After their lead singer shed his glam rock spandex, the band became rivals to thrash’s Big Four. Still releasing potent high-octane riffage, they retread their path through cancer scares and jazz detours
I
n the Bay Area of mid-1980s California, a heavy metal scene was forming that was angrier, louder and much, much faster than anything that came before: thrash. Progenitors Metallica are the most well-known of its alumni, but this corner of the West Coast spawned dozens of other brilliant bands seemingly unbounded by tempo, or sometimes even melody.
With their blistering, high-octane riffing and superb technical chops, one of the most formidable and resilient is Testament. Despite having enough lineup changes to rival the Fall, cancer scares and the 1990s grunge takeover that edged out cut-off denim for plaid shirts, Testament are still selling out tours, gnashing at the heels of the commercially dominating Big Four metal bands – Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth and Anthrax – and releasing new records with just as much vigour. The most recent, Para Bellum, came out last week.
It all started in late 1983 when, fresh from high school, Eric Peterson and cousin Derrick Ramirez from Alameda near Oakland, formed Testament’s precursor, Legacy. The two guitarists played their first show above a record store with local punks Rebels and Infidels, but their next – while clad in priest collars – was supporting Slayer. “That was our first taste of a sold-out crowd,” says Peterson, as the band dial in from their homes across the US. “We were so nervous. We only had four songs.”
