Ian

Moments after the final rapid-fire rhythm of Anthrax’s opening number “Caught in a Mosh” fades from the open air of the Sports Illustrated Stadium in Harrison, N.J., shaggy-headed vocalist Joey Belladonna addresses the audience. “I gotta ask everybody out there right now. Who’s never seen Anthrax before?” Around half of the 6,000-or-so crowd members who showed up by 6 p.m. for the three-band bill, headlined by heavy metal legends Iron Maiden, raise their hands. “Ah, yeah! We got a lot of new friends here today. Thank you for being here.”

Some bands with a four-decade career would be disappointed by the turnout, or by the realization that many fans not wearing Maiden shirts are dressed in Megadeth merch. But for Anthrax, preaching to the unconverted is an opportunity to expand their fan base beyond the somewhat insular community of thrash metal, a style of music that took the aggression of bands like Iron Maiden and turbocharged it with the speed and fury of hardcore punk. As much as Anthrax cherish being one of the “Big Four” — Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer and Anthrax — playing a 35-minute set well before dark is a great way to reach new listeners.

“We have a strong base of fans that are deeply into this band, but we know there are also people that have never listened to this type of music before,” says bald-headed, gray-bearded rhythm guitarist and lyricist Scott Ian from his home office outside of L.A. a week before the show. “They’ve heard band names, but maybe they haven’t dipped their toe in the water. So, it would be great to reach them and give them something they didn’t even know they wanted and then they’ll fall in love with it.”

A full 10 years have passed since Anthrax released their last studio album, “For All Kings,” which helps explain why they’re not as well-known as some metal veterans. Instead of rushing out an album after the pandemic, Anthrax took their time writing and fine-tuning new songs before entering Dave Grohl’s Studio 606 in L.A. in 2022. Then, they wrote more songs and massaged those for another two years before finishing the recording and sending the album to be mixed in 2025.

“I nitpicked over every detail of these songs before I even sent the demos to the other guys to put their two cents in,” says drummer and main songwriter Charlie Benante, clad in a black T-shirt and blue jean shorts, and sporting cropped black hair and a slanted mustache. “I wanted them to be as good as they could possibly be. Being good enough wasn’t OK.”

The 11 tracks on “Cursum Perficio” (Latin for “I complete my journey”) encapsulate the finessed brutality, incisive melodies and experimental flourishes from Anthrax’s years with Belladonna (from 1984-1992 and 2005 to the present), during which the band wrote its fastest, most aggressive songs. As much as Anthrax were driven this time by the desire to attract new fans, they were also motivated by many popular new metal albums — and not in a good way.

Anthrax’s meticulously crafted album was recorded at Studio 606, using Iron Maiden support slots to court new listeners beyond the thrash faithful.

(Travis Shinn)

“I hear bands with new records out, and they’re horrible,” Benante says, squinting his eyes and grimacing. “The genre has gotten stagnant to the point where you see a social media post by some band mentioning they have new music coming out, and you can tell exactly how it’s going to sound just by the way they look.”

While “Cursum Perficio” may be a bit heavy for some metal fans, it’s neither dull nor predictable. The album is loaded with Anthrax trademarks — serrated, crunchy riffs, soaring lead vocals, bludgeoning beats, and scorching guitar — but there are also galactic noise effects, angular song structures and atypical chord configurations. The most striking number, “The Edge of Perfection,” starts with chiming ethereal guitars and gently tapped cymbals, then detonates in a conflagration of feral blast beats, minor-key tremolo guitar picking (redolent of black metal), and chanted tribal vocals before climaxing in a slithering riff and ebullient chorus.

“After 30 years as a band, I can honestly say that’s the best song we’ve ever done,” says Ian, the most voluble member. “I feel like it’s genre-defying and can appeal to fans of atmospheric stuff and extreme metal, and anyone who likes aggressive music or even just guitar rock.”

For such a bruising cut, the lyrics of “The Edge of Perfection” are surprisingly optimistic. “It’s about striving for perfection, which, of course, is impossible. But that doesn’t mean you can’t reach for it,” says Ian. “To me, true perfection is happiness and health, and that comes from love, and it isn’t a given. I work hard at being an empathetic person and I only do things out of love and wanting to make everybody around me feel good as well.”

Lest Ian’s Zen-like proclamation color him a romantic, the guitarist stresses that much of the energy and anger of “Cursum Perficio” stems from the political, social and economic turmoil of the last decade. The problems, he stresses, are cutthroat capitalism, rampant partisanship and mankind’s seemingly innate instinct to destroy.

“Humans are really good at one thing and that’s murder, and we’ve excelled at it over the centuries,” Ian says, shattering the good vibes that flowed like a clean mountain spring just a minute ago. “Every year, we get better at treating each other terribly, which I can’t understand. I mean, there are people on this planet who, if they wanted to, could end world hunger. But I guess there’s no money in that. They would rather make the world a s— place by draining the resources. I swear to God, it’s just like [the 1971 Dr. Seuss book] ‘The Lorax.’”

