| |
|
Strikes of blunt percussion repeat relentlessly. Drone-scapes of acoustic and electric instruments create both warm, familiar nostalgic sounds of the past and cold, and alien music we hope the future will never bring. Producing the heaviest sound imaginable, Swans' auricular hypnosis is overwhelmingly forceful, leaving no space for the self, only the corporeal remains to react and recoil. Each song comes in waves of rhythm, undulating at the sexual pace of unwholesome, depraved bodies. Swans possess the brutality of Einsturzende Neubauten's less Industrial output and the dark classical bombast of Dead Can Dance. Michael Gira's fiendish groans and Jarboe's spritely voice emit elegant words so grave, you may wish you couldn't hear them so clearly. Swans have created the Requiem for the Self.
|
|
