Born after an ear splitting explosion and devastating fire at the former Sunnydale Farm (& Gift Shoppe Experience), Fright Pig retreated to a local underground burrow to contemplate his fate. Reeling from the effects of the explosion, he concluded that the world no longer venerated the melodious complexity of Progressive Rock, Fright Pig immediately set out to correct such an oversight. After seven years and several hundred gallons of hard corn syrup (his drink of choice) he emerged with a snarling, yet lovable band of musical porcine mudslingers…and a scintillating Progressive Rock masterwork. His freshman album “Out of the Barnyard” provides a musical glimpse into the hard-bitten world of agrarian dreams and nightmares. It is a world seldom seen and even harder to imagine, but whose ripple effects tug at the very fabric of our being.
The Barnyard
The barnyard. Where velvet mane and cloven hoof mingle in earthy harmony. Where weathered structures dot the landscape and echo with the placid chuckle of bestial breath. And shafts of fragrant light and dusty air lazily drift until captured by the breeze. A more peaceful place would be difficult to imagine and even harder to find…or so one would think.
There is another side to the barnyard. A shadowy warren that exists but a heart beat away. The effect is innocuous at first. The wayward flick of the tail or twitch of an ear. But it grows. And as this corruption of tranquility is laid bare, talons convulsively tighten around roosts and gentle brays are suddenly stilled. Corporeal eyes snap open from deep sleep and hooves lash against stalls in violent reprisal. The barnyard feverishly seethes as the unfortunate within play out their abysmal reverie. The only remedy is to never sleep again…or to get out of the barnyard.
