Spotlight On... Slime City

We shine a spotlight on Glasgow pop-punk trio Slime City, and bring you a first listen to their debut album, Slime City Death Club

Feature by Tallah Brash | 18 May 2023
  • Slime City

Possibly Glasgow's only trio of Michaels, Slime City release their debut album on Friday 19 May, and it's loads of fun. Filled with big riffs, laugh-worthy song titles, existential thought, tongue-in-cheek lyricism and choruses that will get stuck in your head for days, this pop-punk troupe know what they're doing, although they likely wouldn't admit it.

To celebrate the release of Slime City Death Club, we had a chat with one of the Michaels over email – we think singer and guitarist Michael M, but who can say? As well as our chat, we're delighted to be bringing you an early listen to the album via the embedded stream below (click here if it's not displaying correctly), giving you a bit of extra time to get ready to sing along at their album launch party this Friday 19 May at Saint Luke's.

Firstly, and sorry if you’re sick of answering this one, but you're all called Michael. I have never met anyone with the same name as me before, but I imagine this must be a bit of a headache?

It actually makes everything easier, we don't have to bother remembering more than one name. As a result, we've streamlined conversations, which is important to us, because it gives us more time for things like eating. It can be confusing for other people, but that’s a them problem.

As previous band We Are The Physics, and now as Slime City, your sense of humour has always shone bright in everything you do. How do you go about your songwriting and developing your tunes? Do the comedic song titles and lyrics come first?

When we first started Slime City in the ashes of We Are The Physics, one of the distinct aims was that every single song title should be able to work as a standalone piece of graffiti or MSN username. Sometimes that happens as a result of the lyrics, or sometimes the concept comes first.

The humorous aspect is probably just how we find it easiest to communicate and, like a lot of the stuff we do as a band, and have done in previous incarnations, there's usually a bleak, self-reflective bit of pathos at its heart. I think maybe that's the result of our generational and cultural habit as millennials to wince at earnestness, so masking it up with a wee smile is just an extension of our personalities. I wouldn't ever say we were a comedy band, there's no punchline to it. It's just that sometimes, especially as Scottish people, you get a sense that gallows humour is the most effective and organic way to underline your point.


There’s a lot of familiarity in your music, almost like knowing glances or nods to certain other pieces of music/pop culture. It’s all at once exciting and infuriating, as so often you’re left trying to figure out what you've been reminded of, like an itch you can’t scratch. Who or what would you say inspires you as Slime City?

That's the most diplomatic way of saying we're derivative, and I'm here for it! Most of the things we do are either consciously or inadvertently infuriating, so we're always surprised when people say they like our record or our set. I just want to make it clear that Slime City have never ripped off anybody and the fact you've been reminded of anything is entirely on you and I would advise anyone who thinks otherwise to refer to Sheeran v Heirs (2023).

But, yeah, I think we're just a product of our environment. A lot of our songs make references to the commodification of nostalgia, and the gentrification of pop culture; we'd trigger old advert theme tunes at our gigs, and incorporate aesthetic artefacts from early digital eras into our artwork. I think that's mostly down to a kind of self-awareness of being a bunch of guys of an advancing age trying to communicate to people who understand that. But also, importantly, the things our cultural memories tend to deify are usually flawed and fallible too, so we'd lean on all that with a nudge and a wink; there's a level of subversion to it, it's not just a list of memories like a Facebook status that says 'you're a 90s kid if you remember what hope smells like'.

I think, alongside that, we have a distinctly modern message wrapped up in a slight distortion of the familiar, if you want to get wanky about it. It's just wonky pop-rock, if you don't. In terms of distinct influences, you'd probably aurally spot things we've not at all stolen from Devo, Brainiac, Wire, Adam & The Ants, Mclusky, Art Brut, Yard Act, Undertones, Cardiacs, Weezer, and We Are The Physics.

For a long time as Slime City you were just releasing the odd single. Pandemic aside, why has it taken so long for the album to arrive?

Slime City was originally just meant to be a live band that we gigged around while waiting to die at our 9 to 5s, and so we'd release singles just to promote the gigs. Our label Last Night From Glasgow approached us not long after we started playing and said they wanted to release our album. But we said we weren't interested, we just wanted to release singles like [it was] the 1950s, and that's what we did for a year or so before the plague hit.

Each single would have a point and a purpose. We released a song called You and Everybody That You Love Will One Day Die alongside a colouring book full of bleak and depressing imagery, like sewage plants and Cumbernauld, and you got a pack of free black crayons to colour it in. Glasgow Is A Shitehole was a single that could only be purchased online if you had a Glasgow postcode, and we donated all the profits to Glasgow charities. But then that big old pandemic hit and we couldn't play anywhere for two years.

We'd been writing a load of songs and basically had a whole new album's worth, but the label suggested we put out an album of those older songs so they didn't go missing in the annals of time forever. So Slime City Death Club is kind of like a 'best of' for our live songs. I personally can't stand albums, not so much as a compilation of songs, but as a concept in general – what gall you must have to believe someone wants to listen to 12 of your songs in a row. I don't even want to hear any of our own 12 songs in a row.

To me, and I understand I may be alone in this, albums have always felt like an industry marketing tool that don't serve the artist – you can spend years writing songs, then you release 12 to 14 of them in one go, and everyone goes 'great, when's the next one?', and you just have to write another 12, but quicker. I think in this era of constant content churn, where streaming services are demanding prolific output and paying less than you'd make from a physical product, you're being milked. It's a racket, and it's a grift, as a fan and an artist. That said, our album is full of bangers and you should buy it.

Multiple-exposure black and white photo of Slime City.
Image: Slime City by Chris Hogge

We’re really looking forward to having you with us at Kelburn Garden Party this summer on The Skinny stage. What can we expect? Will you be bringing your musical shoe? Also, tell us more about the shoe.

Really can't wait to come, I've heard a lot of good things about it, and we're gutted we had to miss it a couple of years in a row. You can expect three sighing guys playing fast music for people who will probably come to regret how much they get into it. For those who don't know, the shoe is a size nine estate agent's brogue with two eyelets on each side, kitted out with a speaker and some knobs that control its gargling electronic output. We usually pull out the shoe in the middle of a gig and play it to disguise the fact we don't have enough songs to fill a set.

We can't confirm nor deny if we're bringing the shoe because we're actually giving it away at our album launch party on 19 May at Saint Luke's in Glasgow as part of an elaborate tombola. But the shoe is cursed, and every time we've tried to destroy it, it returns, so we can never say with certainty that it won't end up back in our possession like a haunted amulet. We hate the shoe, and people seem to love the shoe. We've been hoisted by our own petard.

Finally, if I eat myself will I double in size or disappear completely?
Michael Drum's uncle once told him that someone at his school actually did eat themselves and they disappeared. So there you go. Why would he lie?


Slime City Death Club is released on 19 May via Last Night From Glasgow

Slime City play Saint Luke's, Glasgow, 19 May (with Bis and Casual Worker), and Kelburn Garden Party, Kelburn Castle, nr Largs, 2 Jul

slime-city.bandcamp.com