Helmet

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Plays on Sunday, Oct. 24

255-0333

www.sli ms-sf.com

Slim's

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With minimalist, staccato slabs of guitar, barked vocals, and a penchant for drop-D tuning, noise-rock juggernaut Helmet in many ways can take the blame for creating a template that countless nu-metal and modern hard-rock outfits have regurgitated ad nauseam over the last decade. So who can deny principal riffmeister Page Hamilton his right to earn some scratch with a new lineup of Helmet when so many chumps have made a mint ripping him off? The group's first album in seven years finds Hamilton injecting sweeter melodies into his songs, even as he spews first-person lyrical vitriol at ex-girlfriends, one-night pickups, and apparently every fake-ass piece-of-shit bastard who has crossed his path since he became a rock star. Though the hooks feel a bit forced at times and may alienate hard-core Helmet fans simply looking for a solid pummeling like back in the old days, misanthropic ragers like "Crashing Foreign Cars" and "Last Breath" still beat the piss out of most groveling, emo-whiner anthems on altrock radio these days.