Every three years, discordant death metal masters Pyrrhon fire off a new album, and every three years, it whips. I first encountered them with their second record, The Mother of Virtues, and have eagerly followed them since then. While they were dropped by Relapse records after that masterwork, they haven’t slowed down. I recognize totally that this stuff is repellant and bizarre, but it’s compelling in ways I don’t totally understand.
[Read More]Filth is maybe the best named album ever made. Belching forth from the no-wave scene in New York City, it’s just 36 minutes of pure punishment. Grinding, scraping, the nihilism is palpable on every part of the record. From Roli Mossimann’s relentless pounding on the drums, to Norman Westberg’s doom-laden guitar work, and especially Michael Gira’s howling vocals, the Swans are operating in a primal mode here that would inspire countless other noise bands. They would tune their attack, add in a lot more variation and complexity, and would end up as one of the most majestic bands ever. But when they started? They were the avatars of everything murky and gross.
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