Swans - Filth (1983), 7/10

Swans start out with a bang and clash, creating a brutality and sonic heaviness unheard before the band introduced their formative projects to the scene. Doubling is a major theme that defines Filth, be it the doubling bass riffs, percussive overlap, or the general repetitiousness of the music. The organic percussion combined with overtly human bass technique is a large part of what makes the record stand out from other heavy music, especially when combined with the particularly heavy subject matter behind its lyrics. Gira’s vocals are appropriately harsh, yet his voice bears attraction through growling screams and howls. The title Filth is truly embodied by the music in a fashion rarely heard in music, quality or not. Gira’s attribution of No Wave and The Stooges is apt, along with his evaluation of the music as, “...all slabs of sound, rhythm and screaming/testifying. What more do you need? In a way, it was a reaction against Punk (and just about any other music you can think of), and the conservative notion that 3 chords were somehow necessary.” (Young God Records) Yet Gira and the band moved far beyond a rejection of contemporary genres, creating an artistic foundation for later projects, and even foreshadowing the creation of future genres in rock and metal, all while using tape effects to accent an already enrapturing album. The record begins with the clanging, vicious “Stay Here”, characterized by Gira’s groaning screams, yet equally by the abrasive rhythm section that envelopes the entire album. “Big Strong Boss” continues the thematic repetition, not only in sound but in its minimalistic lyrics. Then, perhaps the thematic pinnacle of the album, “Black Out” emerges only to buttress the bleak, bitter sound with dissonant feedback, punishingly sharp percussion, and a creaking, guttural melody. The theme of repetition, while initially the album’s greatest strength when confined within catchy, sensually brutal melodies, eventually becomes marginally more grating than satisfying, particularly during “Right Wrong”, a track that does not embody the same infectious melodic magic of the opening three tracks, for example. “Thank You” quickly brings back just enough variety to re-initiate tension without changing the narrative direction of the record. This creates a perfect bridge to “Weakling”, a tense recollection of physical trauma backed with increasingly anxious instrumentals. The closer “Gang” sends us off through another stanza depicting manipulation and power, again commonly repeated lyrical themes, before it fades into silence. While the band’s later work is celebrated for its addition of melodic complexity, Gira’s full length debut deserves its fair share of praise, remarkable for what it accomplishes with such a limited vocabulary and narrow limitations, both musical and thematic.