Frustratingly I miss the start of tonight’s set. Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs are on early and I’m late. It’s a shame as I can never get enough of this band, but no matter, you can pick up quickly with this lot. Doom levels of bass sludge, guitars to rearrange your internal organs and a barefooted man growling drawn out dystopian lyrics. What more could you want. They’re a ferocious live act and probably the most entertaining of their kind right now. Rock solid after four albums and in frontman Matthew Baty, they’ve got genuine presence without any hint of pretension. Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs are the real deal, authentic with every strained sinew. Yes they’re heavy, but bloody hell they’re fun. “Fucking awesome” the bloke next to me declares. He’s not wrong. This crowd love this band and the feeling seems mutual. There’s a lot of bands around too concerned with being cool to connect. Not Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs, were all in this together. Jokes about Tories and Noel Edmonds, Matthew is totally at ease and it sets a wonderful tone throughout The Ritz. They deftly shift through the gears. Melting your brain with beautiful bludgeonary. For such a heavy sound, there’s a remarkable amount of subtlety. This might not come across on the records as much, but watch a lad tip toe around a stage, whilst teasing monolithic bass notes whilst psyche flecked riffs are weaved through them and you’ll be convinced, that although you thought you loved pop music with lyrics about sunshine and candyfloss (or whatever pop music is about these days), what you were really put on this earth for was to lose your mind to Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs. Whatever you think you might be into, give this lot a go live. They’re a joyous gateway to the dark and delicate depths of spiritual contentment. Plus if anyone has a cooler looking backdrop, I’ve not seen it.
