Death to the poseurs: the history of thrash metal in San Francisco

Heavy metal never germinates in a flowery field but in arid territories. It was set in gray Birmingham in the late 60s, inspiring Black Sabbath about wars, evil presences and adulterated sanity. Thus, the economic crisis that hit the United States in the early 1980s, accompanied by unemployment and crime, classified by President Ronald Reagan as the worst since the crash of 1929, was the ideal climate for nesting from San Francisco in particular , and California in general, a new artistic generation that has opted for a culture in force until today. A breed that revered heavy rock bands like UFO and Thin Lizzy, in turn into the genome of the new wave of British heavy metal led by Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Motörhead, Diamond Head, Venom and Saxon. This white, youthful West Coast crowd demanded a fresh dose of tougher, faster, heavier guitars as a reflection of the new decade.

Murder in the front row, available on Youtube and Apple TV, it’s not just a movement-chronologically conscious documentary, piecing together pivotal moments through an ensemble story like Metallica’s first rehearsal with Cliff Burton, or portraying different and quirky characters. among followers and managers, but also explains one of the great qualities of thrash since its genesis. It was a movement that grew by word of mouth to reach transatlantic reach through the traditional mail, freely exchanging tapes, fanzines and long lists of material, with no money going north. In his birth and upbringing, the mainstream recording industry had no involvement.

In this network, musicians, typewriters and fans were equal. In the thrash tribe, egalitarian utopia has long made sense . It could be a skilled guitarist, a columnist eager to discover the fastest band around, or an audience leader jumping off an amplification wall.

Directed by Adam Dubin, Head of Videos for Beastie Boys and A year and a half in the life of Metallica (1992), the audiovisual record of the recording of the black scrapbook (1991), the documentary lays out the steps to unleash the perfect storm that gave birth to thrash in San Francisco.

Towards the end of the 1970s, the flatness of suburban life and the boredom of white youth audiences with the offer of the dial, practically hijacked by disco music – “the frustration of being bored”, summarizes Kirk Hammett -, gathered around refuges like the record store The Record Vault.

The gory and violent themes of the covers and lyrics were closer to Stephen King horror novels than Satanism. Fantasy was an escape, as was drinking, vandalism and violence restricted to concerts and the homes of fans and musicians.

For bands outside the Bay Area like Slayer and Metallica themselves, who moved to San Francisco at the behest of Cliff Burton, the vibe and crowd exuded a different energy, much more intense and polished.

Murder in the front row quote a line from Exodus at the beginning blood bound (1984) which, in the opinion of several interviewees, exceeds Kill them all (1983) by Metallica as the most representative thrash album in town. “Murder in the front row”, shouts the late Paul Baloff, to render the atmosphere of the recitals under a volatile energy rising between musicians and public.

Although a strictly youthful community, there are two key adults in this story, directly responsible for developing a self-directed scene with global repercussions. . The first is Wes Robinson, the owner of blues club Ruthie’s Inn, an African-American in his fifties who regularly rents out the venue for gigs by these testosterone-laden white boys, leaving the place in shambles amid broken furniture, broken glass, and bloodstains, miraculously spared for the next live thrash date. Succeeding at Ruthie was like winning a medal.

Then Debbie Abono, a 57-year-old grandmother turned manager of The Satanic Possessed, and later other bands like Exodus and Cynic. Fertilizer provided his home for rehearsals and parties, or treated the injured after a recital. “He saw everyone in that scene as human when there was a lot of demonization of youth,” says Testament’s Alex Skolnick. “She knew we needed a safe place and Debbie Abono’s house has always been a safe place,” said James Hetfield.

The embryonic trajectory of Metallica and its profile as a point apart from the scene, the irruption of Slayer as the fastest and toughest, the advent of Megadeth, and contacts with the scenes of Los Angeles and New York. Above all, the camaraderie between the groups and the various actors on the scene, convinced of their brotherhood and the fight against fake metalheads. “Death to the poseurs” was a kind of rallying cry that these old fighters evoke between laughs, the veterans of the last battle fought by a genre with no other strategy than to play as hard and as fast as possible.