Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs, 'Death Hilarious' Album Review

There’s Nothing Funny But Plenty of Good on Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs’ Death Hilarious

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It’s fitting that an album warped around anxieties about aging, and concerns over nostalgia, sounds like it’s been resting uncomfortably beneath a sweat-stained mattress for the last 30 years. Death Hilarious, the fifth release from Newcastle sludge metal institution Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs (heretofore referred to as Pigs x7, for brevity and to spare my word count), is a nine-track exercise in orchestrated chaos that’s marinated in malaise and fried with distortion; it’s damn near miraculous that the band pulled off the difficult tightrope of dropping a metal record in 2025 that reads like a product of 1990s rock production, without betraying a trace of contemporariness.

Death Hilarious lands in the register of early stage Helmet, closer to Meantime with an occasional kiss of Betty; there’s a dose of Mastodon here too, in the abrupt and extreme tempo shifts that help shape the album’s character. Mostly, it’s the muffled squish of chord progressions fed through a meatgrinder, the dulled snap of a snare drum struck underwater. The muddied sound works in Death Hilarious’s favor, though, because what do pigs historically love wallowing in? In fairness, maybe this is what sliding into middle age sounds like—but whichever metaphor most tickles one’s fancy, the way the record’s overall tone reflects discontent is remarkable, starting on the first track, “Blockage,” where frontman Matthew Baty sings to audiences from the cold comfort of the grave.

“Now I am residing / deep within the earth / What would I have given for a second chance,” goes his howling lament. Three songs later, “Stitches” provides a teachable moment on the contradictions of maturing; here, unwittingly or not, Baty admonishes against the morbid self-reflection on “Blockage.” “Don’t look back,” he barks between verses, “it’s a trap.” No subtextual whiplash is suffered consequent to the way these two sets of lyrics disagree with one another, of course, because there’s no real disagreement. We’re all given to think about what might have been, how we could have lived different, or simply better, lives. At the same time, we’re aware that thinking too long about those alternate timelines is a stairway straight to Hell.

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Besides that, Death Hilarious isn’t equipped to unpack what conflicts one track’s meaning has with another. It’s focused instead on transportive, thrashing rock and roll, with an occasional embrace of other genres, like hip-hop; Run the Jewels’ El-P doesn’t stick around terribly long on Death Hilarious, but a guest spot on the record’s pivot point, “Glib Tongued,” is all he needs to leave an impression. In the nostalgia department, the song delivers, both as a stark criticism of the current global flood of jingoist politics and in its echo of political indignations El-P rattles off on “The Nang, the Front, the Bush and the Shit,” one of his classic from his 2002 solo record debut, Fantastic Damage.

Listening to El-P on “Glib Tongued” is like stepping into a time warp; so much has changed in the gulf of years separating the two records, and so much is still the same, like his capacity for succinct broadcasts of contempt. Take your pick of casually serrated observations about today’s sociopolitical tailwinds. “It’s all assisted, your resistance here does not apply / You will adjust now, you will learn to love how you’re despised,” El-P fairly sneers to kick off his contribution to the track. If his breakdown of how right-wing ideologies function is on point, its placement on Death Hilarious is looser in the album’s greater context; no one expects Jaime Meline to show up on a Pigs x7 record. Then the “eureka” moment hits, and the relevance of El-P’s lyrics in that context clarifies.

This is an album about getting older. Consequently, it’s an album about gaining wisdom. And, sometimes, we gain wisdom by enduring hardships. Death Hilarious is a lot of things, not least a thrashing good time, and it’s an especially sober expression of the reluctant experience of waking into adulthood. “I walk in silence / These roads wind for miles / they say it’s the scenic route / Down by the hellhole,” Baty wails on “Carousel” over the pummeling crush of Ewan Mackenzie’s drums. Taking the “scenic route” to Hell sounds downright pleasant compared to the route we’re on right now in the US, and perhaps in the UK, too.

Bostonian culture journalist Andy Crump covers the movies, beer, music, and being a dad for way too many outlets, perhaps even yours. He has contributed to Paste since 2013. You can find his collected work at “his personal blog.” He’s composed of roughly 65% craft beer.

There’s Nothing Funny But Plenty of Good on Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs’ Death Hilarious

On the Newcastle band’s fifth album, taking the “scenic route” to Hell sounds downright pleasant compared to the route we’re on right now in the US, and perhaps in the UK, too.