Live Review : Slayer + Amon Amarth + Anthrax + Mastodon + Hatebreed + Neckbreakker @ Finsbury Park, London on July 6th 2025

Let's deal with the leviathan in the room. Many of us took Slayer’s proclamation eight years ago that they planned to call it a day at the end of 2019, to heart. You see, Slayer had always kept it real and told it as it is, so it was only natural that we believed their insistence that this was it. It would therefore be understandable if there was at least some level of resentment to their rather speedy U-turn and return to action. But and here is the rub, Slayer are so good this evening that a) it feels like they never went away, b) it becomes obvious a world without Slayer is an incredibly sad place, we just hadn't realised. 

Given that they are on already on these shores for the Black Sabbath farewell, they have decided to become reacquainted with their UK fraternity by playing mega shows before and after the big bash in Birmingham. Ludicrous licence shenanigans meant that Neckbreakker had to sit out Cardiff, so they feel additionally wound up when they hit the boards here at Finsbury Park. These Danes play a variation of death metal that borrows liberally from hardcore. Both drummer Viktor Bjørnstad and vocalist Christoffer Kofoed sport trendy macs that wouldn't look out of place in a hardcore outfit or god forbid an Oasis tribute act. Christoffer also regularly does running man moves as he shuffles around the rather packed stage. What the hardcore influence gives to their sound is a direct freshness. The riffs are crisp and don't stick around look enough to get boring. Whilst only operating under this moniker for a year, they are a name on everyone's lips and this afternoon they rightly live up to the hype.

©Raymond Ahner

There is a point in their set when Jasta asks the audience who are seeing Hatebreed for the first time. A surprisingly dense sea of hands shot up, which leads to the question, where have these people been as Hatebreed have become almost ubiquitous in their habitual presence on the UK circuit. Rather than contempt, this familiarity has grown a warm regard to the point that whilst many of us never regularly listen to the band in the confines of our homes, we can happily scream the words to ‘Proven’ and ‘This is Now’ in crisp synchronicity. Hatebreed lean into this special relationship by going old skool on our bottoms and ignoring anything they have done pre-2009, with closing number ‘Looking Down The Barrel Of Today being the notable exception. They prove, as always, immensely enjoyable and you know what? They are back again in October!!! 

©Raymond Ahner

Mastodon have always trod a fiercely independent path. They are heavy and sludgy but manage to combine that raw aggression with elaborate time signatures straight out of jazz. Basically, this is prog for the groove metal generation. This is the first time many of us have had a chance to witness their altered/expanded set up with Nick Johnston replacing Brent Hinds and João Nogueira providing additional depth on keys. The good news is that they are as good as ever. They seem to be on sustained high after opening yesterday's Sabbath megagig and bristle with confidence and capability. There is a  breeziness and bounce to their set which feels alien to their usual serious demeanour. They plough through a spritely section of their shorter material, acutely aware that this is not their audience. Those who love Mastodon love Mastodon but today they made a concerted and at least partially successful attempt to court a decidedly less partisan crowd. Thoroughly entertaining. 

©Raymond Ahner

The mid-afternoon festival slot is a mythical playground that can make and break bands. It is the point where the alcohol and the atmosphere have kicked in but so has a level of lethargy and potential boredom. Anthrax know exactly what to do, they bring the bangers. This is classic eighties thrash all drawn lovingly from the eighties. Nothing is younger than 35 years old and everyone is an absolute jewel in the Anthrax lexicon. They know what a teatime crowd want and they provide it in absolute spades. Anthrax are in a particularly playful mood this afternoon, like Mastodon it seems that they are yet to come down from yesterday and they course around the stage in a blur of frantic movement. Scott Ian is determined to whip up as much of a storm as is humanly possible. He marshals the pits as we veer into ‘I am The Law’ and he stops ‘Indians’ mid song because, in his words, Charlie thinks the right-hand side aren’t having enough fun. There is a promise of new material next year (which does feel a little incongruous given that they have just ignored their last six albums) but this evening is about celebrating the beauty and the bravado of straight down the line thrash, and Anthrax do that majestically.

