Yes, you read the name right.
Metal loves an influence, a genre hybrid, a sub-sub-sub-genre, microgenre, anything that smashes the discordant sounds lurking in the depths of extreme music together in new ways. But amid all the mutations, it’s rare to find a band that embraces leftfield influences so profoundly that it spawns an entirely new creature altogether. Throat Piss, with their uncanny mashup of hardcore, sludge, and saxophone, defy the odds to do just that.
For those unfamiliar, Throat Piss is “a stoner with a 7-string, a very pissed off woman, a sexy sax man, and a huge disappointment.” Hailing from the highway hellscape that is Austin, Texas, they deliver a catastrophically heavy sound with a rare sense of humor and self-assuredness. As their second full-length, Existence as a Grinding Gear, reveals their distinct strain of saxy sludgecore with even greater focus.
Let’s start at the foundation of the Throat Piss sound: the riffs. Like any good sludge band, Throat Piss knows how to deliver a caustic, filthy riff that consumes like a tide of toxic waste. But these funereal grooves are accompanied by the resonant drones of a saxophone, which add a thick layer of eerie richness to each note. The brassy tones introduce a cinematic aura to the album, a sense of grandeur that expands the emotional weight of each track whether it’s soul-crushing doom and sludge or a rapidfire hardcore burst. Listening to Existence as a Grinding Gear feels like watching black-and-white footage of a ritual that opens the Gates of Hell.
The feeling only grows with the opening track, an ominous monologue from a woman sing-songing her way through threats to steal souls and open the doors to heaven and hell. Her thin, needling voice cascades into the murderous march of mucky riffs rendered unnervingly grim by the expressive range of the saxophone and harsh, black metal-inspired howls. “Witch” firmly establishes Existence as a Grinding Gear as a sluuuuuudge album, incorporating influences of drone doom into slow-moving grooves. Throat Piss has never been a stranger to hulking, bestial grooves, but this version of the band feels more cohesive and more confident with their latest effort, each element supporting the others without fading into the background. The more I listened to “Witch,” the more I appreciate the metallic ambiance of the snares that echo across the track without breaking the dark heaviness.
Just as they’ve settled into pummeling dirges, Throat Piss whirls into hard-hitting blasts with “This Isn’t a Shirt, This is My Skin.” Without skipping a beat (literally), Existence as a Grinding Gear whips into a frenzy of reverb, jazzy sax, and absolutely vicious vocals. Head-banging rhythms move to the forefront, made all the more cutting by abrasive snarls. The sax, so deeply embedded into the sludge of Throat Piss that it mutates the sound into something else entirely, plays a brilliant dual role by alternately replacing the bass guitar and breaking into jazz-inspired solos. It’s here that the full range of Throat Piss comes into view, layering melted snares and smoky saxophones over the framework of punishing guitars and howls. The unexpected combination is surprisingly perfect – an effect of the band’s collaborative and iterative writing process that often includes recording full demos of songs as Throat Piss refines them. Underlying the frenetic tone is carefully considered construction and a group of friends that truly appreciate each other’s talents.
As the album crescendos into “Monster 2.0,” we see how fully matured the Throat Piss sound has become. The monster track (pun intended) marks the halfway point of Existence as a Grinding Gear and introduces some new tricks up the band’s sleeve, including dynamic production and electronics that lean into their signature off-kilter zaniness. If their saxophone-as-bass and meaty grooves haven’t thrown enough curveballs, perhaps demented laughter and glitchy finishing will complete the descent into utter madness.
The madness becomes a desolate miasma of dirge-like riffs and mournful cries into the night. Vocals and sax seamlessly trade places as the emotional focal point, the former supplying cold fury while the latter delivers a form of tragic romance. While Throat Piss has always proudly declared themselves a band that doesn’t take anything seriously, the weight of the world creeps into the latter half of Existence as a Grinding Gear, most notably in the two massive closing tracks. Before fully drowning in the darkness however, there’s the almost danceable energy of “WRKLQR.” Inspired by a real-life discovery of liquor stashed in a work fridge, the 1:28 track is a brain-scrambling whirl that evokes Russian folk dancing with neck-snapping beats. It’s a delirious fever dream and final reminder to enjoy the ride before Throat Piss sinks into doomy dream sequences with “Scarfboy Tussle” and “I’m Here.”
Clocking in at nearly eight minutes each, the final tracks of Existence as a Grinding Gear summon the kind of desperate beauty that can only be found in the Texas desert. At first glance, there’s a desolate sunlit beauty as the saxophone swells across the acrid landscape of the stately riffs. But take a closer look, and the all-encompassing heat begins to suffocate. A moody dissonance creeps in, rendered scary by scathing growls. The peaceful desert scene becomes a starkly nightmare consisting of haunted walls of sound that crush the soul with their relentless march. Unsettling and utterly unique, Throat Piss is equal parts mosh pit at a jazz bar and funeral on the shores of a toxic lake.
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