System Of A Down

They're tryin' to build a prison

for you and me to live in,

another prison system

for you and me.

“System Of A Down want to take over Hollywood!”, must have thought whoever got their hands on “Toxicity” in 2001. In the iconic artwork of the band's second album, in fact, the letters of their name replace those of the most dazzling neighborhood in Los Angeles, up on its famous hill. And take over Hollywood they did, the SOAD, and not just Hollywood, one might say today with the proverbial benefit of hindsight.

The album debuted at number one on both the American and Canadian charts, racking up staggering numbers pretty much everywhere else in the world too. Those were different times, some might argue. And yet the feat still seems astonishing even in an era when rock hitting the charts wasn't the pipe dream it is today.

How a band made up entirely of children of survivors of the Armenian genocide managed to win over teenagers the world over with an extreme rock record laced with the folk music of their homeland (and at times Greek folk too) remains a mystery. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe it's actually much simpler than that. Beyond barriers, style and ethnicity, “Toxicity” is simply a masterpiece: a sonic and political atomic bomb, capable of shaking the conscience and the head of anyone who listens to it.

Up to that point, the band's history (made up of Daron Malakian on guitar and vocals, Serj Tankian on vocals, second guitar and keyboards, Shavo Odadjian on bass and John Dolmayan on drums) had been marked by steady growth and a swift rise within the American alternative heavy scene. Formed in 1994, System Of A Down debuted in 1998 with their self-titled album: a concentrate of explosive melodies, adrenaline, obsessive fury and, above all, political charge, which proved hugely successful and quickly went gold. “Toxicity”, their masterpiece, took another three years to come to light, and in one fell swoop it heightens all the immediately recognizable positive traits of the band's music, reworking them so as to make them even more unique and indefinable through songs that are clattering, gorgeous and vibrant all at once.

The band emerged from the seething cauldron of nu-metal. Indeed, in their early days the influence of the genre's godfathers, Korn, is plain to hear, showing through in the aggressive, syncopated rhythms, in the distinctively heavy, down-tuned riffing, and in Serj Tankian's vocals, which at times recall the alienated, psychotic litanies of Jonathan Davis, albeit in a wilder, more shrieking form. Beyond Korn, though, the influence of early Deftones is also evident, sometimes directly, but more often indirectly, since what loosely links them to System Of A Down upstream is a pronounced hardcore-punk root.

If anything, in the Armenian-American band's mix, the hardcore element is even more evident and essential, and the main reference point is Dead Kennedys, from whom they draw not only the aggressiveness of style but also the tendency to make compositions more elaborate and detailed, rich in sonic detail and cues drawn from new wave, with a mature and self-aware approach, without ever giving up a furious iconoclasm. To a lesser extent there are also echoes of the crossover-thrash (a style born from the fusion of hardcore-punk and thrash-metal in the '80s) of Suicidal Tendencies and Carnivore.

Not simply uncontrolled fury, then, but a violence that manages to be, in its own way, elegant and colorful. A blend of sweet and bitter that is as spontaneous as it is elaborate. Moreover, when Tankian doesn't recall Davis, he often adopts vocal lines very close to the histrionics of Jello Biafra, with a savage, unhinged, subversive vocal style that nonetheless manages to sound grandiloquent, as if he were reciting genuine political manifestos at the top of his lungs.

Indeed, even the band's peculiar lyrical politicization (with its very polemical, even humorous and sarcastic connotations) is a child of hardcore-punk, and in particular precisely of the approach of the seminal Dead Kennedys, rather than of the existentialist introspection more widespread across much of nu-metal. In some ways it's also close to the activism of their fellow Angelenos Rage Against The Machine, although Tankian doesn't rap like Zack de la Rocha, and to that of Brazil's Sepultura under Max Cavalera, minus the more death-metal elements and with the influence of Brazilian ethnic music replaced by that of Armenian tradition. The latter, incidentally, had themselves flirted with nu-metal a few years earlier (with “Roots”), starting out from groove-metal, having tangible hardcore influences of their own, and packaging it all into a lethal package with a proletarian, rebellious attitude: so this is another clear influence that Tankian and co. reinterpret in their own way.

Another important point of reference is Faith No More, particularly the band behind “Angel Dust”, who inspired much of the foundation on which the band builds its blend of power, melody and vocal and sonic eclecticism. This shouldn't come as a surprise: after all, this is a band that influenced the entire alternative metal, crossover and nu-metal scene of the '90s.

What might come as a surprise, though, is that alongside them we should also mention the Beatles, mainly for their gift of synthesis, their ability to write songs that are short but effective. For instance, in an interview with Rolling Stone, Malakian himself explains: “The Beatles made me understand song structure, putting everything into three minutes, compressing these things. Maybe removing something, which as a songwriter I think is one of the hardest things in the world. It's easy to keep piling on ideas because you like all your own ideas. But to make a song great, sometimes you have to remove something, and that's the hardest part. Which part of a song do you remove to make it great? That's the biggest challenge.”