©Raymond Ahner

As bizarre as it is to say, this is a stripped-down Amon Amarth show. Yes, there are two towering inflatable Vikings looming over us and the drum kit is sat pretty on top of a Viking helmet (complete with the horns that Vikings emphatically didn’t have ) but all the other usual trappings (such as inflatable serpents, real life Vikings and oversized Mjölnir) have been left back in the storage unit. What they prove is that even without all the trappings, Amon Amarth are a truly epic and anthemic experience. This is cosplay metal full of integrity and completely lacking in irony. Every track is designed to be sung by a rowdy audience consumed by a love of fantasy and escapism. For an hour, we are in a land of Norsk daring and Viking raiders. It is a complete juxtaposition to reality, but that is the point.

Musically, it is all really rather simple but again, that is the point. They are not trying to push the boundaries of musical virtuosity or rewrite any form of rulebook. They are offering pure unadulterated entertainment and they stunningly succeed at this. The audience is in raptures and heartedly sing back the choruses as if they are a Norse ramble about to pillage an unsuspecting Northern monastery. But for all the dress-up demeanour there is still a genuineness at play here. Johan Hegg reveals that they still feel starstruck to be stuck between their idols, Anthrax and Slayer, and the look of pride in his face over the Nordic rowing is priceless. Amon Amarth take being silly extremely seriously. This is metal as a distraction to reality, and it is astonishingly good at doing that.

©Raymond Ahner

©Raymond Ahner

There are a few teething problems. The large curtain bearing the moniker SLAYER that should obstruct the view of the stage as the opening video plays gets stuck and then falls down completely (leading to a very British chant of “you fucked up, you fucked up”). The stringent 9.30 curfew also means that the gig is played entirely in bright sunshine, slightly muting the lighting effects. However, this doesn't stop Slayer from being absolutely incredible. Somehow, they have come back better, tighter and even more ferocious. Before they were the last word in frantic hostility, but their hiatus has invigorated them further and they are now simply untouchable in terms of the brilliance of their brittle, bombastic assault. 

The grin on Tom Araya’s face gives away the fact that he has really really missed this. In the past, his expressions have been stoic deadpan, but tonight he just smiles through the whole endeavour. He even tries to pass ‘Dead Skin Mass’ off as a love song, revealing that it has become his and his wife's “our tune”. Any concerns that Slayer’s reunification was a blatant and wholly unnecessary moneymaking endeavour are blown straight out of the water. This is metal presented in such a vital and vociferous manner that it seems ludicrous that they don't exist as a going concern. Nobody is making metal with this much extremist energy and wanton anger; we need Slayer, and they are welcomed back with no sense of resentment or begrudging acceptance.

©Raymond Ahner

©Raymond Ahner

The setlist is an extraordinary march through their illustrious career. Only the cover effort, “Undisputed Attitude”, and divisive “Diabolus in Musica” are ignored. Everything else is just prime cuts of jagged corrosive brilliance. Every Slayer track you want to hear is present and correct: ‘Hell Awaits’, ‘South Of Heaven’, ‘Reign In Blood’ they are all here. It is a beautiful cacophony of accelerated aggression. In fact, Slayer are such a formidable live act with such an astonishingly rich back catalogue that they don't need bells or whistles. The flaming inverted crosses constructed out of Marshall arms are impressive, but they  are secondary to the blur of athletic endeavour happening on stage. The fire is constant, and visions are dazzling (if a little hard to see in the evening sun) but when it comes down to it all, eyes are on the four gentlemen on stage beating merry shit out of their instruments. They could be stood on a bare stage and they still would have been awe-inspiringly impressive. 

What could have been rather an after the Lord Mayor’s show affair, given the gravitational pull of the event in Birmingham the night before and the slightly sluggish ticket sales, actually turns out to be an extraordinarily exhilarating celebration of metal. Every band brings their A-game and Slayer prove that they are so essential to the Metal fabric that they should have never ever considered going away in the first place. Whilst the lack of darkness is a little bit discombobulating, the 9.30 fault means that none of us struggle to get our last trains home, no matter where we are going in the country. A wonderful accompaniment to an already wonderful weekend.