They say:
The new Sex Swing album may be punishing and disquieting, but there is a point to all the sickness and gore, finds Adam Lehrer
The closing track off of London-based psych-noise rock band Sex Swing’s second full-length album, Type II, is called ‘Garden of Eden – 2000 AD‘. The song is a slow-build. A slovenly paced snare drum leads to a simple, muted guitar chord progression when singer Dan Chandler's breathy, monotone, Peter Murphy-esque vocals start to lurk over the surface of the sound, punctuated by saxophonist Colin Webster’s melodious squalls of tenor. The song lesiurely constructs itself atop that initial rhythmic swirl. It’s like rock ‘n’ roll approximated as initiate to an occultist ceremony
And then, around the seven minute marker, it explodes.
Guitar feedback lights the speakers ablaze. Webster starts skronking his horn like he’s Ayler in the throes of amphetamine psychosis, imprisoned in an imaginary cell made of panic.
There is a cathartic religiosity to the music of Sex Swing. During this era of sorrow and anxiety, Sex Swing remind us of the restorative powers of rock. Julia Kristeva said that melancholia results when religion fails to rationalise the immensity of one’s loss. But Type II, with all its ritualised cathartic sound, can also be a last line of defence between you and infinite sorrow. It forges a protective layer of blissfully thick and spastic psychedelic rock ‘n’ roll that lends you its strength and grasps you tight, preventing you from slipping deeper into that black abyss. This is violent and chaotic rock music that can help you make sense of the world...
Read the rest here: The Quietus
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