Finally, System of a Down draw on Armenian folk music and make it their own, both through the various melodies and sequences they weave into their predominantly guitar-driven arrangements, and through occasional acoustic passages. In short, all these elements, blended together in the band's own idiosyncratic way, make the simple label of nu-metal too narrow to contain them: they're an even more distinctive and singular band, especially when compared with the most commercially successful nu-metal acts at the turn of the century, such as Linkin Park, who were far more simplistic and straightforward.

This could already be said, to some extent, of their self-titled debut, but with "Toxicity" it becomes even more evident, since the band displays a palpable compositional maturity and their blend of influences is even more fluid and cohesive, giving rise to a deeply personal style of alternative metal that defies any comparison or precedent.

The Album

Produced by Rick Rubin and the Glendale band themselves, "Toxicity" is an original, nervy and fresh record that reworks the sound of their brutal 1998 debut, leaning more heavily on airy melodic openings, even more robust arrangements, and more pronounced epic, hymn-like tones. But it would be reductive to stop there, given the leap forward made by the Armenian-American band.

The album begins as it ends: without compromise. Furiously railing against mass incarceration, "Prison Song" is a relentless, devastating track that closely recalls the activism of fellow Los Angeles greats Rage Against The Machine. It also reveals one of the band's greatest recurring tricks, one that runs throughout their catalogue and helps elevate their records: their sheer theatricality. Malakian and Tankian's voices stage a constant psychotic dialogue. The two vocalists sound like two inmates in a psychiatric ward singing over one another during yet another sleepless night.

The first mesmerically drones on, nasal and unable to find peace or sleep. The second is a beast who has already gone past the point of nervous collapse: he shrieks and snarls uncontrollably, thrashing about and slamming against the narrow, rocky walls of the cell and its bars. Their voices merge, chase each other, overlap and clash in the dark, hopeless corridors of the panopticon, giving rise to one of the most unique and distinctive vocal performances in the history of heavy rock.

The following "Needles" continues in the same vein, mixing hardcore-punk assaults, granite-hard thrash-metal riffs and brief alternative-rock lulls that convey melancholy alongside a strong underlying psychological tension. From there the album moves through the obsessive dirges of "Deer Dance", enriched by vocalizations and folk-tinged acoustic touches that alternate with fierce screams and cavernous guitars. "Jet Pilot" and "X" are jarring, with their destructive chants, explosive rhythm section, bulldozer-like drumming and a guitar that cracks open the ground like an earthquake: terrifying crossbreeds of Korn, Pantera, Slayer and Armenian melodies.

Then comes the famous single "Chop Suey", introduced by a pleasant acoustic passage, an element that continues to characterise the song with elegance and remarkable sonic care, alternating with merciless, almost speed-metal riffs in its fastest moments, but more often used to emphasise breaks and lulls (particularly the emotional coda, complete with strings and background piano, which edges toward art-rock). "Bounce", on the other hand, is a genuine pogo manifesto that draws heavily on hardcore and adds a manic, thoroughly entertaining vocal chorus.

With no duets or call-and-response vocals here, it's Tankian, a skilled singer and multi-instrumentalist (he also plays keyboards and second rhythm guitar), who takes centre stage entirely, with a nervy, jumpy, ever-shifting vocal delivery that moves effortlessly from soothing melodic phrasing to furious screams and near-roars. This is thanks to his vocal ability, both supple and powerful, but also to his knack for drawing on a kaleidoscope of influences ranging from rap to folk, by way of pop and hard rock (among his main sources of inspiration, besides those already mentioned, are also the brilliantly deranged Frank Zappa and James Hetfield of Metallica). Serj's schizoid shifts in register can change from song to song, but also several times within the same track. That's the case in the lethal single "Chop Suey", in the dramatic "Forest", and in "ATWA", a song that calls for the fair trial denied to Charles Manson (for SOAD, justice must truly be equal for all), starting out as a lullaby before erupting into yet another thunderous outburst.

As mentioned, the political dimension is central to Tankian's lyrics. Born in Lebanon to Armenian parents and later relocated to the United States, the frontman pays particular attention in his lyrics to issues affecting both America and the Middle East. He's also an activist: in 2002, shortly after the release of "Toxicity", he co-founded the non-profit organisation Axis of Justice together with Tom Morello of Rage Against The Machine. The central theme of many of his lyrics is the tragedy of the genocide suffered by the Armenian people during World War I. At the time of "Toxicity", though, what inspired him most was the climate of conflict he was witnessing in the United States. "Deer Dance", for instance, is a critique of police charges against protesters. "Chop Suey" ironically attacks society's hypocrisy in judging people based on how they die (for example, a good person who dies of a drug overdose will be unjustly discredited). "Science", meanwhile, is a j'accuse, perhaps a naive one, against science, which Tankian believes neglects the spiritual dimension of human existence (compare the differences with "Biotech Is Godzilla" by Sepultura, which partly inspired it).

