System of a Down

In many ways, System of a Down has become an unlikely successor to the firebomb metal of Rage Against the Machine, somehow subverting their way into the mainstream with schizophrenic vocals, thrash guitars, and lyrics that might as well be illustrated with a middle finger pointed at The Man. Oh, and hooks, glorious hooks, like in the following: the paced spite of "Spiders," the hardened disco-rock breaks of "B.Y.O.B.," the high-powered balladry of "Aerials," and the rabid horse gallop of "Chop Suey!"

System of a Down's songwriting is as fidgety as a kid at a family gathering, switching time signatures and styles as if there's no other choice. "Psycho" is the equivalent of pogo-sticking your way through a padded room, "I-E-A-I-A-I-O" is a spastic tongue twister of the highest order, "Roulette" is partially chilled in an icy cello bath, and "Prison Song" is a serrated pass-the-mic session between vocalist Serj Tankian and guitarist Daron Malakian.

A stint opening for Slayer and a combustible crossover sound of underground thrash metal, Pixie Stix punk, and bombastic modern rock first led fans and critics to align System of a Down with the nu-metal movement of the late '90s. But time has revealed the group's role as a leader in reactionary, populist pop. Really now, how many other bands could release two conceptual albums within six months of each other (2005's aggro-opus Mesmerize and Hypnotize) without appearing outrageously pretentious? Very few, but we're talking about a longtime cohort of producer Rick Rubin (Johnny Cash, Red Hot Chili Peppers) here, one that's defied the conventions of heated, teeth-gnashing music since 1998.