Pre-Metal.” Immersing himself in the Wacken Open Air experience, Dunn launches into what is quite possibly the most academic installment of “Metal Evolution” with a fairly scientific approach, expounding on the neuroscience behind the fatal attraction people have to metal. Scientist Laurel Trainor of McMaster University studies this kind of thing, and on “Pre-Metal,” she talks in-depth about the effect of aggressive music on the body and mind, while measuring Dunn’s head and exposing him to various musical genres during a staged experiment with him. Over the course of “Pre-Metal,” Dunn journeys back in time to study, somewhat predictably, the influence of classical music, blues and jazz on metal’s development, while also taking detours to Sun Studios in Memphis to investigate the accidental discovery of distortion and to Britain’s Marshall Amplification factory to see how founder Jim Marshall, through trial and error, tried and ultimately succeeded in building an amp that would satiate Pete Townshend’s desire for overpowering volume.

That, in and of itself, is a fascinating piece of history, as the story of how the famed Marshall stacks grew into these monstrous delivery systems for explosive sound is inextricably tied to heavy metal’s rise from music’s primordial ooze. No less an innovator than Marshall, Sun Studios’ Sam Phillips had an ear for fresh, exciting sonic possibilities, as the story of “Rocket 88” and the damaged amplifier that wrapped what is considered by many as the first rock ‘n’ roll recording in hot, fuzzy distortion indicates. And Dunn and company link indirectly that historic moment with Dave Davies’ “You Really Got Me” riff – one that many metal musicians cite as having aroused their hard-rock sensibilities – in a subtle way that speaks to their ability to combine all these diverse elements into a cohesive and entertaining package. 

Not at all surprisingly, the non-scientific portion of “Pre-Metal” starts with Black Sabbath and explains how those doom-laden chords that sprung from Iommi’s imagination – their genesis found in classical music – filled their first album with horrifying menace and supernatural uneasiness. From there, Dunn segues into a discussion of classical influences, exploring how Niccolo Paganini’s frantic violin technique put Yngwie Malmsteen on an endless quest to conquer increasingly complex and virtuoso passages and the impact of opera on the vocal theatrics and dramatic stagecraft of the likes of Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickinson, Judas Priest’s Rob Halford and Queensryche’s Geoff Tate. Going deeper, with great enthusiasm, producer Bob Ezrin reanimates the unbridled bombast of composer Richard Wagner’s grandest epics and transplants it into the body of arena-shaking heavy metal – the connection a logical one and not at all earth-shattering, although it’s hard not be moved by Ezrin’s explanation.

If nothing else, “Pre-Metal” establishes, yet again, that winning documentary style of Dunn’s that meshes his relaxed, albeit exuberant and intense, dedication to the cause with the amazing cross-section of interviews with heavy metal icons, lesser-known players, music-industry insiders, journalists and any other contributors who would talk to him with relevant and interesting historical treatises, rare, insightful anecdotes, a combination of incredible vintage and contemporary footage of some of rock and metal’s finest performers. Scott Ian, Kirk Hammett, the MC5’s Wayne Kramer and others talk about the salvation metal brought them, as Dunn and his collaborators seek to broaden the perspectives of “Metal Evolution” as far as they can. Then, they take it one step further, as they do in the segment on the blues’ influence on metal. With Hammett and former Deep Purple bassist/vocalist Glenn Hughes adding their own two cents worth, they take great pains to get to the heart of that hellish, animalistic quality the blues has – especially apparent in the works of Robert Johnson and Howlin’ Wolf – that made the vocals and starkly minimalist instrumentation of its greatest architects so chilling. Meeting with the man who was the last living member of Howlin’ Wolf’s band, Hubert Sumlin (who actually died in December), Dunn – doing what every great interviewer does in that he divorces himself from the conversation and lets the subject tell his or her story the way they want – describes the scary power and roiling emotions inherent in the music and lyrics of a man who was uneducated in the classic sense, but who knew all too well the trials and tribulations that torture human beings.

While there is a structure to Dunn’s storytelling that is well thought out, the “Metal Evolution” series, and “Pre-Metal” in particular, reveal a tendency to step off the reservation when the spirit moves him. And it moves him in ways that are sometimes mysterious but are mostly rewarding and vital to his dissertation, which is what “Metal Evolution” is. The editing is superb on “Pre-Metal,” as almost every quote packs a punch and the appearance of concert and candid footage from long ago or today quickens the pace and adds visual interest to the piece. As those who have been watching from Day One will undoubtedly realize, Dunn and his crew were only getting started with “Pre-Metal.” 

-Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - "Pre-Metal"

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Metal Evolution - "Progressive Metal"

Metal Evolution - "Progressive Metal"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review:  A-

As if channeling some malevolent force from the Great Beyond, the moody schizophrenia and heart-of-darkness explorations of King Crimson's unsettling early 1970s progressive-rock seemed to emanate pure evil. Where more timid musical spirits braked to a screeching halt at the borders of that uncharted musical territory they explored with such curiosity, Robert Fripp and company pressed on, eager to discover bizarre sounds and encounter odd time signatures while welcoming any weirdness that might suddenly jump out at them from the blackness. Hardier souls like Metallica's Kirk Hammett embraced the more disturbing and strangely foreign elements of Crimson's oeuvre, and some, like Classic Rock magazine's Jerry Ewing, even go so far as to consider them a proto-thrash outfit.

It's not quite as easy as it sounds to establish that link between the early forefathers of English prog-rock, like Yes and Genesis, and heavy metal, but filmmaker Sam Dunn and his co-conspirators do just that in the beginning of "Progressive Metal," the latest chapter in his "Metal Evolution" series that's been dominating the airwaves on VH-1 Classic over the last few months. Over the life of "Metal Evolution," Dunn has shown the ability to make connections that don't seem patently obvious, and he doesn't do it in a ham-fisted manner. With regard to Crimson's influence on thrash, Dunn lets Hammett and Ewing make the case for him. And Genesis guitarist Steve Hackett, also interviewed by Dunn, bolsters the argument by adding "I doff my cap" to metal artists who have shown an affinity for weighty, challenging music. 

And this heavy metal sub-genre certainly has its share of challenging artists. There's the mysterious complexity of Tool and the blend of raging thrash metal, technical brilliance and melodic playfulness of Dream Theater - Dunn's inquisitive nature leading him to revisit Dream Theater's somewhat rebellious Berklee College of Music experience and study Tool's brooding intensity and penchant for remaining anonymous. All of that, however, is nothing compared to the extreme lengths Meshuggah goes to in pounding out its jazz-infected death metal assault or the completely insane prog-metal noise riots Dillinger Escape Plan ignites onstage. It is at this point that Dunn wonders if progressive-metal hasn't gone too far, the furious live clips of Meshuggah and Dillinger Escape Plan leaving viewers with mouths gaping wide. Mastodon brings "Progressive Metal" back to some semblance of normalcy, the Atlanta, Ga., prog-metal outfit combining unrelenting heaviness, surging power and intricate instrumentation on albums such as the "Moby Dick"-style concept record Leviathan, one of the truly important rock albums of the last decade. Dunn isn't shy about singing Mastodon's praises, and with good reason, considering the focused study of Leviathan he undertakes. Their lofty ambitions, Brann Dailor's multi-dimensional drumming, the hoary vocal blending of Dailor, Brent Hinds and Troy Sanders, and the sheer immensity of their sound has turned Mastodon into what is perhaps the biggest force in metal today, at least among the more independent-minded metal denizens plying their trade.

Of course, none of this would be possible without the fearless experimentation of 1970s progressive-rock envelope-pushers Yes, Genesis, and King Crimson. Dailor cites Crimson and Genesis, in particular, as inspiration at the beginning of "Progressive Metal," which leads Dunn to craft a concise, yet compelling history of prog-rock through intelligent, insightful interviews with the likes of Hackett, Yes/King Crimson drummer Bill Bruford, and Yes bassist Chris Squire, along with Ewing and another Crimson drummer, Michael Giles. Augmenting the tightly edited and endlessly fascinating dialogue is a series of period live footage from Crimson - playing "21st Century Schizoid Man" - and Yes, shown performing a lively, boisterous version of "Roundabout" that makes present-day Yes seem impotent by comparison.

Once Dunn dispenses with the old guard, he turns his camera eye on Rush. Neil Peart, Alex Lifeson, and Geddy Lee are all interviewed for Dunn's piece, and their commentary on the transition from Caress of Steel to 2112 is informative and interesting. Clearly, Rush is the suspension bridge that connects old-school prog and the progressive-metal community that is driving metal out of all its predictable ghettos and into places where others fear to tread. Dunn's keen interest in Rush shows, resulting in a long segment on the band's development from basic, blue-collar hard-rock dynamos to a trio that isn't afraid to stretch the limits of imagination. That hunger to expand and grow that's made Rush an enduring proposition has undoubtedly made an impact on the upstart metal bands swept up in their hugely influential wake. Plenty of Rush live footage - from yesterday and today - is offered that puts the band's rugged, uncompromising, and dynamic musicianship on display in "Progressive Metal," and when Lee, in his talk with Dunn, mentions how radio contains many "empty calories" and that people will also be on the lookout for interesting, unconventional music, it gives one a glimmer of hope that many will turn to early Genesis, Crimson and Yes to scratch that itch.

Though Dunn takes a more linear - and therefore, less artful - path in detailing progressive-metal's rise, he handles the subject matter with characteristic humility and sincere interest. He is thorough in his investigation of progressive-metal, leaving very few stones unturned. "Progressive Metal" is the last episode of the season for "Metal Evolution," and it is a strong chapter in the series. Whatever Dunn has up his sleeve for the future let's hope it matches the detailed examinations, intellectual groping and witty humor that have made "Metal Evolution" such wonderful television.


- Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - Progressive Metal

Watch the Full Episode - Here and Now! 

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Metal Evolution - "Power Metal"

Metal Evolution - "Power Metal"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic

All Access Review:  A-

Many wars have been fought over religious differences, each side believing theirs is the one true faith. The heavy metal community has its own zealots, and today’s power metal scene – often the subject of ridicule for its “Dungeons and Dragons” imagery, fans all decked out in medieval battle garb and its “happy metal” accessibility  – is full of them. Huge in Europe, where festivals such as Metal Camp in Slovenia pack them in, power metal is populated by bands such as Hammerfall, Manowar, Falconer, Primal Fear, and female-fronted Finnish-Swedish power metal royalty Nightwish, among others. For the latest episode of “Metal Evolution,” filmmaker Sam Dunn, with silent partner Scot McFayden working behind the scenes, traces the roots of power metal all the way back to Rainbow and Ronnie James Dio, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and the Scorpions and attempts to figure out where it all went so haywire.

Even Dunn isn’t quite sure what to make of this thing. Traveling overseas, he goes to great lengths to explore every single facet of a sub-genre marked by bombastic, epic arrangements, singers with operatic range, melodic guitars that fly at unheard of speeds, questionable fashion choices, and gothic sensibilities. At Wacken, there’s a small costumed marching band – with a drum major wearing a wig of long, flowing hair – that walks past Dunn playing Europe’s “Final Countdown.” An on-again off-again meeting with neo-classical guitar god Yngwie Malmsteen is scrapped when the notoriously flighty and sometimes difficult Malmsteen decides not to show up; then, Dunn is supposed to interview Malmsteen in a castle. Eventually, it takes place, and Dunn, finding the whole situation funny, graciously gives Malmsteen the spotlight to explain how he’s merged classical music and metal over the years, and all is forgiven.

His patience already tested, Dunn is also eager to tell the story of Manowar, the shirtless, loin-clothed defenders of what they’ve referred to as “true metal,” and their obsession with Conan the Barbarian. But, founding member Joey DeMaio refuses to sit down with Dunn. Undaunted, Dunn turns to ex-Manowar member Ross the Boss, also known for his past association with punk heroes The Dictators. Unlike DeMaio, Ross is comfortable talking about Manowar, whether or not they were “true metal” and why they were so into Conan. It’s so tempting to make jokes at Manowar’s expense and others have, taking jabs at their hyper-macho, caveman-like appearance and fantasy-laden lyrics. But, because Ross clearly doesn’t take himself or Manowar too seriously, it’s probably time to just leave them be and appreciate their actual dedication to bringing power metal back to its origins. The likeable Dunn, smiling all the way through “Power Metal,” takes the high road and does just that.

Where past installments of “Metal Evolution” have, perhaps, treated the subject matter at hand with reverence, “Power Metal” comes off as something of a lark. That’s not to say that Dunn, obviously having fun in revealing all the pomp and circumstance this kind of metal has to offer, has tongue planted firmly in cheek throughout or that he shows metal’s most outrageous sub-genre any disrespect. Dutifully, Dunn constructs a rich history of power metal through informative interviews with writers like Martin Popoff and Metal Hammer’s Sandro Buti, and members of power metal’s most influential artists, including Priest’s Rob Halford, Dio, and practically all of Iron Maiden. The German angle is pursued vigorously, with Dunn connecting the dots between Tokyo Tapes-era Scorpions and Accept and some of the newer power metal acts from that country. Meanwhile, contemporary power-metal players like the ultra-fast, “Guitar Hero”-gunslingers Dragonforce and the wintry, gothic, and breathtakingly dramatic Nightwish all explain how they are forging a new course for heavy metal. And when Nightwish keyboardist Tuomas Halopainen passionately discusses his love of making music for film and how that could be the new classical music, you can’t help but believe him.

Described somewhat disparagingly early on in the episode as “happy metal,” power metal in all its glory seems to be a force to be reckoned with in Europe. Like Maiden, these acts infuse melody and harmonics into an immense wave of sound, and it has caught on over there – especially with female fans. The popularity of Nightwish is living proof. And while power metal, with its festival crowds singing and chanting along as one big sweaty, foul-smelling mass of joyful metal unity, has not conquered North America, it could invade at any time and crash through our snobbish defenses to scale the charts with a sound that isn’t so different from Evanescence or Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Always straddling that line between being unforgivably cheesy and stunningly beautiful, power metal has come a long way, baby, and Dunn comes to that realization by the end of the show. Still incredulous, though, at its sheer audacity, Dunn celebrates power metal in all its ridiculousness, and in the end, sees it as not only harmless fun, but also as an art form that has its own magic and majesty.

- Peter Linblad

Metal Evolution - Power Metal

Watch the Full Episode - Here and Now!

