Review Summary: A scattered mess of raw perfection.
Before this site had taught me the fine line between “lol” and “gtfo” I was pretty misguided about music overall. Even a few years ago when I was still sober and wasn’t yet whispering arguments with myself I still had a few beliefs I wasn’t exactly sure how my memory came to store. I used to actually think that Muse was a “shoegaze” band and that Radiohead was beyond lame for ripping them off so bad. While it might seem like a silly joke now my point is that before I spent a few months on this site I didn’t know prog from sludge. Fast forward a year or two and my debt to this site is reflected clearly from a look at my favorite bands list. I firmly believe that without this site I would not have discovered half of the gems I have. Pg. 99 would have almost certainly been lost to me simply because of an odd name I thought might only relate to a textbook. Yet as luck would have it my favorite little site would again surprise me, this time it seems by infecting me with the skramz virus.
is essentially a four song demo in which only a scarce amount of 200 copies were ever created and released in 1999. It is these elusive traits that make my affection for Pg. 99 progress into something much more along the lines of sincere admiration. It is almost as if this band was purposely hiding from me, somewhere beneath the expansive shade of undergrounds complexity I think so often mesmerizing. This document is skramz in the rawest of forms. As eight musicians somehow wind and slash around one and other it might seem like the conclusion would only ever amount to a hopeless mess of pointless sound. However with this document Pg. 99 have woven raw perfection that pattern alongside the fragments of thickly layered dual bass and the guitars ever frantic slashing. This dismal urgency never faltering for even an instant despite all the extra time you might want to spend deciphering such a bleak display of poetry. As the shifting patterns of guitar escalation to the alternation of instrument passages there comes a sharp break in flurry as a voice clearly cries, “*** You Jesus”!
. Possibly a little alarming to some I find the line uniquely memorable and worth mimicking later under the right circumstances.
Document #1 is an intricately woven mess of isolation, despair, obscurity and raw energy. I can imagine these demos being recorded inside of a cold garage with an absence of light to further invoke the erratic displays of confusion and discomfort so sought after. Of the four songs on this demo to focus only upon one might needlessly separate such a raw fluidity that Document #1 is enshrouded by when in the proper display of its abstract completion. Sadly a piece of art such as this might just as easily frustrate a listener not used to such erratic shift of moods or sounds. Many people will simply not understand this beautiful form of art. However for those who find themselves forgetting things such as the last day they slept, what month it is or if you’re just trying to gather the thoughts you really don’t ever care to find, this might make perfect sense.