SPILL’S ARTIST ILLUSTRATION BY SCOTT SHIELDS:
PISS
I have a tendency to laugh when confronted with emotions. It’s never boisterous or obnoxious, but rather, short and relatively quiet—a snicker, if you will.
Psychologists may provide some insight as to why this is a frequent reaction, but in all honesty, that’s not information I’m interested in gleaning. This laughter certainly doesn’t impact my life or the lives of those around me negatively enough to warrant a trip to the doc; it’s just how the brain adapts, comprehends and relaxes. But on the odd occasion my chortles do leave a poor impression on passersby, I am left haunted; destined to lie awake at night, to relive the scenarios for all eternity.
I remember way, way, back in my college days, I sat in on a class while a peer was presenting their project—a collection of 3D sculpted animals, all of whom were incredibly cute. As I am wont to do, I chuckled out of amusement. It was never meant to demean the presenter, but still, a nearby friend turned to me and, in a disapproving tone, whispered “Scott…”
Another such event that treads in the deep end of my mind’s pool occurred a mere seven years after the classroom incident at a friend’s wedding just outside of Ottawa.
PURCHASE YOU MADE ME / SKIN ON LINEN VIA BANDCAMP
A drunken guest saw fit to hit me in the face. Again, as I am wont to do, I giggled, this time at the sheer absurdity of the situation. This laughter caused the assailant to grow quite perturbed, and in turn, bop me once more.
And yet it persists! Whether joy or amusement, nervousness or discomfort, I must laugh! So you can imagine the laughter that came forthwith upon my first listen of PISS.
PISS is not for the weak-willed, or those who hold dear the western notions of polite society and etiquette.
The often noisy, dissonant and guttural riffs that make your face twist into a frown—instrumentals that lay a fine foundation for the vocals to build upon; the unapologetic lyrics, depicting themes of trauma stemming from abuse and assault, ripped from the pages of a private journal and shoved in your face. At moments you may wish to flee or, at the very least, turn away, but believe you me, you’d be doing yourself a disservice!
The emotional intensity of PISS is a flurry of punches aimed at the senses and the gut, and I will happily laugh with appreciation again and again—even as the fist comes in for another whack!
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