old bolachas

Pop is the opposite of pop

Let us, for a moment, forget that the Swans are, in noise rock territories, a huge spectre hanging around everyone’s heads when we think about aggression, when we think about power, when we think about rawness, violence, bloodlust – all those wonderful qualities that lie around in our minds, hidden from society -; let us forget the new-yorkers practically invented and perfected the genre, even if there are plenty of wonderful bands who took their palette and turned it into something equally valid; if we erase Michael Gira’s antics since 1984, we’d come to realize Pop. 1280 is probably the most ferocious band in activity right now, something we realized last year when their debut album, The Horror, came out, blasting layers of noise and punk energy and great fucking tunes all around. Imps Of Perversion, although toning down that aggression for a bit – there’s no immediate and murder-prone tracks like “Bodies In The Dunes”, for instance, and there’s a more folky side to it (especially “Riding Shotgun”) -, still stands as one of the most rage-filled albums we’ll hear this year, the year rock is mostly dead and pop cuteness hangs around like annoying eye floaters. Where’s the music for people who hate other people? Where’s my knife in the shape of a 3-minute song? (It’s actually seven minutes, and it’s called “Nailhouse”.) Pop. 1280 came, saw, conquered that magic place we call “the riff”, made another album that’ll spike up our adrenaline levels and propels us to believe Sacred Bones will save the world. Or destroy it. Either way, it works.