Metal Evolution

Metal Evolution - "Shock Rock"

Metal Evolution - "Shock Rock"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review: A

Along with his similarly desensitized boyhood chums, a teenaged Sam Dunn took great delight in poring over the violent, gore-splattered imagery that bled all over the lyrics of death metal titans like Cannibal Corpse. The heavy metal-obsessed filmmaker waxes nostalgic for such warped innocence in his acclaimed documentary “A Headbanger’s Journey.” As someone with a strong stomach for such horrific scenes of human depravity and sick fantasies, it takes something truly frightening and unsettlingly dark to scare Dunn out of his wits. Des Moines, Iowa, mental ward escapees Slipknot had that effect on him.

On his way to the Midwest to interview Slipknot co-founder Shawn Crahan, otherwise known as Clown, during “Shock Rock,” the latest installment of his “Metal Evolution” series on VH-1, Dunn reveals how “terrified” of Slipknot he was the first time he saw them live. Intensely chaotic onstage, with an angry, relentlessly bleak nihilistic streak lyrically, Slipknot’s grotesque masks and matching uniforms, hellish growls, aggressive, multi-dimensional percussion and borderline psychotic stage shows make KISS seem cuddly by comparison. In fact, Monte Conner, A&R guy at Roadrunner Records, a regular on “Metal Evolution,” recounts how Clown would inhale deeply while holding a decomposing crow to his nose and breathe in all the evil and blackness that bird represented before shows. The stench often made him vomit, according to Conner, and sometimes, he would throw up in his mask and continue wearing it while playing whole concerts with that awful smelling spew in his face. Holy God, how do you top that?

The answer is … well, probably, you don’t. Although circus performer Danny Vomit, also interviewed for “Shock Rock” to provide commentary on how freak shows may have influenced shock-rock theatrics, cautions that somewhere some kid is dreaming up something even more appalling, it’s hard to imagine anything more assaulting to the senses than Slipknot or Marilyn Manson. Even the godfather of the genre, Alice Cooper, admits in the most recent episode of “Metal Evolution” that it’s probably impossible to shock anybody these days, and Rob Zombie concurs. And now that people are so anaesthetized to violence that we’ve gotten to the point where “Faces of Death” passes for entertainment, what’s left? Forget trying to shock people, says Cooper. That’s pretty impossible now. It all comes down to providing them an imaginative show, according to Cooper, who equates his own elaborately bloody stage show these days with Cirque du Soleil.

Dunn pretty much leaves it at that in what is quite possibly the best episode of the “Metal Evolution” series. “Shock Rock” has it all – controversy, a fascinating history, lively debate, and unflinching social commentary. There’s the gutsy Little Richard, strutting his gender-bending fashion sense and blatant homosexuality in the Deep South of the late 1950s, which earns the undying respect of one Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead. Next up is the campy horror show of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, complete with still shots of him arising from his coffin and vintage clips of him performing “I Put a Spell on You.” Perhaps more surprising, however, is how much crazy, manic footage there is of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown doing “Fire,” and Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickenson admitting to copping much of his onstage persona from Arthur, who emerged from the psychedelic safe house of Paris in the ‘60s with wild ideas about confrontational performance art and challenging music – all of which Brown, with a red stripe of makeup running across his face, discusses in great detail with Dunn. That connection that Dunn establishes between Brown and heavy metal is a fascinating one and Dunn displays a deft touch in making it. There’s nothing heavy-handed about his storytelling technique; he’s a natural when it comes to interviewing, and the editing work that he and partner Scott McFadyen, who co-directs and co-produces “Metal Evolution,” keeps everything flowing naturally.

Not forgotten in the story of “Shock Rock” are Alice Cooper and KISS, of course. The infamous chicken incident is dissected with Alice, who goes on to regale Dunn with rehashed tales of how the band was banned in certain countries and how the “bad” publicity they received actually served to increase the band’s popularity – all with the help of former band mates Dennis Dunaway and Neal Smith. Whole books have been written about KISS’s makeup and the genesis of the band’s outrageous stage craft. Somehow, Dunn manages to squeeze all the essential information about KISS, as it relates to the subject at hand, while segueing into KISS’s gradual morphing from every parent’s nightmare into a somewhat more innocuous, family-oriented act that saw children arriving at shows made up as their favorite KISS character. While Criss bemoans the increasing commercialism that enveloped KISS, Frehley talks about having to tone down the sexual congress he used to perform with his guitar every night and reluctantly back off on his cursing. This is where things take a turn for the really, really weird.

