Swans | Cop | Review
Sometimes a body has to take drastic measures to pierce the awful veil of ennui
Sometimes a body has to take drastic measures to pierce the awful veil of ennui we've woven around ourselves in order to endure the endless small hurts and disappointments and (worse!) the unrelenting, Soul-Destroying mundanity that makes up the fabric of day-to-day life. See, after a while you start to go cold in the cocoon and ya needs to bust through and make contact with something vital or you can lose the ballgame as entirely and irrevocably as if you'd forgone your defences and let yourself be beaten down into a useless, dithering pulp right off. This record is just BURSTING with ugly ecstatic animus, enough raw spiritual electricity to get even the most maniacally depressive through Xmas AND New Years's alive and aware. I'm overwhelmed by it, swept off my feet and knocked on the ol' keester by its exquisite/excruciating vortex of emotion and aural excess. Bassist Harry Crosby and Roli Mosimann on percussion mount an impossibly massive block of pulsing black noise here whilst Norman Westberg lashes his guitar into white hot sharded avant-metal eruptation. Cuts like "JOB" and "BUTCHER" put me very much in mind of the nth degree metallurgical jazzoetry that Black Flag hinted at on their last tour East with Dez Cadena and Charles Dukowski but weren't able to muster for MY WAR and SLIP IT IN. On "YOUR PROPERTY" and "CLAY MAN" Westberg pumps for still noisier, dirgier grungitivity scripting hisself some outright epic tone-poems of terminal monolithic dread. The shit seems to lie there and GLOWER like a big, mean drunk deciding whether or not to get up out of the gutter and beat the shit out of you. COP is a wall-to-wall hoot on the sonic-use level.