Ireland’s Gama Bomb were at the forefront of last decade’s thrash revival and, despite having their wheels spun at the hand of industry bullshit, have emerged relatively unscathed and, most importantly, with their sense of humour present and accounted for.
A certain amount of strength in treading water is what makes this quintet tick. If it weren’t for the opportunity to crack off 80s action film references and tales of the drunkenly ridiculous to the tune of rapid fire Bay Area/Teutonic/South American riffology, then it wouldn’t really be Gama Bomb.
There likely have been opportunities to mature and experience musical growth, but that would wipe the wry, shit-eating grin off the band’s face. Can you imagine the humorous helium of Philly Byrne’s voice discussing environmental catastrophe? Nope.
Where would Domo Dixon’s character-filled leads call home? Gama Bomb excel at goofy, but robust thrash and, just like Motörhead and AC/DC, they’d lose footing doing anything outside of what they know. Chalk up another victory for inertia!
