Prick’s theatrical industrial punk is perfect for spooky season
If Trent Reznor studied musical theater instead of computer engineering NIN might have sounded like Prick.
Prick’s theatrical industrial punk is perfect for spooky season
If Trent Reznor studied musical theater instead of computer engineering NIN might have sounded like Prick.
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is the Verge’s weekend editor. He’s covered the tech industry for over 18 years and knows a thing or two about synths.
, Trent Reznor lent some of his production talents to old friend Kevin McMahon, from the new wave band Lucky Pierre (which Reznor was briefly a member of). While Reznor is only credited as the producer on four tracks off Prick’s self-titled debut record, his fingerprints are all over it. But McMahon also can’t suppress his inner theater kid, which also gives the songs the sort of glammy flamboyance found on T. Rex records. Prick embraces the inherent theatricality of goth in a way that Nine Inch Nails never did.
Opener “Communiqué” is a fuzzy blast of simple punk riffs with electronic sprinklings on top. McMahon’s vocals occasionally detour from the half-spoken verses that sound borrowed from a musical to full-throated Al Jourgensen-esque screams. The rough-around-the-edges production and focus on live instrumentation feel like a prototype for what Reznor would eventually revisit on
But it’s the second track, “Riverhead” where Reznor’s influences fully rear their head (even though he is not actually credited as the producer). The vocal melodies swerve like
around guitars that buzz with all the digital charr of the
EP. Then, around the three-minute mark, comes the breakdown. It slowly builds with layers of electronic drums, mechanical chords, and loping synthetic-sounding guitar melodies. The entire back chunk could easily have been a
These moments of richly layered production, though, are almost always immediately undermined, as with the sloppy garage-punk intro of “Tough”.
It’s these moments that make Prick so charming. It’s a serious record, but it never takes itself too seriously. McMahon isn’t afraid to get goofy (“Pink panties, blue panties, yellow panties. I’m gonna wrap around your nose, oh panty-ho-hose” he sings on “Other People”) and over-the-top with his vocal performances. He’s willing to let the guitar drift out of time, the bass strings rattle, and revels in industrial lo-fi.
“Animal” is perhaps the best-known track from the album, its
having received at least some MTV airplay. It combines backward melodic samples reminiscent of “
But where “Closer” opts for slinky disco sleaze, “Animal” is all raw shouted desire.
“I Apologize” is the most scatter-brained track on the album, and for that reason, one of my favorites. It opens with awkward whip-crack-like percussion and McMahon singing slightly flat and unaffected, before briefly taking off into a jangly new wave verse that quickly morphs into a hard-rock stop in the chorus. But that’s short-lived as well. The second verse is all “Space Oddity”-era Bowie acoustic strums, then there’s a solo that sounds like an arcade machine on the verge of meltdown. That then drops into a Ministry-esque dirge of layered guitars and screams. The song then returns to the chorus, but keeps adding elements until it’s stuffed to capacity and collapses on itself.
Prick’s self-titled record has plenty in common with other ‘90s industrial acts. But McMahon is clearly having a lot more fun than many of his contemporaries, and that helps elevate it above the myriad Nine Inch Nails wannabes out there.
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