A thunderous snapshot of Slade at full throttle, where raw power, chaos, and joy collide in front of a roaring crowd
On April 8, 1975, Slade took the stage at San Francisco’s legendary Winterland Ballroom and delivered a ferocious live rendition of “Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing,” a track originally released on their 1974 studio album Old New Borrowed and Blue, which had topped the UK Albums Chart. While the song itself was not issued as a single, its presence in Slade’s live repertoire during this period reflects the band’s confidence at the height of their international touring power, particularly as they pushed deeper into the American market with uncompromising volume and swagger.
By 1975, Slade were no longer merely a hit-making glam phenomenon. They were a hardened live band, forged in sweat-soaked halls and driven by an almost confrontational relationship with their audience. “Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing” perfectly suited this era. On record, it already carried a sense of restless urgency, but onstage at Winterland it transformed into something far more volatile. The song became a vessel for excess energy, delivered with a looseness and aggression that spoke directly to Slade’s roots as a working class rock band that thrived on physical impact rather than refinement.
Musically, the Winterland performance strips away any remaining studio restraint. Dave Hill’s guitar attacks the song with jagged insistence, less concerned with precision than momentum. Jim Lea’s bass locks in tightly, creating a thick, driving undercurrent that pushes the song forward with relentless force. Don Powell’s drumming is blunt and propulsive, emphasizing sheer power over finesse. Above it all, Noddy Holder commands the room with his unmistakable voice, equal parts roar and rallying cry. He does not merely sing the song. He hurls it outward, daring the crowd to keep up.
Lyrically, “Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing” thrives on attitude rather than narrative clarity. The song operates as a declaration of superiority, of strength, of survival in a competitive world. In the live context, the lyrics become almost secondary to the delivery. What matters is the intent. This is Slade asserting dominance, celebrating physicality, and rejecting weakness with a grin that borders on provocation. It is rock music as confrontation and celebration at the same time.
The Winterland setting amplifies the impact. Known for hosting some of the most intense performances of the era, the venue responds audibly to Slade’s aggression. The crowd noise bleeds into the performance, reinforcing the sense that this is not a passive listening experience but a shared eruption. Slade feed off that response, stretching the song’s energy rather than its structure, turning it into a blunt-force exchange between band and audience.
In retrospect, this performance captures Slade at a critical point in their career. They were transitioning away from pure glam imagery and leaning harder into their identity as a no-nonsense rock band. “Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing” at Winterland stands as evidence of that shift. It is loud, unapologetic, and utterly unconcerned with elegance. What remains decades later is the feeling. The sound of a band that believed completely in the power of volume, unity, and raw human energy, and proved it night after night on stages like this one.