Ez Luscombe
Content warning: this review contains sensitive information and frequent mention of sexual assault and violence against women and girls. For more resources, contact Rape Crisis, End Violence Against Women, or contact the NSVRC (US only).
Instead of idolising Blink-182, The Ramones, and Minor Threat like many modern punks do, Vancouver quartet and art collective PISS are instead influenced by literary giants of an era past, German anarcho-feminist military groups and difficult conversations with audience members. Their work is as poetic as it is punk and their debut album you made me / skin on linen is a project that will surely be discussed in the same conversation as other important feminist works of the 21st century. The album opens with ‘kai and friends’ where young children list their future goals before a wall of feedback disrupts their innocent aspirations as PISS detonate into ‘i wanted to be a singer’, where frontwoman Taylor Zantingh makes a desperate plea to try and make her pain mean something and commands the listener to feel just an ounce of her anguish on this raw introduction. Dissonant chords and earth-shattering bass add to the chaotic wall of sound, and it’s clear from the get go that PISS stand for something seminal.
Signing to the iconic Seattle independent label Sub Pop, (Nirvana, Sleater-Kinney, Soundgarden just to name a few) musically PISS are as abrasive as their themes making them a perfect fit for the iconic label. Their delivery is visceral, and the unbridled rage of their performance is a testament to them making music purely for themselves to process the trauma that Zantingh has faced. Making art cannot erase the trauma, but young people (especially women) will hear this album, see their KEXP performance on YouTube, and hear their own experiences in PISS’ music which may trigger them to reach out, speak to someone, and raise awareness about their own experiences with gender-based violence.
Moving into softer musical territory on ‘blocking a scene you can’t remember’ with Slint-adjacent, slowcore style riffs, the story is at front and focus with abstract lyricism involving limbs in the wrong places and grotesque teeth in the inside of your mouth; it’s an abrupt and stark portrayal of undiluted violation whilst the music builds into a vengeful crescendo. Zantingh plainly states the powerful phrase; “something has been weighing on her for a long time” and the musical silence is absolutely deafening in the last few seconds of the track.
PISS might be unlike anything you’ve ever heard before and although these tracks are supposed to be experienced live, the listening experience on record is no less harrowing and remains an unflinching portrait of unadulterated fury. This should be mandatory listening for anyone who has ever followed a woman home, joked about sexual violence, or turned a blind eye to harassment. Our paths to liberation are connected with each other.