Peace Sells is the mark of a true genre-bending record since, like all watershed musical moments, it both creates the pattern others would follow, and, at the same time, continuously subverts its own ethos.
While Slayer and Metallica were busy thinking how intricate and/or scary they could be, reaching truly amazing heights of both self-importance and spookiness (you could just hear the recording studio banter that was going on during the recording of other of the era's great albums: "Wow, dude! An Auschwitz song. Awesome!" or "Wow, little man! That song is 10 minutes long, Great"), Megadeth, at least in Peace Sells, were able to not only be the most intricate and most scary, but, most importantly, stay pissed.
The punk ethos is really what separated much of the thrash bands that began sprouting in the early1980s from the hair-metal bands of their day. They hated stuff, they were angry, and, in most cases, could play better than their other angry friends, which, when you think of it, were stuck with not getting laid and still being angry.
That didn't mean that thrash bands were hardcore/punk bands only heavier, but just that a lot
of the aesthetical elements of punk, along with some of its arrogance and political stance, got mixed into the melting pot that became thrash, along with a good measure of NWOBHM.
At least that's how I saw it. Earphones on, door closed, it made you feel a kind of togetherness
for being different, and it made you feel powerful because that's what really really (really) loud guitars do. Damn straight.
But unlike a lot of the other great stuff that was coming out as thrash gearing to take over the world (at least, the radio-friendly version was), Peace Sells, didn't and doesn't sound like their showing off. They sound pissed while showing off, along with being a little cheesy, which is really the best definition of truly great thrash metal.
The title track is probably the best example of being pissed while showing off, and remains, to
this day, one of the best lyrical assaults on a society distrustful of long-haired freaks to date, complete with Dave Mustaine's trademark awkward punning ("What do you mean I ain't kind? Just not your kind").
It's pounding bass line, the Mustaine's screeching guitar leads, and the "fuck-you-I'm-just-as-good-as-you" attitude, still work 24 years after that song was unleashed unto the air.
But wait, that political righteousness comes after a song about creeping inside your house after cheating on your girlfriend (including one of the best riffs ever to be carved out of a guitar, and which was reused in Metallica's "Right the Lightning") and a song about summoning the devil. So what gives!?
That's because Peace Sells, while punky and straightforward, is also cheesy, just like metal really is. Not, of course, in that Manowar kind of over the top cheese-fest, but cheesy enough to not feel too cumbersome, too serious. I'm sure Mustaine was awfully serious when he wrote songs like "The Conjuring" and "Devil's Island," but that's just because he's crazy. For normal people, even at 16, it's cheesy.
But that cheese is also accompanied by simply mind-boggling music making. Not just shredding, or banging, but honest-to-God (or the devil) song making. Every song makes think you it's going one way, and then take this weird jazzy break or turn, only to become something else completely. And while this is an aspect of Megadeth's music that will get more attention in their Rust in Peace album, it's still in force here, supported by the late and great Gar Samuelson.
And then there's "Good Morning/Black Friday," the song that makes you feel like you're in for a sprawling-"check out my new guitar" type of ego-fest, hinted at by the oh-so-pretentious double title, and which turns out to be a shredding powerhouse of a song about killing people. And while clocking in at 6:41 (it's not only the albums longest tracks but one of Megadeth's longest all-time) it feels as if it powers by in no more than two seconds. Maybe three.
"My Last Words" and "Bad Omen" are great too, but the real deal breaker here is the, frankly, genius, choice of covering Willie Dixon's "I Ain't Superstitious." That cover, and the choice of that cover, really exposes everything that's great about this album: it's playful, it's pissed, it's personal, it shows off that odd jazzy/bluesy overtone, while being as weird, spooky and heavy as anything in the known universe.
And it's that that combination of political irreverence, musical progressiveness, cheesiness, and sheer anger that makes this album not only stand out from the period in which it was made, but remain as vital today as it was then. It was pissed-off, playful and subversive in that punk-ish kind of way, while being totally committed to songcraft, heaviness and all-around skull-bashing fun. Now, excuse me while I go summon the devil.
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