Grind My Gears is back once again with the swirling streams of caustic yellow filth. I promise that I will never again let sickness keep me and the grind away from your weak, prolapsed cavities. Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve written about Piss Vortex for Heavy Blog (it’s not even the second) but these Copenhagen deviants are quite simply the best of the best; in terms of where they are taking the sound and the sickening swagger with which they do so. They’re not Napalm Death or Brutal Truth yet, obviously—they have less than hour of recorded music available to grind to—but with their recent surprise EP Soft Reboot they’ve delivered a quick wake up kick in the dick to anyone as yet unaware.

I can count on one hand the bands I deem as important to modern grind as these guys, and, yes, I will be covering them all in due course. Piss Vortex are a special little beast though. When the promo materials for their debut, self titled long play came in, my swine ears pricked up straight away. The name, the horrendous abstract artwork, the promise of “grind without boundaries” and “jazz fueled depravity”. What else could I do but sit back and let the deluge of smut wash over me.

Essentially one long, bullish track with several pauses for air, Piss Vortex had instant cult classic written all over it. The meandering, warped guitar lines of Pyrrhon and Deathspell Omega crunching over the roughest, rawest rhythm section this side of the limits of clarity. For me, it was completely eye opening. I’d heard grind that was heavier and faster, certainly I’d heard grind that sounded more coarse. But never had I come across something so endearing to my broken, erratic tastes. Mr. Bungle were a favourite band of mine during young adulthood. I’d found my new Mr. Bungle. Pump yourself full of a dose of this depraved delicacy and tell me I’m talking shit.

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Almost improvised and completely jarring. The imposing nature of the instrumentation is but one of the components of this attack on the senses; some grind bands have a thick gurgling bass tone, Piss Vortex have a bass atmosphere. The treble heavy guitars scrape and screech between riffs and clunks. Organic and real, but mechanised in action. Future Cancer followed swiftly on, an EP that saw the band devolve further into more unsettling territory. More skronk made for more misery tickling away at the back of the room; a miasma of massively uncomfortable proportions lingering pungently. You bet your puckered little shitter I was excited for this.

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Bliss for anyone looking to have their psyche poked and played with. Sonically much more of the same but with phased, laser attack guitars now also in play, the berating became even more abusive. Not only in a physical sense but with fake fade outs and coiling, slithering sections of complex time grind leaving no room for contemplation or compassion of any kind. Just confusion. “What is happening and why is my face so sore?”. From smiling. My face was sore from the fuck off grin between my ears. Surely my favourite record of the year previous wasn’t going to be upstaged by a mere EP? Well it was. Like Piss Vortex before it, Future Cancer plays like a live session—one song broken down into separate movements, each subsequent fluctuation of sound pulling me further down the rabbit hole. Like I said. Total bliss.

And then they went and made my entire fucking month with the polarising, pulsating Soft Reboot.

Foregoing track titles altogether, this eight minute offering takes everything before it and grinds it (yeah, I know) down into the most base of feelings and reaction. The scything laser point guitar stabs and rolling, room-filling acoustic drums (no fucking triggers or mic tricks here, jerks!) come back even more savagely, the vocal lines on previous efforts looking positively positive in comparison. It’s a mission statement and a dead drop all at once. And of course, there is absolutely fucking nothing soft about it. With no real borders between the pieces of the puzzle, Soft Reboot plays start to finish like the most invigorating and terrifying alarm clock available to man. Imagine waking up to Tetsuo: The Iron Man and an SFX prop from Tokyo Gore Police just fucking FUCKING right in your face. Blisters bursting over exposed cables and flesh twisting into metal in malformations not ready for the human eye to see. Good morning, world!

I won’t rant further about this freshest dose of gruesome glory because I want you, yes you to feel it for yourselves. Let Piss Vortex hold your throat back and let loose a scalding, steaming stream of golden glory right into your gaping pie hole. I did. Look how fucking happy and well adjusted I am now. Bless you Piss Vortex. Please stay weird.

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