PyPy is a Montreal psych rawk supergroup of sorts, comprised of three members of electropunk destroyers Duchess Says and Choyce from Red Mass. The double barrel shotgun that is Choyce and Annie-Claude is a veritable force, a palpable tornado of rock n roll knives aimed right at you. Two of the most intense front-people you can find around these parts, they bring shows to the level of danger, transgression and balls out sweaty insanity that the new generation of mosh-ready kids deserve.
Together, this is considered a “side project” but it rocks donuts to diamonds over many of the over-verbed poo-cakes passing as the real shit these days. Eponymous opener track “Pagan Day” sets the tone, a fat as fuck fuzzed bass riff delivered with aplomb and precision by bassist Phil Clement before the thunderous attack of drummer Simon Besré joins the fray. Choyce’s runs wild riffs like a feral beast and Annie-C ‘s shimmering daggers of vocals slice through the eruption, like machetes falling from the sky. The pummeling is full blast, so intense we can’t even draw a breath before the sinewy no-wave slink of “New York” takes the sauciest flavors of the namesake’s sound of ‘81 and throws it into a wall of punk breakdowns. Bits of Bush Tetras funk smash against Contortions-y scratches and the Alan Vega yelps top it off heroically. Easily one of my faves on the record! “Molly” invokes shades of 90s guitar riffage and the early days of ecstasy, and the meandering “Daffodils” follows, carrying with it a gothy dub vibe, shades of Bauhaus. Then the song i feared the most, “Too Much Cocaine” which definitely played into those fears, a sweaty, teeth grinding soundtrack to being one line over the line (don’t do it). “She’s Gone” carries a sort of Monks vibe at first, then veers into unabashed, epic progshred, mangling the juice out of a wah pedal till there ain’t nothing left. We’re left with the tortured thrust of “Ya Ya Ya / Psychedelic Overlords” to leave us feeling smashed and shattered.
There are moments where this album slips into near-unlistenable incoherency, a psychobabble of overload. Everything in the pot is not always the best option, but with PyPy, you get the sense that’s the desired effect. They are almost teasing in their revealing of gorgeous riffs, only to strangle them cruelly before your ears. I like that; I can take the abuse. A truly and authentically fucked up album with stunning artwork by monsters of the considerable Quebec psych/garage/punk/whatevs scene that lingers in the mind’s ear like it’s been branded there.
