There are at least two good reasons why this baby torpedoed straight to Number One. First, the world is full of heavy-metal kids who think adolescence is a shit sandwich, and Slave to the Grind, Skid Row's sophomore shriekout, features the Skidders bitching loud and long on their behalf. Second, when Slave first hit the streets, those kids were still waiting for the new Guns n' Roses album, and the best songs on this record – and this is meant as a compliment – are essentially further teenage-nightmare variations on "Welcome to the Jungle."
"Outside my window there's a/Whole lot of trouble comin'," warns Sebastian Bach with breathy, malevolent relish at
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the start of "Monkey Business," kicking off a gutter-class parade of psycho creeps, junkie losers, teenage whores and white punks bereft of hope – orchestrated with kick-in-the-groin riffing and guitars swooping out of feedback skies. It's Armageddon à la Aerosmith via Axl, and it
sounds grand, with state-of-the-throb production by Michael Wagener. Backfield muscle boys bassist Rachel Bolan and drummer Rob Affuso, set up a double-time Metallica-phonic hammering in the title track as Bach rails against the forces of Establishment evil with werewolf growls and paint-peeling howls. "Psycho Love" is a feast of clenched-fist fuzz and earthquake bass, while "Riot Act," the obligatory indictment of school as prison, bolts out of the gate like a cross between the Ramones' "Blitzkrieg Bop" and Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall."
As for the lyrics, things are just as manic, if a bit more muddled. The songs, most of which were written by Bolan with guitarist Dave "the Snake" Sabo, are crammed to the last syllable with smartass street gab, rapid-fire wordplay and sound-bite holocaust imagery that sometimes make better vocal sizzle than verbal sense ("Stack heels kickin' rhythm/Of social circumcision/Can't close the closet/On a shoe box full of bones," from "Monkey Business"). "Riot Act" verges on the witless – "I didn't want your education/'Cause it's nothin' but a pile of shit" – but "In a Darkened Room," a sure-fire power-ballad smash, is more typical of Slave's tangled rhyme schemes: "All the precious times have been put to rest again/And the smile of the dawn/Brings tainted lust singing my requiem." It reads like much ado about who-knows-what, although as overwrought romantic torture goes, Bach's pained wail and the song's swelling chorus spell Hitsville.
Actually, Slave would have been a four-star affair for its searing sonics alone. The Skidders get docked at least a star, though, for "Get the Fuck Out," a bonehead play even in a genre where predatory misogyny is an established tradition. "Get the Fuck Out" is nothing more, or less, than gratuitous groupie bashing, a cheap macho swipe at a woman who is used, then abused, just to satisfy the singing cocksman's lust and ego. Bach's purse, of course, is
