As Douglas Adams once wrote “We have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem”. This is Manchester’s first Metal show since the so-called Freedom Day. It falls to this Slam Metal package tour, topped by party slam uberlords Party Cannon, to, well, bring the party. For the uneducated Slam Metal is Death Metal’s feral younger sibling. Whereas Death Metal can be reserved and sophisticated when it wants to be, Slam is a puerile art form that reveals in being uncouth and unsanitised.

First up are Mancunian duo Coprocephalic Mutation, who remind me of a savage Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine with the drum machine on machine gun settings. They beckon the crowd forward, however the audience, wary of the sole pitter who is swinging his inflatable hammer like a mighty broadsword, opt to remain in the safety of the back of the room. There is an appealing playfulness about Coprocephalic Mutation, they banter with the audience and wear a sense of self-deprecation on their sleeves. Their tracks are equally absurd and irreverent, with ‘Phallic Lobotomy’ the gem of the set. Overall, it seems immensely fitting that the first band back is one that inhabits the sense of fun that makes live music so intoxicating.

Local boys Visions of Disfigurement take themselves far more seriously, in fact probably a little too seriously. Their version of Slam is very much on the brutal side and is armed with searing riffs and monolithic blast beats. It lacks the sense of fun and absurdity of Coprocephalic Mutation but makes up for that in its unwavering intensity. The whirling Dervisher hammer man has been joined in the pit by a number of others (including the spit of Steve Buscemi and a guy who I swear fitted our Kitchen) intent on riding on that intensity. Two bands in, it is beginning to feel like the last eighteen months never happened.

Despite having been around since 2004, Twitch of the Death Nerve only started gigging in 2019, which means the Pandemic well and truly cut them off in their prime.  Tom Bradfield and Tom Carter are veterans of the scene and that level of professionalism and experience shines through. Twitch of the Death Nerve are simply incredible. Taut, tight, and magnificently ferocious. They produce Death Metal that takes the genre back its central core components. No gimmicks, no trimmings, just absolute savage aggression. Death Metal at its finest is minimal and sparse, and that is what so fantastic about Twitch of the Death Nerve. Stoic, focused and unwavering, I could have listened to them all night.

Whilst Twitch of the Death Nerve sound like they spent every minute of lockdown practising and honing their art, Crepitation sound (and look) like they spent it on the couch bingeing on porn and KFC. And I suspect they will take that as a compliment. Theirs is a much looser and more chaotic take on Death Metal. It lacks the cohesion of Twitch of the Death Nerve’s sound, but it has an infectious ridiculousness in its chaotic sloppiness. There are technical hitches all over the shop, but the band are all old hands at this and manage to make the stop-start nature of the show a virtue rather than a hindrance. Essentially Crepitation are messy fun. About as show ready as a sleeping sloth, they still manage to radiate a nature of ludicrous silliness that makes the whole thing very enjoyable.

 Talking about blatant silliness, Party Cannon are in the house. This is Slam Metal as its most infantile and immature. The lyrics, were decipherable, are all bodily fluids and inappropriate sexual references. The pit is now a seething mess of spilt beer, flailing bodies, and inflatables. There is eighteen months’ worth of pent up energy to be dispersed here. Every gap in the set is met with a heartfelt chant of “Lets go Fucking Mental” and this is both an instruction and a statement of intent. Hammer man has, by this stage, lost his hammer and has replaced it with an inflatable Orca. He seems intent on battering all and sundry with the Willie. In fact, the whole pit is one of good-natured violent aggression as arms and beach balls fly.

Party Cannon may specialise in potty playground humour and in whipping a crowd into a chaotic frenzy, but they do not let that affect their musical ability. Gnarly riffs, guttural vocals and pounding blast-beats combine to create a cacophonous all-consuming sound. Powerful and primal,  Party Cannon make a noise that seems to be belched from the very bowls of hell. The faster they play, the more the tumultuous and anarchic the pit becomes. There may not be enough of a crowd to facilitate proper stage diving, but nobody has explained that to the plucky souls who clamber up the wooden steps to fling themselves into what essentially is a void. Some get caught, others don’t, and some decide to use the much-abused Killer Whale as a diving aid. Its unruly, hectic, and very much a sight for sore eyes.

So, Slam was given the auspicious honour of throwing Metal’s opening up party and they grabbed the honour with two (grubby) hands. Tonight, was hectic, disorderly, and immensely emotionally charged. It was also tons and tons of mindless fun, and that is essentially what we all needed.