A few days after the album's release, the world would be shaken by the 9/11 attacks, prompting Tankian to write a short essay arguing that a policy of retaliation and revenge would only increase the number of victims. Titled "A Sober Analysis of the Failure of American Policies to Tame Extremism", the piece was also published on the band's website. The move didn't sit well with their label, Sony, which had the essay removed, accusing Tankian of justifying terrorism. "At the time, nobody wanted to hear it," the frontman recalled in an interview with the Guardian (24 March 2021). "There was a lot of flag-waving and a lot of anger. The band called me and said, 'Are you trying to get us killed?' I said, 'But it's the truth!', and they said, 'We know it's the truth, but who cares? Why are you trying to get us killed?' I've always been naive enough to think that if something is true, then it should be said. I'm still that naive."

As Malakian, who remains the album's main composer and producer, pointed out in several interviews at the time, the shift undertaken with "Toxicity" stemmed precisely from Tankian's desire to push himself even further than on "System Of A Down", to sing more. Aware of their frontman's overflowing expressive talent, yet not without some doubts (which led to famous clashes during the exhausting recording sessions), the band accepted the gamble, while vowing not to give up an inch in terms of sheer firepower. And that's exactly what happened: the album is certainly more melodically accessible than its predecessor, even hummable in its gentler moments, yet it remains a brutal metal assault.

Tankian, however, isn't alone, and while Malakian's riffing stands out all the more because it moves in lockstep with the vocals, like two sides of the same coin, the rhythm section — though generally sticking to simple 4/4 time (or occasionally alternating rapid-fire 7/8 and 8/8, or sudden breaks) — is heart-pounding and never dilutes or downplays the aggression and impact of the band's ballistic-sonic blend. Dolmayan isn't a virtuoso drummer, but in what he does he proves formidable, showing great taste and skill in choosing driving fills, sudden bursts of speed and lethal syncopation. His aces in the hole are energy, groove, feeling. Songs like "Needles", "Jet Pilot", "Forest" (complete with ethnic percussion), "X" and "ATWA" are especially telling in this regard, among the most charged episodes on the entire album, though that's really just the icing on the cake.

It's impossible not to mention at least one more single: the title track. Quite possibly the band's most melodically appealing song, yet no less powerful for it. Opened by a guitar arpeggio with Middle Eastern overtones that turns out to be the fuse for one of the most gripping guitar duels in the game, it then gives way to a dark, measured close reminiscent of Black Sabbath. The song is a lyrical collage on the decay of the earth, a poetic apocalypse of fires and toxic seeds addressed to those who believe they own the world: the most insignificant and petty creature of all — man.

Made up of songs that never run over four minutes, often under three or even two, the album never flags, and it saves its masterstrokes for the very end. After the title track comes "Psycho", featuring some of the most refined and moving guitar melodies in the band's whole catalogue. But even more striking is "Aerials", the perfect synthesis of the "Toxicity" sound and one of the secrets behind its mainstream success: an epic pace, dark folk guitar arpeggios, low, monolithic riffs. Strings swirling like autumn leaves open the track, giving Tankian the tension he needs to erupt into one of his most powerful and melodic vocal performances. The guitars build layer upon layer, crashing down like an avalanche. Translated into images by its lavish music video, the lyrics imagine a trapeze artist soaring through the sky: what for adults is just an ordinary circus act becomes, for a disabled teenager, an all-encompassing metaphor for freedom.

Alongside the sheer energetic fury, then, it always bears repeating, there's plenty of room for melody, albeit composed with unconventional arrangements that stray from radio-friendly standards, dismantling and reassembling the song format however the band pleases. While throughout the album melody is emphasized especially in episodes that evoke the landscapes of the Caucasus and the Near East, the icing on the cake at this point is the closing ghost track "Arto", which begins right after "Aerials", startling with its blend of duduk (an Armenian wind instrument), wild percussion and exotic sonorities, courtesy of Turkish musician of Armenian descent Arto Tunçboyaciyan (with whom Tankian would go on to create the experimental project Serart in 2003, straddling electronica, folk, ambient, art-rock and world music).

"Toxicity" came out on September 4, 2001, exactly 7 days before the Ground Zero tragedy. But not even that tragic New York event could halt its commercial performance — quite the opposite: SOAD's scream would become the scream of countless young people confronted with a world they'd discover was never so vulnerable and divided.

Despite the aforementioned turbulence, the recording sessions were remarkably prolific: alongside the 15 tracks that ended up on "Toxicity", there were another 16, initially discarded but later re-recorded and collected, just a few months on, on the band's third album, the satirically titled "Steal This Album!".

Three years later the band would release two more albums, the twin records "Mesmerize" and "Hypnotize", sacrificing, this time, some of their heaviness and leaning noticeably toward a more radio-friendly sound. While containing a few worthy tracks and plenty of interesting ideas, the two records never reach the heights of the masterpiece "Toxicity". Perhaps that's precisely why System Of A Down never released another album.

Life is a waterfall,

we’re one in the river

and one again after the fall.

Swimming through the void

we hear the word,

we lose ourselves but we find it all

Ride the wave of great music

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05/09/2021