Pigsty
The Return

THE REVIEW

It's time to review one of the absolute masterpieces of folk jazz brutal death metal. Sure, you'll say, it's not an easy task, but I take on the responsibility in case of any complaints from John Coltrane and Stefano di Battistino. We have in front of us "THE RETURN" of our beloved Pigsty, we find ourselves inside a damn pigsty... the pigs are around us... we don't need to make extraordinary efforts to understand that we are, (some more, some less) PIGS WITHOUT SHAME!!! Anything to object?

The year 2002 for brutal jazz and progressive grind is not a good period, the recent collaborations of Bormann with "Master-Bassist" of the "Guitar-Prodeath" had left a wave of doubts, especially for the Ultra-super-fantastic new sound, typical of the post-martellus massacrated period, introduced by the now famous, renowned "Voce-diMorto-Death", known for his diaphragmatic capacity capable of melting, with his caveman scream, all the PIGS around him, including those incapable of being so. It's pointless to discuss his career, studded with an infinity of lobotomized concerts alongside Rotten Interior.

So, to summarize, it hasn't been an easy period for all the bands born under the shadow of these fantastic icons of Brutal Jazz, but Pigsty do not give up.

Pigsty introduce us to a very disturbing world, as I have described in previous reviews, too often in the Metal music scene, there are unfounded criticisms regarding the depth of the lyrics and the talent (often envied by "garage" and "indie-rock" bands) that is far superior artistically, technically, and compositionally. Those guys whose names I can't remember (from Oasis) continue to mimic the unattainable feats of Chuck Shuldiner and Dimebag Darrell, with very poor results. Metal is not a game, guys...

The first track starts, then the second, the third, and the fourth... and you realize that all those times you got up at 3 in the morning with an incredible urge to take a hammer and play it against the monolithic stones on your balcony wasn't as pointless as the neighbors told you. Anxiety is not confronted by pigs, but we confront it, we talk about it, and we convert it into metallic works of art...

We are all "GANJA THIEVES"... we all want a good "BLOW JOB" and we've all watched our aunt work with a "SEWING MACHINE"... not to mention Sid Barrett's favorite tracks "madmower", then "Three Little Pigs" based on a true story in Michigan, then my favorite: "FAGET JOHN" with very evident jazz influences, inspired by the sweet screams of John Coltrane, in my opinion the best in this album, to be listened to in all caves.

I believe I have been exhaustive in the description of an absolute masterpiece of grind-jazz-progressive... if then, someone has something to say, we can discuss it calmly demonstrating that we are not in a pigsty, (your computer) but in the real world where the hemispheres of our FuckingBrain mutually assist each other in the name of common sense...

An affectionate grunt...