With KISS having become sort of a kid-friendly cartoon, a shock-rock void developed. Nobody was testing the boundaries of good taste and social convention. Then along came Marilyn Manson. Taking on conservative Christian values with a fierce intelligence and a brutally tortured, gothic aesthetic that seemed to bring to life the inner workings of a serial killer’s scrambled mind, Manson and his deranged crew put on a stage show that was like some fascist S&M rally in a dystopian nightmare. When things got too real, though, as they did when responsibility for the Columbine massacre was placed squarely on Manson’s shoulders, this sinister creature went on MTV and took umbrage with the media for its ghoulish, uncaring coverage of the tragedy and the grief and sadness of those it affected the most. Interestingly, Manson’s one-time co-conspirator, Daisy Berkowitz, criticized Manson’s reaction, basically calling him out for being soft. That, combined with the bizarre, intensely personal stories of Clown and Slipknot, makes the second half of “Shock Rock” the most compelling television produced so far by Dunn.

“Shock Rock” alternates from lighthearted kitsch to serious debate on its effects on society and whether rock music could ever produce anything that could be considering “shocking” ever again. Again, it must be difficult to keep this train on the tracks, to maintain focus on the role “shock rock” plays in the evolution of heavy metal. And yet, Dunn does it, even while occasionally detouring into ancillary subject matter that would threaten to derail less talented filmmakers. Over and over, Dunn and McFadyen stitch together interviews, vintage live footage, still photography and any other ephemera he can get his hands to effortlessly tell a story that deserves this kind of exhaustive study. The world of heavy metal owes him a debt of gratitude.

Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - Shock Rock

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Metal Evolution - "Nu Metal"

Metal Evolution: Nu Metal - Episode 108
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review: B+

Woodstock ’99 was burning and blame for the mayhem was placed squarely on Fred Durst and the rap-metal hooligans of Limp Bizkit. Destruction of property, flat-out arson, even the reports of rape that allegedly occurred in the mosh pit – at least in part, Limp Bizkit was responsible for all of it. Witnesses for the prosecution, some of whom give their testimony in “Nu Metal,” the most recent episode in Sam Dunn’s “Metal Evolution” series, which appears on VH-1 Classic, say Durst, in particular, fanned the flames of the riots that forced organizers to prematurely bring Woodstock ’99 to an ugly end. Even Korn’s Jonathan Davis, a one-time Bizkit ally, turns on Durst, telling Dunn that instead of attempting to calm a crowd that was growing increasingly mad, Durst egged them on. He exhorted the crowd to “break stuff,” and the mindless thugs followed his lead.

Durst, unapologetically, remembers things differently. Expressing little, if any remorse, Durst recalls the Bizkit Woodstock ’99 show as the “greatest concert ever.” And then, showing a little of that adolescent petulance that Durst is infamous for, he sulks about how nobody ever wanted Limp Bizkit playing in the same sand box as the nu metal children. The rap guys didn’t want to be lumped in with metal and the metal guys didn’t want anything to do with hip-hop, continues Durst. That’s too simple of an explanation of why Limp Bizkit has been ostracized from the music community since the violence at Woodstock’99. Battles with other bands, the departure of guitarist Wes Borland and lukewarm albums in the aftermath of Three Dollar Bill Y’All and Significant Other all combined to doom Bizkit, and to his credit, Durst admits to Dunn that this monster that he created called Fred Durst could have handled things better. Clearly, some anger management counseling would have done him a world of good. Or, maybe he just needed to grow up a little.

The story of Limp Bizkit dominates much of the second half of Dunn’s look at “Nu Metal,” and with good reason. Bizkit blew up in the late ‘90s on the strength of Significant Other’s massive single “Nookie.” As crazy as it sounds, considering his explosive temper, Durst even became a label executive at Interscope Records – that fact escaping Dunn, along with the failure to mention that Bizkit’s Woodstock ’99 performance came a day before the disastrous riots. Still, there’s something unsatisfying about placing so much emphasis on Limp Bizkit, especially considering there are far more influential nu metal bands Dunn could have spent more time on. Ah, but perhaps that’s just a personal preference, even though you get the feeling from “Nu Metal” that Dunn – who plainly admits to not being a big fan of nu metal, while also reluctantly admitting that it does, indeed, have its place in the history and developmental of heavy metal – also wish he could give more attention to the Sepulturas, the Korns, and the Rage Against The Machines of the world.

All of them get their moment in the sun in “Nu Metal,” and this is where Dunn gets it right. Where the Limp Bizkit segments seem to focus too much on the controversy surrounding the band, when the subject turns to Pantera, Rage, Korn and Sepultura, Dunn digs his fingers into the groundbreaking nature of nu metal. With Pantera, Dunn’s interest lies with the band’s adherence to deep grooves and an unyielding devotion to what Phil Anselmo refers to as the “money riff.” As for Rage, it’s the combination of music and message that gets top billing, with guitarist Tom Morello also talking about the band’s meshing of ‘70s hard rock riffs, thick grooves and his own role as a sort of DJ bringing his six-string “eccentricities.” And Korn’s Fieldy and Davis discuss at length about the band’s Sacramento origins and its innovative use of detuned strings.

