Pisse – Dubai

I’m a sucker for pretty much everything Phantom Records puts out. It’s a label that never plays it safe, and Pisse have always been its crowning weirdo children. But as much as I love this band, writing about them is always a nightmare. They’re a total pain in the ass to describe, because just when you think you’ve figured them out, they change direction again. Since 2012, they’ve been putting out EPs, splits, and full-lengths with a level of absurdity and unpredictability that feels completely intentional. It’s like they’re actively laughing at every reviewer trying to put them into any kind of genre box.

Dubai, the band’s latest LP and unsurprisingly Phantom’s 100th release, isn’t a culmination or a return to form. This is just Pisse doing what they do best—opening up enough space for experimentation, and maybe even more confusion. The record kicks off with “Stein,” where the synth (or maybe they use a theremin again?) sounds like a flute and everything feels like it’s been filtered through an unexpected layer of restraint. That doesn’t last long. Soon enough, the vocals barge in, the rhythm jolts forward, and you’re back in Pisse territory. “Glotzkowsky” follows with something that almost passes for an industrial synth-pop track. There’s definitely a darker, more structured mood in some of these songs, and I get why some people might be less grabbed by this one at first. But stick with it.

The two-part “Tempel” suite shows Pisse at their most theatrical. It’s the moment where they fully stop pretending to care about your expectations. “Tempel I” is played on a century-old church organ by Reinhard Hoffmann. “Tempel II” mutates that church sound into something sci-fi and off-kilter, like a B-movie soundtrack powered by warm beer and cheap synthesizers. And then, just when you’re wondering what the hell is going on, they drop “Soldaten der Liebe” and “Möbelhaus,” two of the best tracks on the record. Both songs sound like they could’ve come off one of the early Pisse 7-inches. “Möbelhaus” is still Pisse in their playful dadaist cabaret mode, but grounded in their catchiest and most effective punk rock instincts.

The back half of the record keeps the weirdness flowing. In contrast to each other, “Theater” opens with a long intro and pulls the record into more melancholic territory, while “Zwangsneurose” is a catchy, caffeinated twitch that feels like another sci-fi B-movie cut, leaving something rattling behind your eyes. “Männerpissoir” closes things out in that sarcastic, disoriented, but weirdly joyful way only Pisse can manage. The final line, “Ha-ha-ha-honeymoon,” leaves you feeling like you’ve just watched a play where every actor was drunk, pissed off, and performing the wrong lines.

The cover art adds another layer of subversion. While the artwork for their self-titled album from 2020—the band’s darkest, most melancholic and hardcore record to date—was a homage to the German street art and graffiti counterculture, Dubai gives us a depressing portrayal of a coal plant wasteland. There’s nothing glamorous about it, and calling the record “Dubai” is like another bait from a band that thrives on contradictions. The title sits at the top, mimicking the infamous Lonsdale logo, long co-opted by tough-guy hardcore, Oi!, and football hooligan scenes. Except here, they flipped it. Usually, the b(r)and name is above and the city/state underneath. Here, Dubai sits on top and the band name below. Maybe another visual prank, just like everything else this band does.

Pisse have always been punk in spirit but avant in execution, and Dubai is another sharp elbow to the ribs of expectation. You don’t listen to this band to understand them. You listen to feel slightly destabilized and to get lost in it. It’s not sweet dates and pistachio chocolate, it’s synth-punk with weird German humor and a lingering sense of melancholy.