{$Slipknot} set out to construct the ultimate {\metal} music flamethrower, ever since their genesis in a Des Moines, IA, basement. But they also deployed an agitprop campaign of masks, smocks, and bar codes that helped scare parents (like good {\metal} should) and transform {$Slipknot} fans into faithful "maggots." The Midwestern origin of all this craziness is genius, as the band's marrow-draining {\metal} and twisted, fibrous mythology is antithetical to the region's milquetoast rep. Still, after the gothic nausea of 2001's {^Iowa}, {$Slipknot}'s vitality dissipated in clouds of gaseous hype and individual indulgence. Had they grown fat on their thrones? Probably. But the layoff only makes {^Vol. 3: The Subliminal Verses} scream louder. Working with famously bearded helmer {$Rick Rubin} -- aka He Who Smites Bullsh*t -- {$Slipknot} pour the shrill accessibility of their self-titled debut down {^Iowa}'s dark sieve, and the result is flinty, angry, and rewardingly restless. {^Vol. 3} shares its lyrical themes of anger, disaffection, and psychosis with most of {$Slipknot}'s {\nu-metal} peers. Lines like "I've screamed until my veins collapsed" and "Push my fingers into my eyes/It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache" (from the otherwise strong {&"Duality"}) aren't unique to this cult. But unlike so many, the band's sound rarely disassembles into genre building blocks: riff + glowering vocal + throaty chorus = {~Ozzfest} acceptance. What makes {^Vol. 3} tick is the dedication to making it a {$Slipknot} album, and not just another flashy {\alt-metal} billboard. The seething anger and preoccupation with pain is valid because it's componential to the group's uniquely branded havoc. {&"Blister Exists,"} {&"Three Nil,"} and {&"Opium of the People"} are all standouts, strafing soft underbellies with rhythmic (occasionally melodic) vocals, stuttering, quadruple-helix percussion, and muted {\grindcore} guitar. {$Rubin} is integral to the album's power -- his cataclysmic vocal filters and arrays of unidentifiable squiggle and squelch unite {^Vol. 3}'s various portions in wildly different ways. Just when the meditative {&"Circles"} threatens to keel over from melodrama, in sputters strings of damaged electronics and percussion to lead it into {&"Welcome,"} which sounds like {$Helmet} covering {@Relapse Records}' entire catalog at once. Later, another counterpoint is offered, when the swift boot kicks of {&"Pulse of the Maggots"} and {&"Before I Forget"} separate {&"Vermilion"}'s gothic and acoustic parts. {^Vol. 3: The Subliminal Verses} doesn't feel like {$Slipknot}'s final statement. It's a satisfying, carefully crafted representation of their career to date. But there's a sense that whatever {$Slipknot} do next might be their ultimate broadcast to the faithful. [{@Roadrunner} released a bonus track edition of {^Vol. 3}.] ~ Johnny Loftus, All Music Guide