Scatology (1984)

Artist: Coil
Release Year: 1984

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Ubu Noir; 2) Panic; 3) At the Heart of It All; 4) Tenderness of Wolves; 5) The Spoiler; 6) Clap; 7) Solar Lodge; 8) The Sewage Worker's Birthday Party; 9) Godhead-Deathead; 10) Cathedral in Flames.

First of all, I typically ignore bonus tracks when considering albums, so please note that wherever a discrepancy exists between the LP tracklist and the CD, I will be reviewing the LP version.  

This is the first proper album by Coil, an industrial and avantgarde band that always dwelled in the darker recesses of the human condition, to put it very mildly.  A lot of this might have sounded shocking in 1984, but now it comes off as if they're just trying to be edgy.  I mean, look at the title!  You can't tell me Coil weren't proclaiming themselves the long-awaited vanguard of filth with a title like that.

Of course, there are songs like "The Spoiler", which seem to deliberately bludgeon me with their repetitive obnoxiousness.  The fact that that one tries to inject some gravitas with that waltz meter only makes me hate it more.  

But other times, this thing is done well.  We have these long trances of mechanical beats, droning synths, and hideous guitar tones, all while John Balance bleats out the same vocal mantra: a recipe for monotonous disaster, yet there's just enough subtle dynamism in there to make it work.  Case in point with "Solar Lodge", which I point out specifically for the grating guitar solos that remind me of what Lou Reed was doing on "I Heard Her Call My Name" and whatever Can threw in during their freakier passages.  So it's a hard equilibrium to maintain, but they manage it more often than not.

The opening "Ubu Noir" reminds me of something Leland Kirby might do, with those tape loops of what should be joyful, jazzy brass instead becoming a harbinger of damnation by forces beyond anything our puny minds can comprehend.  That leads us into "Panic", probably the closest thing to a danceable song on here, which beats us over the head with a demented swagger that I can't deny-- almost as if Depeche Mode had been left to starve in the dark for a few weeks before picking up their instruments again.  That's what I need these days, in fact: less of that phony idealism and more acknowledgement of where the human id truly leads us when the lights are out.

So, if I'm able to praise the themes of this album, why did I only rate it a six?  Mostly, because I appreciate this album more than I enjoy it.  Tracks like "At the Heart of It All" are nicely atmospheric and eerie, but still come off more as soundtrack material than anything else, so I can't see myself putting this album on outside of a D&D session or something.  

Or for contemplating the rotten center of depravity that dwells within all men, of course.