But, it all goes back to Anthrax and the band’s monumental summit rap-metal summit with Public Enemy on their collaborative 1991 reworking of “Bring the Noise,” and Dunn starts his exploration of “Nu Metal” there before moving on – at Scott Ian’s request – to Faith No More. Even if nu metal has its detractors and those who aren’t so sure that the integration of metal and rap was done as artfully as it could have been, there were, and still are, bands that do it well. Dunn’s interviews nicely hone in on what was crucial to the rise of nu metal, and his dexterous use of concert images and video footage, as always, is on display here, as is Dunn’s singular ability to make you feel as if you are accompanying him on this journey and that his interest in the subject matter is genuine and sincere. Time, again, is his enemy. There’s only so much a filmmaker can pack into an hour’s program, and Dunn’s fills to the brim with insightful commentary and well-paced storytelling. Woodstock ’99 may have been nu metal’s Altamont, but as Dunn shows, it didn’t end there. And neither does the story of heavy metal.

-        Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution Nu Metal

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Metal Evolution - "Grunge"

Metal Evolution: "Grunge" - Episode 107
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review:  B+

Seeing it as the province of dumb jocks and sex-crazed hair-band charlatans, one-time Hole bassist Melissa Auf der Maur steadfastly resists the notion that Grunge, in its original form at least, had much, if anything, in common with heavy metal. Fastbacks bassist/lead vocalist Kim Warnick, while admitting to some nebulous connection between the two genres, insists that Grunge artists never thought of themselves as having a single cloven hoof in the metal world. And when the conversation turns to what musical black arts influenced Soundgarden, Kim Thayil still bristles at the suggestion that he and the rest of the band based their recipe of sonic sludge around equal parts Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. This even though Chris Cornell, bare-chested and sweating machismo from every pore in old live footage, bellows like Robert Plant and Thayil’s own guitar riffs seem stained with the same industrial soot and smoke that smudged those conjured by Tony Iommi at the dawn of Black Sabbath.

The relationship between Metal and Grunge is, indeed, a thorny one, as the amiable and insatiably curious Sam Dunn discovers in the latest installment of his acclaimed “Metal Evolution” series, “Grunge,” which aired on Saturday on VH-1 Classic. At the mere suggestion that they were, in fact, cozy with one another, Grunge’s OGs are likely to squirm in their seats and turn defensive. Then again, in talking to Dunn, Buzz Osborne and Dale Crover of The Melvins freely admit a love of metal, and Tad’s Kurt Danielson owns up to fawning over Iron Maiden and the first Van Halen record, while, at the same time, being blown away by the Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks – anything to tweak the parents. As for Mudhoney’s Mark Arm, he’s not at all ashamed to confess to borrowing a few tricks from proto-metal monsters Blue Cheer and Motorhead, as well as Sabbath.

So, what to make of all this falderal? That there happen to be strong opposing opinions as to Grunge’s place in the growth and development of metal is hardly surprising – especially to Dunn. After all, getting everyone involved in the Grunge movement to agree on anything regarding heavy metal and the role it played in its formation is next to impossible. That’s par for the course, though. Grunge was never the most homogenous of genres, even if a lot of acts did share an affinity for angst-fueled emotions.

The great thing about Dunn is he doesn’t set out to prove an already established hypothesis. There is genuine sincerity in this probe, because he himself is not entirely sure that Grunge belongs in heavy metal’s family tree. What emerges from Dunn’s quest is a sense that Grunge artists don’t really see themselves as having much of an impact on metal because they don’t feel a part of that scene. That view isn’t shaped by Dunn through creative editing or his own prejudices; instead, it extends naturally and organically from the extensive interviews he does with journalists, writers, producers, and artists who observed and participated in the early ‘90s explosion that blasted Grunge out of Seattle’s underground and into the public consciousness of a nation.

It’s not just that Dunn is comprehensive in the range of interview subjects he corrals or the issues related to the episode’s topic he attempts to cover. Time being the harsh mistress it is, there’s always something that’s going to be brushed under the rug or left out entirely. For example, in “Thrash,” as a reader so passionately pointed out to me, no mention was made of Overkill or Metal Church, and Hanoi Rocks should have received way more attention for their groundbreaking sound and look in “Glam.” As for “Grunge,” it’s the women who get short shrift. L7, Hole (aside from the Auf der Maur comments) and The Gits – none of them get any play, and that’s a glaring omission. But, remember, Dunn’s aim is not to present a history of Grunge, although he does, in fact, do a fine job of weaving its tale with subtlety as almost a sort of sub-plot. Establishing the “who, what, where, when and how” is not so easy when, first and foremost, there are important questions to be settled.

