Rocket Recordings
Land of Sleeper sees the return of Pigs (x7), and the Newcastle-born purveyors of metal have never sounded louder. Newcastle is a city with a rich industrial heritage, and Pigs construct some monstrous riffs, which pulverise and bludgeon. Despite the raucous volume, Pigs have never sounded tighter, and that’s what makes Land of Sleeper their best effort yet.
Pigs have come a long way since their early beginnings, jamming in a church hall, but they’ve never strayed far from the fundamental of heavy metal; monumental sound, bucket loads of distortion, and plenty of vigour. Pigs cite Black Sabbath as their main influence, but their music shows an awareness of metal’s history, indulging in psychedelic freakouts and even some low-slung breakdowns. Music forms a therapy for the band, the chance to thrash out internal emotions, but frontman Matthew Baty brings an element of humour. While Britain is seemingly gripped in something of a post-punk revival, Pigs provide a much welcome heavier alternative.
Pigs’ earliest releases comprised long, sprawling, and occasionally dirgy epics. Their debut, Feed the Rats, featured just three songs, two of which lasted over fifteen minutes. The band have got progressively tighter through the years; their releases are more condensed but no less raucous. 2020’s aptly named Viscerals featured their usual blood and thunder but dialled up the psychedelia. Land of Sleeper sees the band move away slightly from trying to emulate their live sound, resulting in their best-produced effort. It’s dark and dystopic, manic and unhinged, but never indulgent; the feral energy is harnessed by the group’s awareness of rhythm and melody.
The album kicks off with the furious ‘Ultimate Hammer’, featuring fuzzy, bludgeoning riffs. The track initially hurtles along, battering you into submission before the tempo drops in the mid-section, the pounding rhythm breaking through. The track has a warped groove and finishes with this wonderful ZZ Top-like psychedelic freakout. ‘Terror’s Pillow’ builds slowly, with its ominous bass line, before Baty’s howl breaks through, and the track descends into a catherine wheel of distortion. Baty blasts off several ambiguous mantras, “We take control of destiny” and “In memory of/Our self-esteem”, that encapsulate doom metal. It’s another frenetic effort, but the band provides brief quiet moments, allowing you to take a much-needed breath.
‘Big Rig’ begins with short, sharp riffs blasting into each other before Baty’s voice flies in, screaming about “Everyone in this godforsaken English town” and “Routine watering and the magic of the sun”. Baty’s voice has this oscillating echo that enhances his statements, adding to the music’s theatrical nature. Both ‘Big Rig’ and ‘Pipe Down’ mix frenetic passages with low-slung melodic breakdowns, the former finishing with a fantastic Hendrix channelling psychedelic acid rock squall. ‘The Weatherman’ is the album’s most intriguing moment, with its cavernous build-up, the bass pulsing ominously while guitars scream and echo. It’s filled with these ominous chants that feel like voices rising out of the grave, talking about “human malice” and “mindless violence”. The noise eventually arrives, Baty proclaiming, “There’s a storm coming”, but the all-out cacophony never arrives, and we’re left with these squealing, distorted ricochets.
‘Mr Medicine’ is a short, energetic romp, riffs crackling around like electricity, while there are even some spacey-like synths that whoosh across the top. ‘Atlas Stone’ is a more sludgy number, with its muddy bass line, but we are treated to a wonderful distorted, melodic breakdown in the middle before Baty’s voice hauls us up again. Baty engages in some short, semi-poetic emphatic musings, “We’ve fallen between/The cracks in reality”, his doom-mongering feeling astutely appropriate in today’s society. ‘Ball Lightning’ is a prime example of the band’s tighter sound, featuring some jabbed keys and a gnarly bass; even when the track stretches its legs towards the conclusion, there’s a sense of control.
Control is a crucial aspect of Land of Sleeper; it comes across as unhinged and noisy, but the production ensures that the rhythm is never obscured. There are some lovely breakdowns throughout the record, where guitarists Sam Grant and Adam Sykes’s interactions come to the fore. They may be louder than ever, but the band doesn’t feel the need to fill every second with relentless blasts of noise anymore. Baty’s hulking voice provides a hulking, overlord-like presence, surveying the distorted carnage below him. Land of Sleeper dances the fine line between evolution and paying homage to the genre’s history beautifully.