Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts

Saturday, October 26, 2024

a positive review of a technical death metal album

The band Pyrrhon began to drift apart during covid. Then they did something about it.

These songs will make you beg for just one moment of melody—anything to get a little oil into this gear-grinding machine.

But the grind is the theme of "Exhaust," the new album from NYC-based technical death metal band Pyrrhon.

If you feel burned out, Pyrrhon is right there with you. Vocalist Doug Moore says, "It's about the experience of being pushed beyond your ability to sustain things … It's a sense of constantly juggling things and never having a handle on them. That feeling became a big part of this record and the imagery."

"Exhaust" is us in this fucking cyclone of culture. The music channels the onslaught of content, the warping of technologies and time, and our politics of destruction.

The album itself, however, is a product of renewal.

Pyrrhon had just released its fourth album when covid hit. After 10 years of touring and crafting crazy-ass music, spending time apart became normal.

The guys began to worry about their partnership.

So they jump-started their band by gathering in May 2023 at a rural northeastern Pennsylvania cabin and taking mushrooms. Says vocalist Doug Moore: "We hadn't spent that much time together, and it felt like we were able to rediscover who we are and feel the energy of the collaboration."

Thematically the album may be about exhaustion, but the collaboration brought renewal.

Album opener "Not Going to Mars" bombards the wasteland of your attention span. The track is an aggressively chaotic work of rapid-fire snare drumming, dissonant guitar pull-offs, multi-personality vocals, and frequent part changes. It's a shock to the system. So goes the album.

Once I started wrapping my brain around the sound, the drums stood out. I noticed on "First as Tragedy, Then as Farce" how the bass guitar grinds with the drums. The syncopation, the precise, rapid execution and unity of the drums and bass are really something. The music represents a lot of talent and practice.

The album's first steady beat comes on "Strange Pains." Two songs stick out for me, and this is one. I can just imagine how this must hit live.

My other favorite is "Stress Fractures"—a song of sheer wall-climbing madness. The riff spirals up the fretboard as the bass pulls the rug and leaves the vocals gasping. This song exemplifies that "experience of being pushed beyond your ability to sustain things … of constantly juggling things and never having a handle on them."

Pyrrhon brings the creativity and sound of the previous four albums. "Exhaust" might even have a wider palette than 2020's "Abscess Time."

Songs like "Out of Gas" and "Last Gasp" slow the tempo. "Out of Gas" is a concussed brain-bleeder featuring a modulated bass effect, some silly razz-matazz drumming, and a spoken, taunting vocal. Notes ring out on "Last Gasp" and create a scary space that fills with exaggerated spoken vocals that ramble on until overcome by caterwauling guitars.

"Exhaust" suits the moment and a state of mind. Moore says, "We've been through a time of great uncertainty. I tend to get into my head about this stuff."


Saturday, June 15, 2019

about imagining


I peek outside, then I am drawn through a French door onto the patio. My eyes pull left to the neighbor's house. Through its large bay window I find the eyes of an obese killer, more monster than man. He is a horrifying blob stationed at a breakfast table. He wears women's lingeriea black teddy. He wants to take my life now.

I briefly lose sight of him as he rushes out the back of his house and exits his garage. But, then, he is all I can see. Because he gushes into my yard and is closing in at a paralyzing speed. The impulse to run takes me.

Roaring nearer, he warns me that he will now begin asking questions, and if I answer correctly, I can live a few seconds more. Here's how it will go. First he will sing, and I must finish the lyrics. So he begins singing "Hallelujah."

I scramble onto a trampoline in the yard, and he corners me there. He is singing, and I think, "She tied you to her kitchen chair, and she broke your throne, and she cut your hair." He is at the edge of the trampoline now. I jump left, he moves left; I jump right, he is there. He is unbelievably fast, and he is singing, and his voice grows incredibly loud. I am in the air, and his singing comes out now in two voicesa high, loud shriek and a low moan. He disappears under the trampoline as I begin coming down, and he is right under me. I try to will my body forward, a lunge unpropelled, an attempt made weak with terror. I wake, bolting upright in bed, hearing my own pitiful, last groan.