And there are moments of dazzling insight, including writer Michael Azzerad (“Our Band Could Be Your Life” and “Come as You Are: The Story of Nirvana”) citing Black Flag’s 1984 Seattle tour stop in support of the LP My War as a turning point for Grunge, the line of demarcation where local bands weaned on metal found that punk could slow things down, become unremittingly heavy and take on an apocalyptic feel. There’s DJ and journalist Jeff Gilbert and Sub Pop co-owner Jonathan Poneman confirming that Grunge messiah Kurt Cobain did, indeed, incorporate not only the pop sensibilities of The Beatles and the punk nuclear fallout of bands like Flipper into his tortured oeuvre, but also welcomed in the massive riffage and controlled chaos of metal. Or, how about Steve Albini, the famed indie producer who guided Nirvana during the In Utero sessions, proclaiming that while heavy metal was often all about flamboyance and camp, it did breed virtuosos, while Grunge artists practiced a more “functional musicianship.” And at the same time, another of Grunge’s more ubiquitous producers, Jack Endino, provides a lot of the background information about Seattle’s music history – specifically, the energy and spark of rebellion found in the music of garage bands The Sonics and The Wailers – and links it to the wide scope of Grunge’s sonic achievements.

All of this and more is here, and once again, Dunn skillfully meshes the interview footage with rare live and video clips of bands like Tad, Mudhoney, Soundgarden (check the dark, brooding, and heavy performance of “Loud Love”) and Black Flag, among others, while comparing Pearl Jam’s more classic-rock leanings with the rest of the genre’s more punk-ish or metallic progenitors. And with the briefly told story of Alice In Chains, he is able to establish that connection between metal and Grunge, once and for all.

Toward the end of “Grunge,” Dunn tackles a sore subject with Grunge’s main innovators, like Arm, Endino and Osbourne, and that is the rise of “Grunge lite” acts like Creed and Nickelback. Fearlessly, Dunn asks point blank how people like Arm feel about Grunge creating this more “pedestrian,” as Osborne calls it, Grunge monster, and Arm expresses his misgivings, saying that if he had anything to do with it, “Just kill me.” Likewise, the men of Creed try to distance themselves from the real thing, boasting in fact that they are not Grunge at all and that they feel they’ve created something new. It’s a little hard to swallow when the singers of Creed and Days Of The New try so, so hard to sound like Eddie Vedder – doing their “yarling” form of singing, as Endino calls it. It’s an uncomfortably humorous segment, and an issue that needs to be addressed, though the popularity of Nickelback gets perhaps more time than it deserves, even if Alice In Chain’s Jerry Cantrell does give them his stamp of approval. It’s a minor drawback in what is another in-depth and compelling installment of a documentary series that is fast becoming must-see TV for anybody interested in aggressive, rebellious music – as heavy metal is. 

- Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - Grunge

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Metal Evolution

Episode Summary - Sam explores grunge, a.k.a. the Seattle Sound, from a decidedly fresher approach, inspiring two fundamental questions: "Why did grunge polarize the Metal community?" and "What are the true roots of grunge?" While grunge was enjoying its meteoric rise, replacing the MTV face of Metal that was glam with its own brand of telegenic, easy to digest "rebellion," diehards within the Metal community struggled to adjust. We'll explore how fans and musicians felt a profound sense of disillusionment with the ascent of grunge, alienated by its lyrical obsession with depression and endless self-examination, and suspicious of the flannel-wearing façade that was deemed antithetical to the ethos of Metal. At the same time, there were other metallers who felt a connection with grunge-legends like Geddy Lee and Sabbath's Bill Ward discuss their admiration for the Seattle Sound, and how they incorporated elements of grunge into their own music and in doing so, shed light on a profound irony that was at play. We'll also reveal why the leaders of grunge were publicly shunning their Metal roots, preferring to advance the dubious notion that their music was an offspring of the American punk movement. But, through plain-spoken dialogue with Sam Dunn, surviving purveyors of grunge like Kim Thayil, Jerry Cantrell and Thurston Moore, will, for the first time ever, "come out of the closet," and own up to the enormous debt-technically, viscerally and aesthetically-they owe to Metal giants like Led Zeppelin, Blue Öyster Cult and Black Sabbath. In Episode 6, the history of grunge will be rewritten.

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Collectible Posters: 

Grunge Posters
Metal Posters

Metal Evolution - "Thrash"

Metal Evolution: "Thrash" - Episode 106 
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic

All Access Review:  A-

Squaring off against everything that ‘80s glam metal represented, the soldiers of thrash – glam’s uglier, angrier cousin – wanted to eradicate every trace of makeup, lipstick and hairspray from heavy metal’s dark underworld. Or, as Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine puts it in the “Thrash” installment of Sam Dunn’s “Metal Evolution” documentary series, the androgynous purveyors of glam metal, many of whom looked almost as pretty as the girls they were bedding, were “fleas on the balls of a camel” and thrash “was a flea bomb.”

The strongest of pesticides, thrash almost killed glam metal dead. Grunge would finish the job in the ‘90s. Obviously a fan of one of metal’s most extreme sub-genres, Dunn, author of the acclaimed “Metal A Headbanger’s Journey” documentary, explores the fiery origins and virus-like developments of thrash metal in the latest chapter of “Metal Evolution,” which appeared over New Year’s Eve weekend on VH-1 Classic. Up to this point, Dunn has done a fine job detailing with great care the genealogy of heavy metal. Every piece is rife with riveting interview material, classic live footage and historical fact. With the exuberant enthusiasm of a fan and the intellectual curiosity of an anthropologist, which is what he is, Dunn has dissected the body of and probed into every nook and cranny of that most reviled of all musical forms.

