Your opinion of Laurie Vincent and Issac Holman’s snotty punk duo could well depend on what you think about two white guys from Maidstone and Royal Tunbridge Wells calling themselves Slaves. Despite their explanation that it’s a metaphor for not being in control of their day-to-day lives, the hint of cultural appropriation leaves a sour taste. Either way, you could charitably describe their moniker as the sign of a band who aren’t prone to overthinking things.
Conversely, that simplicity often works in their music: primitive, belligerent two-piece punk that opts for the bare necessities of the duo format – guitar, drums and voice – over any fancy trappings.
It certainly isn’t based on guile, but tonight they are an undeniable, visceral force: hyperactive guitarist Vincent, wearing a white jumpsuit with “Man from Kent” emblazoned on the back, gyrates and moshes for the whole show, while singer Issac maintains an uncomfortable, unavoidable stare throughout.
White Knuckle Ride’s opening riff ignites a swarming moshpit almost immediately; bodies are catapulted across the Scala’s floor. It’s a simple yet brutal recipe. Songs such as Where’s Your Car Debbie?, about walking a girl back to her car after reports of a Sasquatch in Kent, are admirably daft. And it’s not like they don’t admit it – after the “aquatic ballad” Feed the Mantaray, Holman shakes his head: “What a stupid, silly song.”
The music often works best when it goes to darker places. Live Like an Animal and Do Something burn with cantankerous rage, while The Hunter’s snaking guitar riff is thrilling. Yet for all their anger and talk of “personal politics”, Slaves are not as gritty as they think (one critic fittingly described them as “a cross between Ant & Dec and Rancid”). Cheer Up London’s bludgeoning riff is blighted by a hackneyed commentary, which is nowhere near as witty or cutting as, say, Sleaford Mods can be.
That this show takes place on the eve of a general election seems to throw even greater light on the fact that they are a good-time band and little more. As Holman sings on The Hunter: “It’s useless, it’s pointless, but it’s all so very fun.”
