They say:
A STAMPEDE OF SWINE: PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS
To put my cards on the table, when I first saw the name Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs I was truly horrified. I’ve never felt comfortable with the animal, following a horrendous incident as an infant in which I was trampled half to death after climbing into a pig pen. The pigs in question were a feature on a nearby neighbour’s farm, which I drunkenly discovered after toddling away from my parent’s homestead. Thinking the animals to be a fun and friendly group, I scaled the side of the pen and went in for a hug. The hogs, taking this as a sign of aggression, immediately fomented themselves into a furious frenzy, quickly overpowering and knocking me down into the mud. Being such a formative age, the memory exists as more of a blurry vignette than a distinctive scene. I remember the squealing snouts as I writhed in the hideous quagmire of swill. I remember blood, panic, terror. I was lucky to escape with my life. Interestingly, my companion Deirdre attributes my love of pork products to this encounter, seeing the appetite as a subconscious form of revenge.
Thusly, upon discovering Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs on the Rocket roster, my initial reaction was one of shock and revulsion. My mind quickly flashed back to that one Monmouthshire morning and the terrible thundering of trotters. Taking it upon myself to conquer this initial prejudice though, I gave the album a spin. King of Cowards, as it turned out, was one of the absolute best records I had heard in years...
Read the full interview here: Bad Luck
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