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| The recording quality is good but not great; it’s
a soundboard recording, which in bootleg terms means that it’s
technically exact but might lack some of the crucial room ambience
that makes great audience recordings electric when they’re done
right. The guitars here don’t sound as huge as they really are,
and the drums sometimes sound like they’re coming through an
AM radio. But the performance, friends, the performance -- this is
what it sounds like when a band is truly passionate about its craft.
Nobody gets to rest, except during the short between-song breaks,
during which Schuldiner delivers some of the funniest metal-guy from-the-stageisms
you’ll ever hear (after the second song: “Oh, yeah. Fuck
yeah. L.A.! What’s up! Thank you!” to which an unidentified
audience member can be heard responding: “You fuckin’ rule!”).
The album covers an entire set from beginning to end at L.A.’s
Troubadour, which had been one of hair-metal’s must-play spots
during the boom. Live in L.A. is clearly not from the boom
years -- the set gets cut short by management -- but you couldn’t
prove it by Death’s performance, which raises blisters. |
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