Swans
Cop
Young God
Greed
Holy Money
[Thirsty Ear]
Rating: 3.0
Revered by some, reviled by most, the Swans thumped their way into late
'80s notoriety with their primordial contributions to that era's
avant garde rock scene. As the years evolved, the band began to don a
more accessible musical vocabulary, but Thirsty Ear Records has opted to
revivify the more jarring, pre-industrial sounds documented in earlier
recordings. After a solid 2½ hours of sonic torment, my fatigued mind
wishes to posit one simple question to these purveyors of misbegotten
drivel: why?
My prior exposure to the Swans, though limited, provided a relatively
positive experience. In my naïve mind, they were the band responsible
for a visceral interpretation of the Joy Division classic, "Love Will
Tear Us Apart." Imagine this reviewer's surprise when he heard the
first Neanderthal- like intimations of Cop and its regurgitated
vocals puked onto a canopy of droning drum beats and minimalist guitar
distortion. Sure, the band was providing an appropriate backdrop for
their lyrical examination of alienation, depression, loneliness, and
sadomasochism, and the resultant effect of disgust and abomination may
have been intended, but these "artistic" justifications did nothing to
foster an appreciation of the audio schmat I felt obligated to withstand.
What's more, the songs take on insufferable lengths of time, clocking in
at between four and seven minutes each, despite the fact that the same riff
is repeated almost indefinitely.
"Okay," I says to myself. "I know the band mellowed out considerably
later in their career. Perhaps the designation of both a 'Black' and
'White' CD is meant to suggest a dualistic experiment with sound.
Having suffered through the entrail- piercing horror of the former, the
listener has now been conditioned to better appreciate the pleasures of
the latter platter." Well, my friends, I regret to say I was only
partially correct with my surmising.
The second disc is certainly an
improvement upon the first, but occasionally subject to the same
unnerving patterns which ultimately make most of the music in this
collection unlistenable. The Cro-Magnon percussion has been fittingly
replaced by a drum machine, but the repetitions still last for ungodly
amounts of time (up until nearly eight minutes in one case!); female
vocalist Jarboe sparingly offers soothing contrast to the underlying
chaos, yet Michael Gira's abrasive diatribes remain; occasionally, an
actual melody manages to peak its head above the calamitous fray, but
like a rose in a desert, it withers away in a foreign and hostile
environment unfit to sustain beauty.
Admittedly, I speak from a position of privilege. Separated some 15
years from the original appearance of these albums, it's hard for me to
appreciate the "innovations" ushered by them, though I'm certain the
Swans inspired more than a few noteworthy acts. The self- loathing
lyrics and droning cadences of the early material bear more than a
slight resemblance to Nirvana's Bleach, and the factory- precise
machinations of the "White" disc illuminates the Swans' role as pioneers
of the industrial movement. Incapable of appreciating these effects
now, however, I'm left to gauge the music according to current
standards, which, sorry to say, doesn't reflect too kindly on the band.
If I'm going to inflict this kind of pain on myself, I'd rather hit
myself repeatedly in the head with a ball- ping hammer.
-Kevin Ruggeri