While Ian purposely scrapped any early lyrics he wrote about politics in the age of Trump (“that would have been boring”), on “Everyone’s Got a Plan” he addresses the partisan strategy of “divide and conquer,” and in the first single, “It’s for the Kids,” he writes about the ubiquity of school shootings. Neither song has stopped naysayers from characterizing Anthrax as left-wing.

“I’m not a liberal,” he plainly states. “I’m a centrist. I like skeet shooting and I enjoy going to a range and shooting at targets.  But I believe in common sense. And no matter what your political leanings, I think everybody can agree that nobody wants to see an 8-year-old shot in the face, which happens all too often.”

“I love this country,” interjects Benante. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have some problems with it…. The way we go about things in this country is just wrong, and it makes me frustrated to the point where I’m like, ‘F— it. I’ll just put my head down and write a song.’”

“Cursum Perficio” delivers classic Anthrax crunch with experimental flourishes, anchored by genre-defying centerpiece “The Edge of Perfection.”

(Travis Shinn)

Much of “Cursum Perficio” caters to neither the left nor the right. “NYC 93” is about the celebratory chaos of band life in the early ’90s, “The Long Goodbye” addresses the horrors of dementia, and the title track is about closure, whether positive or problematic. The Latin translation of the phrase, along with Benante’s past comments that he can’t imagine writing another full Anthrax album anytime soon, have led to speculation that the band is nearing the end of the line; the theory is seemingly supported by lines like, “The journey’s over/ The threads that hold it all together.” But while there are no plans now to write any new songs, and four of the members are in their 60s (lead guitarist Jonathan Donais is the baby at 47), growing too old to headbang isn’t even a notion.

“I truly believe that going out and playing shows keeps us young,” concludes Benante. “We get in a zone, and the music takes over and the energy going through our bodies is the same as it was when we were 20. Why would we ever want to give that up?”

Wiederhorn is the co-author of Scott Ian’s 2014 autobiography, “I’m the Man: The Story of That Guy From Anthrax.”

TELLURIDE, Colo. — Do you believe in ghosts?

Andrew Scott considers the question and looks at me with a mischievous grin, retreating to a corner of the restaurant booth where we’re catching up a few hours before his new movie, “Elsinore,” the most personal film he has ever made, premieres at the Telluride Film Festival.

Scott turns over the question again. “Do I believe in ghosts?”

It feels like a reasonable thing to ask. Three years ago at Telluride, the yearning romantic fantasy “All of Us Strangers” memorably premiered, featuring Scott playing a character who worked through unresolved trauma by talking to the dead. Ghosts are elsewhere in his work, metaphorical (“Vanya”) and literal (“Hamlet”).

“If I had a gun put to my head — which you don’t have to — I would say that I don’t believe in them,” Scott says. “But the idea of the afterlife and where we will go is still really fascinating to me. Dreams and the subconscious, too. I don’t know what went on consciously in the world outside my hotel room here last night. I was perfectly content to be asleep. And I like the idea of thinking about death that way. I’ll just be asleep. It’ll be OK. It’s the undiscovered country.”

“The movie for me is about time,” says Andrew Scott. “What are you going to do with your time? Ian decided to to live and to be a light and to be around people for the glory of the theater.”

(Anthony Dickenson / Focus Features)

Dropping a line from Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy in this context feels unavoidable. In the powerfully moving “Elsinore,” Scott plays the real-life actor Ian Charleson, who, as he was secretly dying from AIDS, played Hamlet in a 1989 Royal National Theatre production, still considered one of the great performances in London theater history. Charleson was 40 at the time, known for playing Scottish Olympic athlete and missionary Eric Liddell in “Chariots of Fire.” He died eight weeks after leaving the National Theatre stage. “Elsinore” captures that journey in all of its glories and taxing challenges.

“That he would go for treatment in the morning and then play this Olympian role is just endlessly moving,” Scott says. “I don’t know how he did it.”

With our pint glasses filled with water as we adjust to Telluride’s altitude, we try to figure it out.

Charleson playing Hamlet, scaling the Everest for actors, reminded me of David Bowie making “Blackstar” as he was dying. As an artist, you’re not often given the chance to shape the narrative of your own end.

Being offered Hamlet doesn’t happen to every actor. To take it and turn it into something generous and useful — useful is a word I love about acting, that it’s useful to people.

When people are feeling down, they can watch a movie they love.

And see themselves. That can’t be underestimated.

What’s your go-to movie?

I will always watch “Bridesmaids” when it comes on TV. Comedy is precious to me. Laughing is precious to me. I don’t see it as the antithesis of tragedy. I think they’re one and the same.

The last time we talked, around the time of “Ripley,” you wanted to put out into the universe the idea of starring in a musical or a comedy. That hasn’t happened by the strictest definition. But you seem to be saying that genre labels don’t matter.

