This is all that you will get from Body Cop. Even for those of us living in the general DC area, you would have had to been in the know to have been in attendance at one of the few shows that this band played during their brief existence. I remember hearing about them around the time the band had started up, hearing that the band was pure Swans-worship, and try as I might, I couldn't find anything from 'em, no web presence, no Myspace page, nothing. It wasn't until Fan Death released this self titled tape in conjunction with the band that I could finally hear what the local buzz was about. Now that I've been listening to this five-song, half-hour long tape, their one and only release, the fact that I never caught Body Cop in a live setting when they were doing the occasional basement show in the DC/VA area stings me even more. With members of DC deathcrust warriors Ilsa and the short-lived screamo/grind band Flowers In The Attic, Body Cop does indeed wear the rotting, bilious influence of early Swans right smack on it's collective sleeve, with obnoxiously slow atonal dirges, pounding saurian drums, lots of feedback and clanging guitar chords; but singer Kiki Tropea Suthard does this combination of howling excoriation and spoken-word delivery that is intense and harsh in it's own way, her howling vocals reciting some cool minimalist nihilistic poetry over the lumbering noise-punk. One of the band members is also in charge of pure electronic noise, so the music is constantly under barrage from an array of grinding distorted drones, harsh feedback manipulated into trippy waveforms, and other excessive amp-abuse that turns this into a really abrasive listening experience. It's low-fi and very mangy sounding, Kiki's shrieks and verbal scorn seeming to be drifting from down the hall somewhere, but the rhythm section plows through the murk with bulldozer force, and the guitars are choked and beaten constantly, spewing chunks of agonized axe-screech and twisted discordant crunch that never seems to coalesce into anything resembling an actual riff. It's a killer tape, loaded with some of the nastiest, gnarliest no-wave influenced hate-sludge in recent memory, and a fine final document of their brief run.