SLAMMER – Boston Arms, Tuffnell Park

THERE IS nothing intrinsically ‘wrong’ with Slammer. Dull, fabricated and desperate, maybe, but Thrash’s biggest losers do not really deserve the derision that has been heaped upon the young Bradford quintet in recent months.

And Slammer’s only crime thus far? Probably just failing to fulfil hysterical expectations. In case you blinked Slammer signed the golden deal and released an average album as their major label debut that showed promise if not originality.

In a word Slammer are f**ked!

Tonight – just hours after the promoters went bankrupt – the public are being fleeced for an outrageous £6 to witness the Slammer laxative. Flushed through the system and back into the toilet within six months.

Unbelievably the boys seem surprised and narked that their supposed loyal fan-base stayed home in their millions. But the Boston Arms is cold and cavernous. Slammer, meanwhile, are just back-pedalling through crap.

Slammer’s real problem is that they don’t really want to be a Thrash band at all. A cynicism and arrogance permeate the one-dimensional riff theatre of Hellbound and Razors Edge’, justified with big buck backing but now merely stubborn.

Slammer work to formulas and smack of impersonation as a result of that. Paul Tunnicliffe battles bravely to save face. Someone even optimistically stage-dives into open space.

Ultimately, however, and just as the record sales proved, Slammer offer nothing new to an overcrowded market. They close with ‘Tenement Zone’ and encore (!) with ‘Born For War’ before packing it all away into shiny flight cases that only serve to reinforce the charade that Slammer have become.

Slammer’s deal marked the end of UK Thrash. Tonight was proof.


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