The reason, hopefully, that “Elsinore” is moving is that we approach some of the stuff with quite a bit of lightness. The effect is tragic and there are some heavy things in it. But my job, what I prioritized, is keeping it light.

You are seen dancing to Ethel Merman’s disco album. It doesn’t get much lighter than that.

My favorite actors are the ones that are funny. I worked with Lisa Kudrow last year on “The Comeback,” and yes, of course, she’s very funny. But if you look at that performance she gives toward the end, it’s so moving. People come away from things that are labeled comedies and go, “I just laughed at that.” Or people come away from things that maybe were really sad and say, “I was just devastated by that.” I think the job is to get rid of categorizing and make it more fluid.

Like life. Sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes, the bear, he eats you.

Exactly! I don’t love things that are overly serious. One of my big dreams for this film — and I do wish so much for this film because it’s so personal — is that people don’t feel like that they’re going to see something that’s depressing. I didn’t want to fetishize Ian’s death.

What do you hope audiences take away from watching it?

That they see themselves in it. You know, it doesn’t end well for any of us. The movie for me is about time. What are you going to do with your time? Ian decided to to live and to be a light and to be around people for the glory of the theater.

Speaking of time, next month you’re going to be celebrating a milestone, turning 50. Or not celebrating. I don’t know how you feel about birthdays.

I don’t love my birthday.

Any year?

My friends have said to me, “You gotta make some plans.” I love a party. Which is to say, I love other people’s parties. What I usually do is I leave it to the last minute and send texts around, saying, “I understand if you don’t want to come, but I might do this.” And then you do something small. I read something yesterday where you should go to your own parties like you’re a guest. I think that’s a very good way to to do it.

What about just being around for half a century? Is that in your head? You’re the one who just said it doesn’t end well for any of us.

I’ve definitely thought about it more. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’ve thought, “Jesus, what?” I’m sure that’s because of my mom dying and that I’m approaching my mortality. Again, how am I going to use my time? One of the reasons I was so ferocious about getting “Elsinore” made was that I would put all of myself into this and then maybe I can chill out a bit more.

Andrew Scott in the movie “Elsinore.”

(Anthony Dickenson / Focus Features)

The personal aspects of this movie are striking. In addition to producing “Elsinore,” you yourself have played Hamlet on stage. You’re also a gay actor portraying someone who, at the time, would have torpedoed his career by coming out.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the movies and would read Premiere and Empire magazine. Around 16 or 17, I started to realize that maybe if you’re gay, you wouldn’t be invited to movies. And I wasn’t wrong in thinking that, because there weren’t many examples. So I would omit things in interviews. I wouldn’t lie, but I really understood that about Ian’s generation.

There’s a melancholy moment in the movie where he says, “I wanted to be in the movies. I didn’t scale the heights.”

What a gorgeous little dream. A young boy goes, “I want to be in the movies.” And then to have that knocked out of you bit by bit. You’re not even going to be seen for the audition. Or, “Are you being a little fruity there?”

Did people tell you not to talk about being gay?

Very well-meaning people said to me, “Just keep that [private] because you’re not obviously gay,” which I often think is such an insult to say to people. “So maybe you can get away with it.” And I was like, OK. And I did that for awhile. But it was so insidious. When audiences think of acting, they think of actors pretending, like you’re putting yourself in somebody else’s shoes. So the fact that there was this whole section of gay actors who weren’t allowed to do that is awful. I’m so grateful that I get to do that.

What do you remember about the late ’80s and early ’90s in terms of navigating the AIDS epidemic?

It makes me emotional. It was extraordinary just to to have lived through that time and to be completely abandoned by your government, who wouldn’t even say the name of the illness. When I was a young adult, that’s what I was scared of. If you go for a sexual health screening, you go, “My God, am I going to die?” I remember going into those situations, and with no cause for such concern, feeling like I’m going to be punished for expressing myself in that way, because that’s the way the world was set up.

Let’s get back to Ethel Merman.

Please! [Laughs]

There’s that stanza in “There’s No Business Like Show Business” that goes: “There’s no people like show people / They smile when they are low.” Would you say that sums up the spirit of “Elsinore” about as well as any couplet could?

Yes, it’s so much about the power of community and show people. It’s about show people and smiling and getting on with the show.

When did you first feel that power of community?

Putting on “The Wizard of Oz” in a school play when I was about 10.

What part did you play?

Guess.

Dorothy?

[Laughs] No, a friend of Dorothy. Oh, come on. One more guess.

The Cowardly Lion?

No. The Tin Man. My mom sprayed me silver, in my hair and everything. We had a probably bit of aluminum foil and I had a funnel. I loved it so much. And I remember having a really extraordinary feeling of surprise, knowing the audience was there. For such a shy boy, when I had to do the big number, “If I Only Had a Heart,” it went to another level, better than rehearsal. I suppose the little showman, the little 10-year-old silver showman, came out.