Slayer 66 2/3: The Jeff & Dave Years. A Metal Band Biography. by D.X. Ferris Page B

They appreciated it in Southern California, King argued, so they could wear the makeup for hometown shows.
     
    Hanneman disagreed.
     
    “Jeff was like, ‘Fuck that. We either wear it or don’t wear it,’” recalled Goodman. “’He wasn’t opposed to wearing it. He was just opposed to going back and forth. In Jeff’s head — this is an unstated fact — if you’re going to do it, do it . He wasn’t going to do what was expected in a situation. Jeff was going to do what he did, fuck you. ‘These guys can all fuck off. But if we’re not going to wear makeup, we’re not going to wear it down there either.’”
     
    Explains Goodman: “Back in those days, a lot of what happened in Slayer, from my perspective, Slayer did what Kerry wanted to do, generally speaking, because nobody wanted to argue with him about it. Nobody cared enough. Three of them didn’t have an opinion, Kerry wanted to do it — ‘OK, let’s do that.’ But occasionally, somebody would put their foot down.”
     
    Slayer didn’t put on the makeup for their second Bay Area show. They never put it on again. They did keep the leather armbands and vests — for now.
     
    After Slayer dropped the makeup, the band replaced it with one of the era’s iconic metal artifacts. From clubs to arenas, the wristbands and belts were standard-issue metal fashion accessories at the time. Some had rounded metal studs, most often a silver color on a cheaper metal. Some were dense with short, pointy pyramids. King decided to take it further.
     
    He created his own extreme armband, pounding 250 3.5-inch nails through a forearm-length piece of leather. Over 30 years later, Slayer’s vests and big hair may look suspect, but King’s armband still gives the band a dangerous edge. (King later hand-made more replicas and sold them via his apparel business, KFK Industries, short for “Kerry Fucking King.”)
     
    That month, Slayer thrashed the Bay repeatedly. Early in the month, they played Ruthie’s in Berkeley and the Real Rock Club in Oakland. Later, they returned for a three-night swing through Berkeley and San Francisco, returning to the Keystone, followed by shows at Ruthie’s and Wolfgang’s.
     
    Metallica were so popular in the exploding San Francisco scene that they relocated there. Slayer bonded with the locals too, but never considered making the move.
     
    “It worked for Metallica, but I can’t see myself relocating because the scene’s hotter,” explained King. “I can drive up in seven, eight hours on the weekend. Drive up, hang out for a few days, drive back…. Metallica, they’re a fuckin’  Southern California band. It always bothers me, ‘Oh, they’re from San Francisco.’ I’m like ‘No they’re not, I played the Woodstock with them when they were in Norwalk.’”
     
    The visiting team’s 45-minute sets made a hell of an impression. During that first stand at the Keystone, before Slayer took the stage, the band played a four-minute intro tape of eerie music that sounded like John Carpenter’s Halloween theme. In the dark, Araya took the stage and pumped up the audience: “You guys wanna hear some heavy fuckin’ metal? Alright, let’s go crazy!” 11-1
     
    Minutes later — though it felt like forever in the darkness — the band appeared in an orb of light on the stage, storming into “Evil Has No Boundaries,” raging in full leather, the bastard sons of Judas Priest, ready claim metal for a new generation. Araya was on fire through the show, hitting the high-pitched screams just as they appear on the early albums.
     
    At the end of “The Antichrist,” a wound-up headbanger squeezed from the front row onto the stage, with the aid of a bouncer. The denim-clad hellion did an abrupt 180-degree turn and leapt into the crowd.
     
    Front-row heshers who caught a knee in the head learned to get used to it. Stage-diving quickly became a convention at shows, and the new phenomenon rapidly escalated. Harald Oimoen and