by Scott Hefflon
Minimalism. Have a point and say it straight out. Never mind the oh-so clever phrasings and lofty idealisms, just soak in everyday life and spit it back out. Lay down some fat-assed chords and chug through ’em. Why bother with cumbersome freakshow effect? Stick ti the point. Black & white photos suit Piss Factory just fine. They dress in all black. They all need tans. The singer, Lizzie Avondet, looks like Death, the comic book vixen, come to life. In a nighty, no less.
Piss Factory was a Patti Smith song, to mention the origin of the name. They don’t sound like her. “I’m not a poet. Patti flows and engages you with her articulate and fluent writing, my lyrics are simple, sharp jabs of communication,” says Avondet. Her vocals have that gritty, early Joan Jett feel soaked in NYC street attitude and accent. Some of the choruses and segues have haunting, Valium angel sweetness layered like a Twix, complete with cookie crunch. While the dudes look all crazy, the tunes seem kinda blah at first. The noise Voivod/powerchord rhythm and simple backdrop bass and drums are just non-amazing. But the whole mood thing starts to pull you in after a bit. It just meshes with the daily trudge and you find yourself groovin’ to the stripped down to the raw bones beat as you sit on hold, wait in line, or fidget at a red light. While it doesn’t realign the planets, it get you through. Just like a good piss should.