So far, “Metal Evolution” has taken viewers on a loud, crazed journey through all the mayhem and madness metal has produced over the years. Yes, it’s a history lesson, but the scope of Dunn’s work is wide-ranging, studying the influence of classical and jazz on metal, while also investigating the connection between the gritty, early ‘70s Detroit proto-punk sound of The Stooges and the MC5 and confronting the strained relations between English punk and the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. And that’s just a small sampling of Dunn’s exhaustive, but never tedious, testimony.

“Thrash” is another winner. Starting off at its birthplace, Soundwave Studios in California’s Bay Area, where Testament is running through a fiery rehearsal, Dunn, through content-rich talks with Mustaine, Slayer’s Dave Lombardo, Testament’s Alex Skolnick and Metallica’s Lars Ulrich, finds the merging streams of hardcore punk and NWOBHM flowing electricity into thrash’s roiling sea. Taking the energy and spirit of punk and the melodic aggression of bands like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, thrash’s innovators, like Slayer and Exodus, upped the ante.

As Skolnick relates in “Thrash,” musicians like him loved punk’s songs and its undeniable vitality; however, what was missing was musicianship, and they wanted desperately to create something that would challenge their chops. Thrash was it. Heavy and punishing, the riffs raged, flying at unheard-of speeds. And the guttural vocals screamed and growled, spitting out graphically violent lyrical imagery that occasionally touched on war and social issues but more often told stories of serial killers and gruesome deaths. Using this symbiotic relationship as a jumping-off point, Dunn segues into how thundering, high-velocity double-kick drums became the driving force behind Trash. Ulrich and Testament’s Paul Bostaph give all the credit to Motorhead’s Phil Taylor for bringing the double-kick drums into fashion, and Thrash’s young vanguard of drummers took Taylor’s style and gave it a shot of adrenaline. Taylor is one of the surprising stars of Dunn’s “Thrash,” a metal veteran telling his war stories and explaining his absolutely vital contribution to metal, with Dunn hanging on every word.

When the conversation turns to Metallica, Jon Zazula, founder of Megaforce Records, and his wife reveal how their mom-and-pop metal label served as the launching pad for the band that would become Thrash’s version of The Beatles. Metallica’s tale serves as the lynchpin for “Thrash,” as Dunn follows the band from its lowly beginnings on through the explosion of San Francisco’s underground metal scene and into the controversial, MTV-courting “Black” album, which some in the Thrash community saw a betrayal of its values. Dunn and Lombardo make no bones about how they felt. It was treason, but to Dunn’s credit, he shares his feelings with Ulrich, who offers Metallica’s side of things. Ulrich feels that “betrayal” is such an ugly word and that if Metallica had done a rehashing of … And Justice for All, that would have been Metallica selling out. They needed to do the “Black” album to expand their horizons and grow artistically, as Ulrich explains. His reasoning makes perfect sense.

So does Nunn’s storytelling. In less capable hands, “Thrash” could have been a jumbled mess, but he sticks to the philosophy of “Metal Evolution,” and that is to follow each stage of metal’s growth and development to the wherever the story leads. Slayer’s Reign in Blood is treated with awe and respect, and the story behind landmark show at the Roseland Ballroom in New York City that led to major-label deals for Raven, Metallica and, eventually, Anthrax is told with an insider’s perspective.  By the end of “Thrash,” Nunn has traversed Sweden to investigate Thrash’s unlikely revival in the land of ice, snow and Lutherans – the Gothenburg sound, which, after Thrash’s mid-‘90s swoon, which married melody and harmonies with blinding speed and crushing heaviness in bands like In Flames – and Richmond, Va.’s burgeoning scene, which roared to life because of Lamb of God. Though previous segments of “Metal Evolution” – including a surprisingly sincere look at “Glam,” strategically shown the week before “Thrash,” the juxtaposition probably being no accident – were strong statements of purpose, “Thrash” is the best of the lot. Next week, it’s “Grunge,” as Dunn goes to Seattle to take on the movement that many say destroyed the careers of bands like Warrant and Ratt, among others. Let’s hope Dunn treats the subject matter with just as much care as he does with Thrash.

- Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution Thrash

View the Full Episode - Right Here, Right Now!

Episode Summary - Arguably metal's most popular and passionate genre, Sam journeys to Northern California to trace the roots of Thrash by interviewing the architects of this hugely popular genre. Sam interviews Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, Slayer, Testament, Exodus, and many more Thrash Metal legends.

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Collectible Heavy Metal Posters:
  
Anthrax
Megadeth
Metallica
Slayer