Through numerous lineup changes and decades spent making music, Swans have covered ground from no-wave to post-rock, but their artistic vision has remained extremely focused and identifiable. Swans make music that is hellish, blacker-than-black, and suffocating. All of those impotent shock metal bands with names involving decapitation, fetuses, and farm animals sound like a sunny stroll in the park next to Swans. It‰’s the type of music I‰’d expect to be on repeat in Ted Bundy‰’s basement, but I mean that in the best way possible.

Swans paint their sonic images of despair with many different techniques, but the one that to my ears is most emblematic of the Swans thesis is “Coward,‰” originally appearing on 1986‰’s Holy Money, but resurrected and reborn (or remutilated) throughout the years in live performances. Regardless of iteration, “Coward‰” is a droning, crushing, behemoth of a song.

The song takes no time finding its stride as it immediately opens with thundering, Godzilla footsteps of tom hits and a bass accompaniment that whose sheer volume sounds like it could create a wind tunnel. As the groove continues in its stop-start audio assault, individual instruments break from the mold, feedback screeching. Michael Gira‰’s vocals enter the fray in his psychotic, deranged whispers. He soon moves to a full-chested bellow, but the lyrics stay consistent with the instrumentals‰’ repetitive, black abyss.

Gira chants “Stick your knife in me,‰” “I love you,‰” and “I‰’m worthless‰” with a cult-like, hypnotic transfixion. Gradually, things get less controlled; feedback becomes an otherworldly scream, percussion hammers away harder than ever, and Gira sounds like any line could be his last. Finally, the composition ends as abruptly as it started, the silence almost a comforting release from the black hole that “Coward‰” and most of Swans‰’ music gradually coaxes the listener into.