Pigasus (Burnt Sienna)
by Scott Hefflon
Singer Souci Broskowitz is so incredibly desirable as she kicks the male sub-species in the balls again and again. She gouges the eyes and spits in the scars of any and all who cause her pain. The songs read like diary entries and, for a change, I care. The songs go beyond personal; the lyrics and the vocal chords that spew them are covered in guts. One obvious exception is “Lecture 19” which is just plain fun. It’s about plants. I quote: “Botany turns me on at night/when I think of what plants do with the light/I just wanna hug a tree/photosynthesis is so good to me!” Gosh, do you think it’s one big metaphor for how beautiful the gift of giving is? Processing the waste of others and turning it into something beneficial at no expense to you or them? Why do you want to chop me down? Am I reading into this too much?
“Vienna Sausage” and “On Liberty” both hit the spot. The spot that hurts the most. While the former isn’t the catchiest song I’ve ever heard, I keep repeating a few catch phrases; call it penance. “On Liberty” is straight out a great garage punk song. Souci snarls like Bianca Butthole of Butt Trumpet and cries like the tear-jerking pop artists-of-the-year wish they could. The basis of the song is that Souci was stranded in a Midwestern college town by a fucking rockstar who moved to Boston and never writes. Um… hey bro, whoever you are, you ought to call her ’cause she’s really hurt and pissed off. My hands drip with the same blood, man, but you should make the call. Of course, now Souci’s in a rad punk band and you’re working at Store 24, taking night classes at a community college and your girlfriend’s even meaner than Souci but can’t sing, but that doesn’t seem to stop her, does it?
Pet UFO doesn’t look or sound flashy, but they’ve got depth and soul the way not much seems to these days. It ain’t preachy and it doesn’t ask for your sympathy, it just says what it came to say. I like it.