It reads:
In Nick Hornby's novel of list-based male ineptitude High Fidelity, record shop proprietor Rob Fleming is asked by Hollywood funnyman Jack Black to name his top seven porcine musical acts. "That's easy," replies the commitmentphobic manchild, "Pigbag, Longpigs, Space Hog, Boss Hog, Raymond "PIG" Watts, Miss Piggy singing 'I Will Survive' and Pig Floyd." If Hornby were writing today and listening to something other than the complete works of Damon Gough, then Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs might fly to the top of Fleming's list. For its first couple of spins, Feed The Rats' principal effect is to overwhelm. It confronts the listener with just three tracks. Two of these exceed the fifteen-minute mark and each one sounds like the Newcastle nutters are trying to encase you within a dome prison made out of dried glowing sludge spaded from the banks of the Tyne so they can later offer you up as a human sacrifice to the poster of Tony Iommi that's pinned to their damp wall. Because their brains are fried, they believe that Iommi holds the key to the universe but it also so happens that Iommi actually does (of course). However, after a few repeat plays of their howling, filthy-riffing debut, you'll feel that three tracks just aren't enough and will be ritually disembowelling your own kidnappee in the hope it will expedite Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs' next swilltastic release.
See the piece here: The Quietus
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