Pigs7 is groovy. A short sharp wah-wah shock. Twenty minutes in the collective unconscious. Karl Jung would hear Pigs7 and quite like it. Wand Erection or any of their arsehole fans would hear it and get hit by proper existential terror. It’s God big. Be thinking Gnod grooviness, injected with just enough of that Hey Colossus Hot Grave noise (if you haven’t heard that song yet, fix that). Part of the whole yoo-hoo rumble running through underground music in the UK outside of the southern urban sprawls. Maybe the last barnstorming low-level kickback against marketing strangulation and industry prostitution. A bunch of motionless heavyweights cranking out music influenced by the B level or C level bands; Hairy Chapter and Culpeper’s Orchard. Making hairy-chested mountain music full of hollers, whoops and haw-haw. Atavistic shit spreading from basement grates in the back streets of less reputable parts of town. It’s impossible to tell the tide of the war from the middle of the battle so I don’t even try. What I do know is that Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs is just so much sound and fury, but it’s soul-enriching and ultimately, cool.
Written under duress by Steven.