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Swans - Cop [Vinyl]
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Singer Michael Gira had made his Los Angeles debut in the Bpeople, but then moved to New York (in 1981) where he formed Circus Mort. The only EP (Labor, 1981) by this group is still succumbing to the disco-punk of the Bpeople. The leader's obtunded, snarling vocals range from the epileptic emphasis of punk to the dissociated depression of an urban zombie, from dreamy lysergic to decadent vain. Supporting him are the violent, emotive beat of Jonathan Kane (collaborator of Rhys Chatam and LaMonte Young) and minimalist keyboard figures in a throttled timbre.
The music of Cop (K422, 1984), with only Roli Mosimann on drums, is practically born at the intersection of a Kafka tale, a Freud treatise, a black hole, the last gasps of a suicide and the first wails of a robot. The pace becomes even more funereal, now succumbing to the cadence in 2/2. Gira's delirium is more hopelessly disconnected than ever. His nihilistic poetics focus more and more on the mental state of fear ("you degrade yourself when you hide your fear," he declaims in Thug, behind a strong, almost dub-like beat), and ultimately his music is nothing more than an exorcism of the existential terror that grips the lonely man in the post-industrial metropolis. Backing him up now is mostly Norman Westberg's guitar, unleashed in a tour de force of feedback and distortion.
The ensemble performs crawling, slow, heavy, thunderous music that makes one think of android armies on the march, furrowed by creepy screams (Half Life); ceremonial futurist music for industrial metronomy, abrasive dissonances and raucous shaman (Clay Man); music of perpetual agony for anemic vocal pangs and violent background distortion (Why Hide). Chamber music for subhuman beings. Experiments on polyrhythms, increasingly tempestuous, reinvent the concept of tribal in the post-industrial age (Your Property, a masochistic psalm in which Gira seems to flog himself). At the same time, the more catatonic tracks (such as Cop) push the music further and further away from harmony, bordering on theatrical acting, cold, inexpressive, anonymous, for which sound is merely a background of faded beats. These are chants that have retained very little of the musical, suffocating in an unbearable atmosphere of suspense. Sometimes it seems that Gira stentoriously repeats the same animalistic verse without inflection, Sometimes he seems to exhale a prayer, stunned before a mystical vision. Sometimes he seems to murmur the last words before he expires. The lyrics, in turn, are short ravings of turpitude, like Job's catalog of tortures (an even slower "groove"). Gira is more than ever the quintessential troubled soul of rock. Battered and scourged in the most atrocious way, she has descended into depths of pain that had never been lapped.
Tracklist:
A1 Half Life 00:00
A2 Job 4:16
A3 Why Hide 8:57
A4 Clay Man 14:42
B1 Your Property 19:41
B2 Cop 24:23
B3 Butcher 31:04
B4 Thug 35:02
Genre: No Wave, Industrial, Experimental
Medium: LP
Year Of Production: 1984
Label: SMS Records (SP25-5205)
Production Country: Japan
Audio codec: FLAC
Rip type: tracks
Recording format: 24 / 96
Handout format: 24 / 96
The music of Cop (K422, 1984), with only Roli Mosimann on drums, is practically born at the intersection of a Kafka tale, a Freud treatise, a black hole, the last gasps of a suicide and the first wails of a robot. The pace becomes even more funereal, now succumbing to the cadence in 2/2. Gira's delirium is more hopelessly disconnected than ever. His nihilistic poetics focus more and more on the mental state of fear ("you degrade yourself when you hide your fear," he declaims in Thug, behind a strong, almost dub-like beat), and ultimately his music is nothing more than an exorcism of the existential terror that grips the lonely man in the post-industrial metropolis. Backing him up now is mostly Norman Westberg's guitar, unleashed in a tour de force of feedback and distortion.
The ensemble performs crawling, slow, heavy, thunderous music that makes one think of android armies on the march, furrowed by creepy screams (Half Life); ceremonial futurist music for industrial metronomy, abrasive dissonances and raucous shaman (Clay Man); music of perpetual agony for anemic vocal pangs and violent background distortion (Why Hide). Chamber music for subhuman beings. Experiments on polyrhythms, increasingly tempestuous, reinvent the concept of tribal in the post-industrial age (Your Property, a masochistic psalm in which Gira seems to flog himself). At the same time, the more catatonic tracks (such as Cop) push the music further and further away from harmony, bordering on theatrical acting, cold, inexpressive, anonymous, for which sound is merely a background of faded beats. These are chants that have retained very little of the musical, suffocating in an unbearable atmosphere of suspense. Sometimes it seems that Gira stentoriously repeats the same animalistic verse without inflection, Sometimes he seems to exhale a prayer, stunned before a mystical vision. Sometimes he seems to murmur the last words before he expires. The lyrics, in turn, are short ravings of turpitude, like Job's catalog of tortures (an even slower "groove"). Gira is more than ever the quintessential troubled soul of rock. Battered and scourged in the most atrocious way, she has descended into depths of pain that had never been lapped.
Tracklist:
A1 Half Life 00:00
A2 Job 4:16
A3 Why Hide 8:57
A4 Clay Man 14:42
B1 Your Property 19:41
B2 Cop 24:23
B3 Butcher 31:04
B4 Thug 35:02
Genre: No Wave, Industrial, Experimental
Medium: LP
Year Of Production: 1984
Label: SMS Records (SP25-5205)
Production Country: Japan
Audio codec: FLAC
Rip type: tracks
Recording format: 24 / 96
Handout format: 24 / 96
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