Review – Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs

The Marble Factory, November 24th 2021

I got sonically mauled by Pigs7 and I can only hope you do one day, too.

The Geordie 5-piece are masters of the sensory build as if it were a dark art – from the crescendo of their backdrop logo to the assertive-and-absolute dominance they hold over a single hypnotic note played again, again, again, again, again, again, again… ‘till a short-tempered riff defibs you like a hypnic jerk from hell.

Frontman Matt Baty howls down the mic with the sincere and intense conviction of someone with a message, but who also happens to be perpetually falling backwards through a blackhole that you’ve suddenly realised you’re also in. Oh, shit. To see this man is to see a Freddy Mercury of the underworld, using sumo-esc moves to fight evil phantoms whilst wearing a vest that says “FIND WHAT FEELS GOOD” – an invitation to enjoy the visceral experience of this moment (before it’s gone) as well as their latest album, ‘Viscerals’ (out now).

Drummer (Chris Morley) and guitars (Adam Ian Sykes on lead, Sam Grant on guitar, bass from Johnny Hedley) create a tight symphonic web, through sequences of notes that seem to defy laws of physics/space/time signatures – giving them complete authority over the volume and frequency they grip you through. Many of Pigs x7’s songs possess a Mephistophelian spiral that operates by devastating your consciousness in a way that satisfies a craving you didn’t realise you had.

Together, Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs engage human senses with all the playfulness of a fun-time-party rhino, I noted a synesthetic blur of hearing the sound but also becoming a physical host to it as it bashed its way around my innards.

The people up-top, on the ground – as much as those in the pit know – there probably won’t be another Wednesday evening quite like this one. Perhaps the only language we really have to recall and relive the experience is by listening to Pigs x7’s new album and attending future live shows as a matter of urgency. Perhaps, in a way – we all became “Noel Edmunds’ sticky lover” that night.

Review by Weaver of the @Flaming_Gulls

 @ania_shrimpton