As I sit here, schools are being evacuated in Ohio over a fucking bullshit story a vice presidential candidate spread. We could be months from a dictatorship that could lead to the end of democracy, something one party doesn’t even think exists. People still believe diseases aren’t real. Every day is hotter than the one before. Other than that, shit rules.

Out of the blue at the start of September, death freak show Pyrrhon crept back out of the ashes with their maniacal fifth record “Exhaust,” a 10-track, 38-minute destroyer that manages to up the band’s already insane ante. To create this album, the band—vocalist Doug Moore, guitarist Dylan DiLella, bassist Erik Malave, drummer Steve Schwegler—retreated to cabin in rural Northeastern Pennsylvania to let their unhinged creative process flow freely. The band confronted our decaying society and political framework that even would make a fascist leader possible as well as contending with the constant presence of social media, the burgeoning AI industry, and other elements that try to claim our sanity and peace on a daily basis. Yes, all Pyrrhon records are a challenge musically and psychologically, but “Exhaust” takes things even further into the void. By the way, unlike a lot of surprise releases, the physical copies already exist. I got my record like 3 days after I ordered on release date, though I like like 20 miles from the label home. Still, a nice touch to already have this in hand.

“Not Going to Mars” rumbles in manic fire, which is no surprise on the surface, but locking into this is like a panic attack. Shrieks rain down as the guitars decimate, and violent, dizzying heat become formidable factors. Things pull back for a moment, then it’s back to the feast, drowning out in spacious weirdness. “First as Tragedy, Then as Farce” boils with deranged shrieks and blinding speed, the lower end lumbering, cortisol raging through veins. The assault increases the psychological violence, pushing it to emergency levels, raging to a raucous end. “The Greatest City on Earth” mounts a massive guitar attack, dizzying with zany and spacey devastation, pushing sanity to the limit. Coarse howls meet with spattering speed, trucking and thrashing into the grave. “Strange Pains” begins with a forceful drums-bass pathway, setting the stage for a mathy electricity storm that reminds of vintage Dillinger Escape Plan. That energy continues to warp, bloodthirst turning into a mission, thick oil slicks causing you to lose control and succumb to power. “Out of Gas” opens amid a deathrock-style spiral, darkening the mood, speak-singing poking congealing wounds. Bass clogs as the noises echo, Moore warbling, “It’s just me and the concrete now,” before shrieks slash, anguish turning into a mechanical nightmare.

“Luck of the Draw” trucks, howls strangling, the thrashiness increasing its stranglehold and making the road even bumpier. Guitars numb as the shrieks peel flesh, tingling tension increasing and slugging to a slaughtering finish. “Concrete Charlie” spits an off-kilter melody, which seems silly to say considering what’s transpired already, but this push is a brain melter. Growls rumble as rubbery melodies bounce off skulls, blood spiking, animalistic cries rippling through skeletal structures, ending in a tornadic blister. “Stress Fractures” is an immediate assault, sickening and creating a nauseating mental breakdown, scrambling brains inside skulls. The elements feel like they’re poured into a hellish blender, howls lurching, guitars sending bizarre signals, a maniacal finish seemingly the only sane way to end this. “Last Gasp” is steamy and humid, a bizarre darkness unfurling and sending listeners on a cold journey though psychosis. Sounds scuff and then take off toward the sky, power jolting as the shrieks rip, the playing melting away as we end with a clip from “Mad Max 2.” Closer “Hell Medicine” smashes outright, growls engorging as the playing creates an aura you didn’t know was possible, surging with disarming ferocity. Torment is unleashed to a greater degree, guitars sweeping, growls corroding as your damaged mind finally is given peace, though at what cost?

“Exhaust” is an aptly titled, timely record especially in the madness in which we’re ensconced, and while it might have been a slog initially to put together, Pyrrhon pulled together and created an insane album for unsettling times. It feels like the entire country, likely the world, could use a similar retreat just to recalibrate and get a fucking hold of ourselves. That’s not going to happen, everything is going to continue to burn, we’re going to have to fight would-be dictators to the death, and music like this will be perfect for fueling that never-ending struggle.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/pyrrhonband

To buy the album, go here: https://willowtip.com/bands/details/pyrrhon.aspx

For more on the label, go here: https://willowtip.com/home.aspx