Vancouver-based quartet PISS—vocalist Taylor Zantingh, guitarist Tyler Patterson, bassist Gavin Moya, and drummer Garreth Roberts—has emerged as a focal point in the current experimental punk scene with their debut album, you made me / skin on linen. Released via Sub Pop, the record merges abrasive, high-tension soundscapes with direct, unflinching explorations of sexual violence and personal trauma.
Essential takeaways for the PISS listening experience
- The album is an assemblage of guttural yells, poetry, and samples of feminist thinkers, featuring audio recordings of activists like Andrea Dworkin, Manon Garcia, and Toni Morrison.
- Frontperson Taylor Zantingh utilizes the stage as a space for radical vulnerability, often performing without earplugs to physically confront the “violent sound” of the band’s music.
- The band manages the tension of touring with material that deals with sexual assault, prioritizing somatic therapy and intentional physical care to manage the psychological toll of the performance.
The sonic architecture of trauma and resistance
In a recent interview, Zantingh described the band’s approach to the album as an exercise in building an environment where their story could exist. The record, which the group spent two years refining through live sets before entering the studio, is not merely a collection of songs but a deliberate assemblage of “guttural yells” and “landmine guitars.” The lyrical content, as noted in the source material, moves beyond traditional song structures to address the “evolution of personhood” in the wake of sexual violence.
The album’s opening moments—which feature the voices of children discussing their futures—contrast sharply with subsequent tracks like “i wanted to be a singer.” In this piece, Zantingh critiques the “victim narrative” and the societal expectations placed upon survivors. By integrating samples from feminist thinkers, the band forces a dialogue between the listener and the history of systemic injustice, framing the music as a form of “controlled chaos.”
Physicality and the cost of live performance
For the members of PISS, the act of touring has become a study in physical and mental endurance. Zantingh, who has no formal vocal training, describes the voice as a “huge tool for empowerment,” yet one that demands constant maintenance. The reality of their tour schedule—often involving nine-hour car rides and the high-stakes pressure of vocal preservation—has necessitated a strict regimen of physiotherapy, massage, and therapeutic support.
The band’s performance philosophy centers on the idea of safety as a prerequisite for danger. They aim to create an environment on stage where Zantingh can “connect with people in an energetic way.” This involves a paradoxical relationship with the audience: while the music is designed to be abrasive, the goal is to create a space that feels secure enough for the vocalist to confront the “dangerous” nature of their own history.
| Band Member | Role |
|---|---|
| Taylor Zantingh | Vocals/Lyrics |
| Tyler Patterson | Guitar |
| Gavin Moya | Bass |
| Garreth Roberts | Drums |
The ethics of commodifying personal experience
A central theme during the group’s discussion was the tension between creating art and the risk of that art becoming a “commodified” object. The band members cited Mount Eerie’s A Crow Looked At Me and Sufjan Stevens’ Carrie & Lowell as key influences regarding how to handle grief and trauma in music. Zantingh expressed a desire to refuse the commodification of their experience, even while acknowledging the inherent contradiction of releasing such private, painful material to the public.
Gavin Moya echoed this sentiment, noting that some records are “important” but defy “everyday listening” due to their emotional weight. This reflects a broader industry conversation regarding how artists maintain autonomy when their work is consumed by strangers. For Zantingh, the path forward involves somatic therapy and an acceptance that they cannot control how their story is received. The project remains, in their words, a “constant place of tension,” where the backlog of past trauma and the ongoing process of creation collide.
As the band continues their tour, the conversation around you made me / skin on linen remains focused on the intersection of individual truth and the audience’s role in witnessing it. Whether or not the listener chooses to engage with the record as a daily listen or a sacred, occasional experience, the band’s intent to force a confrontation with systemic violence remains clear. How do you perceive the balance between an artist’s need to exorcise trauma and the listener’s role in consuming it? Let us know in the comments.
