Fukpig – 3


Review by Jason Guest

Many a time in many a town there is many a zealot evangelising, preaching, proselytising, and all the time graciously reminding us that we are all going to burn in the fires of hell if we don’t sit up straight, pay attention and subscribe to the ramblings of a book older than, well, God’s dog. Now those people may mean well (though it’s hard to see how), but were Fukpig to be granted such a space in any town from which to sing their hymns of disgust, despair, and, well, downright frustration at the state of the world, they’d probably be locked up. Fortunately for us, a prison break isn’t required because said ‘orrible ‘ymns are available on their third album, creatively entitled 3. You may consider that to be sarcasm, but had you heard 3, you’d understand that Fukpig waste no time in getting to the, as it were, the, well, to the – and let me be absolutely clear here – to the, no, it has to be said, to the, um, you know… oh hang on, what was I saying? Oh yes! To the point, that’s it.

From the impotence of the lower classes that manifested as the 2011 Olympics, sorry, riots, phone-hacking and media-fuelled paranoia, the tabloid mentality of the masses and its aspirations to celebrity culture, hypocrisy in democracy, oligarchies thinly disguised as meritocracies, the big society, conformity perceived as freedom, to the end of the world, Fukpig deal with them bluntly, to put it mildly. With as much wrath entrenched in the lyrics as is inhumanely possible, so it is for the music. This bastard child of grindcore, black, crust, and many, many other heavy atrocities from the metal underworld is a vicious beast. The instruments with strings – probably once referred to as guitar and/or bass – are wrapped up in broken glass, rusty nails, and second-hand syringes and smashed to bits with a sledgehammer the size and shape of a very big sledgehammer, the same sledgehammer with which the d-beat fury is relentlessly pounded out on the surely-by-now-decimated drums. And as for Drunk, I suspect he may be ill, maybe a throat condition? His misanthropic lyrics are spewed forth from an orifice torn apart by a steady diet of rusty razors, broken nails, a culture that celebrates mediocrity and the rotting corpse of the “big society”. Melody? Well, there’s some in the chords of ‘Archaic Beliefs’ as well as the closing track, ‘The Eulogy Of A Crushed Romantic’ (where hope can be found, still twitching, in a very shallow grave), but don’t hold your breath. Short, not-so-sweet, obnoxious, abominable, utterly repugnant and particularly unpleasant, 3 is as subtle as a house brick with a panic-stricken horse with eyes wild and nostrils flared tied to it, set fire to, and chucked through your front window.

9 out of 10


Track Listing:

  1. Alcohol And Necropunk
  2. Hack
  3. Mean World
  4. Democracy Reset
  5. Fascist Moron
  6. Unattainable Ideals
  7. A Matrix Made Of Shit
  8. Hope Stings Eternal
  9. Archaic Beliefs
  10. Trogalodyte
  11. Calculated Tyranny
  12. Delight In The Dying Of The Light
  13. In The Absence Of Your Saviour
  14. This World Is Weakening
  15. The Eulogy Of A Crushed Romantic



  1. Thankyou dude. Although please, try to not make your reviews better than the actual lyrics you bloody shitting bastard x

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