A few hundred near-maniacal fans stand wide-eyed in rural Arkansas, amped by the prospects of an afternoon spent rocking out. When the opening act takes the stage, fans sing along to words they know by heart—morbid, gory phrases squeezed out through strained vocal chords, the syllables dripping: There’s power in the blood
they pierced his side
wash in the blood
sacrifice them to his blood
the crimson, cleansing tide.
This death-obsessed flock hasn’t come to hail Satan, but to praise the
Lord as devout members of the Church of Christ, the most conservative
end of the Protestant pool—the church I grew up attending, where scenes
like this transpired all the time. “Obviously, it’s symbolism, but
there’s something kinda creepy about hundreds of people singing about
blood and suffering,” says Matthew Paul Turner, a former editor at
Christian-rock magazine CCM and author of the book The Christian Culture Survival Guide: The Misadventures of an Outsider on the Inside.
“Though, when you think about the centerpiece of the faith—the death of
Jesus—some people call it murder. Some call it suicide.”
Lost in the album-banning, church-burning history that pits metalheads
against the righteous is a shared fascination with blood, pain,
suffering, warlike smiting and the rise of the dead. In fact, sometimes
the only difference between a hymn and the most hellacious regions of
death metal is a drop-D tuning and a little face paint.
“In Sunday school we sang a song about Joshua bringing down the walls
of Jericho with a horn,” Turner says. “We’re talking about destroying a
city, killing thousands of people, and we’re singing about it like it’s
a celebration. At the end of the day, a lot of these songs are about
blood and guts.”
Even Tom Araya, lead singer of Slayer, sounds a bit amazed as he reads
the lyrics of traditional song “Nothing But the Blood.” “Growing up, my
family was full of charismatic Catholics,” he says. “We sang songs, but
not like this—it’s a trip to see these words.” That’s big talk from the
principal writer of one of the most notorious Satan-friendly thrash
bands of all time—a band with a body of work that includes albums like Hell Awaits and God Hates Us All.
The line separating the gospel and metal blurs even further when you
consider that, oftentimes, the lyrical switcheroo goes both ways.
Slayer sounds downright fastidious with lyrics like, “They say your
life can change / If you take God’s hand / Embrace rebirth / Your
cleansing’s so divine / To be reborn in God’s eyes.” Too bad the song
is “Skeleton Christ,” from the album Christ 
Illusion, which
featured a dismembered Lord and Savior on the cover and prompted the
band’s EMI label branch in India to destroy all copies. And the lyric
“Rejuvenation of my body... / Now it flows through my veins / Heaven I
have found,” sounds safe enough for Vacation Bible School until you
realize it’s from a Cannibal Corpse song called “The Cryptic Stench.”
If church leaders don’t literally want Christians to bathe in Jesus’
blood (“Are You Washed in the Blood?”) or march into a holy war
(“Onward Christian Soldiers”), then maybe death metal should be
interpreted just as figuratively. Cannibal Corpse bassist Alex Webster
says that his material has the same intentions as a hymn like “Power In
The Blood.” “They’re both just trying to be over the top,” Webster
explains. “The lyrics are so violent and brutal that it’s difficult to
take seriously. For us, we’re just trying to make good horror. If
people hear a song and think, ‘Jesus, that’s just awful,’ that’s what
we want.”
But coming up with new ways to defile corpses and mutilate babies can
be tough after 20 years and 10 albums. Which is why Webster says
Cannibal Corpse—currently holed up in a Tampa studio—might look to the
Bible for inspiration. Like the Christian songwriters of old found out
long ago, the Good Book holds an abundance of hideous lyrical ammo.
“There’s a lot of awful stuff happening there,” he says, laughing. “I
mean, incest? I don’t think even we have ever tackled that one.”


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