Sometimes you want to make love and sometimes you want to get fucked. Noise can fill a hole similar to the way hair-pulling, slapping, screaming, I-don’t-care-if-the-neighbors-complain coitus does. Like the hickey you have to hide the next day and the bruised shoulder that aches each time you move, the piercing tones, rib-cracking thuds and raw-throated vocals of Noise are a perverse pleasure; it says “you’re alive, you’re human, and you’re dirty.”
Enter Puce Mary, whose sound has late 70s Industrial’s sexual preoccupation with a vein of dark purple malaise running straight to the tip. Degradation, submission, loss of self, and cathartic release all make an appearance from the cover of Ultimate Hypocrisy to the supplicating female voice that warbles “I was willing to do what he said.” Perverse curiosity forces you to lean in while high-pitched whines drag you backward; this music has you on a leash and it’s taking you where it wants. It does what it pleases. It’s not a kink thing, it’s not a Noise thing; it’s the dark pool seeping under the door in our heads we think we’ve locked up so tight.
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