On Totem, Pygmy Lush walk a tightrope between grit and haze, abrasion and hypnosis. The record feels like a tug-of-war between the band’s punk roots and their fascination with mood, texture, and atmosphere. Rather than choosing one direction, Totem thrives in contradiction—each track blurring the boundaries between aggression and introspection, chaos and calm.
From the opening thud of “House of Blood (Butch’s Monster)”, Pygmy Lush set the tone with booming, tom-heavy drums and a bassline that hums like a warning signal. It’s a foundation that carries the emotional weight of the record, even when guitars splinter into feedback and vocals dissolve into static. The rhythm section here doesn’t just support the songs—it defines them, acting as the spine that keeps the band’s shapeshifting tendencies grounded.
The album’s first half captures that delicate tension between heaviness and atmosphere. “It Wasn’t a Compliment (Martial Law Blues)” channels the sludgy drawl of early-’90s grunge—think In Utero filtered through a rural Southern garage—while “A Little Boy and His Bulldozer” lets distortion run rampant, all shouted vocals and jagged guitar tones. Pygmy Lush move like a band testing identities, trying on new skins but never losing the sweat, noise, and humanity underneath.
Where Totem shines brightest is in its unpredictable pacing. One moment, the band erupts in sharp, punk-driven bursts like “Band-Aid on a Bullet Wound” or “A Famous Jock (The Rest of Us)”, songs that recall their Virginia hardcore origins—fast, abrasive, and irresistibly physical. The next, they drift into the murk of “February Song” or “Algorithmic Mercy (Prayers Printed Directly into a Shredder)”, tracks that stretch time with hypnotic basslines, ghostly repetition, and fragile, almost whispered vocals. These slower passages test patience but also give Totem its emotional gravity, pulling listeners into a strange, meditative fog that refuses to release its grip.
By the time “The Puppeteer” and “Post-Punk in the Wrong Hands” roll around, Pygmy Lush have fully surrendered to mood. The guitars shimmer rather than shred, the drums swing loosely, and the vocals drift somewhere between apathy and trance. These moments flirt with a kind of indie-doom or dreamlike alt-rock, less about impact than texture—like watching sunlight flicker through dust. It’s not always their most convincing mode, but it feels essential to Totem’s personality: a record as much about atmosphere as aggression.
Then comes the catharsis. “Artistic Blood / Blanket Out the Sun (in a world of better things)” delivers a payoff that justifies the record’s slower stretches. The drums lock into an urgent, dynamic groove, the guitars rise in layers of reverb and feedback, and the vocals—half-sung, half-yelled—cut through with rare clarity. It’s one of those moments where everything Pygmy Lush have been building toward suddenly crystallizes.
The closer, “Nonsensical Whimper,” embodies Totem’s paradoxes perfectly. It’s slow, patient, and atmospheric, filled with tension that never quite resolves. The song doesn’t end so much as dissolve, leaving behind a lingering hum—a ghost of what came before. It’s both the band’s strength and flaw: the refusal to deliver easy closure, the insistence on ambiguity.
Ultimately, Totem is an album of extremes. Pygmy Lush are at their sharpest when they channel chaos, but equally compelling when they slow down to explore emptiness and space. The result is uneven yet mesmerizing—a document of a band unwilling to settle into one version of themselves. It’s not designed to please every listener, but for those willing to sit with its tension, Totem offers something rare: a portrait of a group still wrestling with their own evolution, finding beauty in the struggle itself.
NOTABLE TRACKS:
It Wasn’t a Compliment (Martial Law Blues)
February Song
Artistic Blood / Blanket Out the Sun (in a world of better things)