Anger and a desire for visceral escapism both seem like legitimate responses to the world’s worrying direction of political travel in 2016. Slaves – the questionably named Kent two-piece presently punching an unlikely hole in the mainstream with their collision of punk brutalism and post-punk acerbic humour – can’t seem to decide if they want to be a conductor for youthful disaffection, or simply an indignant distraction from the state of things.
Lights bathe the stage a suitably bloody shade of red as heavily tattooed guitarist and bassist Laurie Vincent and stand-up drummer and singer Isaac Holman melt the mosh pit into a blur of flailing limbs and tumbling bodies with speed-riffing opener Hey. Stripped to the waist after five songs – justifiably, considering the sweaty exertion with which he punishes his rudimentary kit – Holman dedicates Rich Man to “tax avoiding, pig-fucking politicians” and it doesn’t take much imagination to know whom he’s referring to. He earns a cheer from the young audience.
But put that statement in context with other songs tonight about girl fights, sasquatch paranoia in the woods around Royal Tunbridge Wells, and one Queens of the Stone Age heavy number called Same Again, during which an inflatable manta ray crowd surfs across the front rows, and it’s apparent that Slaves’ commitment to furious political commentary doesn’t outstrip their commitment to knowingly dumb post-ironic fun.
They barrel through about 25 songs in 75 minutes. Even with only the most basic of rock band instrumentation at their disposal, Slaves never feel repetitive, nor less than electrifying to watch. Impressively, their second album – the title of which, Take Control, bears unfulfilled promise of a sardonic riposte to the Brexit soundbite – is produced by Michael “Mike D” Diamond, whom Holman references with wideboy hubris during the queasily lolloping People That You Meet in the line, “He used to be a Beastie Boy but now he works for me!”
The record was made in Malibu, but Vincent and Holman clearly haven’t forgotten the home counties crucible in which their bond was first forged. Fuck the Hi-Hat is a 45-second hardcore punk flick of the Vs to the pub audiences back in the band’s early days who used to heckle Holman for his unconventional drum setup.
Scything at his cymbals, sometimes with both feet off the ground, Holman can feel vindicated in being probably the only stand-up drummer-singer ever to have inked a major label record deal and sold out the Barrowlands. But Slaves’ sizeable potential remains to be fulfilled. Sneering at the metropolitan rat race and lamenting young lives lost to the nine-to-five grind respectively, Cheer Up London and Spit It Out are splintered, snotty standouts of the show’s final phase that each test the limits of the venue’s sprung dancefloor.
Yet both feel thematically uninspired coming from a twosome with the apparent wit and gall to say something meaningful and energising to their dedicated crowd. A crowd that, if Slaves were to try them, could prove just as prepared to soak themselves in punk music’s possibilities as a vehicle for protest as they seem prepared to soak themselves in mosh pit sweat.
• At O2 Academy, Bristol, 21 November. Box office: 0844-477 2000. Then touring.
