By Bob Ruggiero
By Hilary Hughes
By Peter Gerstenzang
By David R. Adler
By Devon Maloney
By Brian McManus
By Jessica Hopper
By Harley Oliver Brown
Now will the sun on the dunghill shine. Breaking out of the pack of faddy shit metal for the small audience that needs it as a cathartic substitute for old-time dresser-top booger collections come Pig Destroyera drummer, an axeman, a reciter you can't hear, no bassist. Prior to the new CD, Terrifyer, they didn't make it on record unless good equals upgraded Anal Cunt without titles like "I'm in A.C." and "Your Band's in the Cut-out Bin."
Previously, Pig Destroyer were best experienced in a label promo video, taped at a dingy theater in a cinder-block Philly slum during winter. Seeing the pasty young man with a blemish on his face at the mic inspired sympathy and pity. The drummer and guitarist buried him with a shapeless noise; a company-sized group of guys, wearing baseball caps like helmets, looked on, leaden.
Backstage, the Pig Destroyer frontman frowned at his guitarist who blabbed to the camera that his bandmate was still at home with Mom. The small pleasure of being the subject of a video shoot was wrenched away and soiled by public embarrassment.
Terrifyer, however, improves prospects. Half is a distant sludged opera of dirge metal and fake mellotron called "Natasha." It sounds good in the background or as alternative soundtrack for a muted movie. The other half is evenly split between ol' unlistenable Pig Destroyer nose gold and some throttling conventional riff.