PIG
Hurt People Hurt

THE REVIEW

If anyone ever feels the desire to immerse themselves in the numbing atmospheres descended from the good old EBM blasts bubbling in the electro-technical cauldron of the late eighties/early nineties, this recent tungsten behemoth might just prove useful for the task.

A hypertrophic, hefty and substantial record, the likes of which haven't been heard since the era when Ronnie Coleman reigned supreme at Mr. Olympia. To offer some faint sonic-stationary points of reference, one could endlessly name-drop Die Krupps, Nitzer Ebb, and Skinny Puppy.
For those who remember them.

We’d be remiss not to point out that this isn’t just a case of pure, silicon-infused, moderately estrogenated gut-punching: the song format is generally respected; there aren’t any particular harshnesses or convolutions that would prevent someone from listening in company while you gleefully speed towards your favorite precipices.

Between one electrostatic shovel-blow and the next, there lingers a certain underground taste for robust "melodies"—hard-boiled, sufficiently crisp and shifting. And it couldn’t be otherwise: the neo-melodic mind behind the project is that old wild fox who once lurked hungrily through the Albion countryside since the pre-internet musico-digital era, namely Mr. Raymond Watts, former mentor of the recalcitrant KMFDM.
Stuff of substance for refined palates and demanding connoisseurs, as you might easily imagine.

And if it doesn’t turn out to be sufficiently stale bread for your lead-filled teeth, you can always dance away to the latest cacophonic electro-maranzate from Trent Reznor and Signora.