The human mind has an insatiable need to form and make sense out of that which doesn't, or can't. This predisposition is what impressionists like Pete Swanson rely upon - the insistence to reform abstract images into translatable sense.

Swanson has long been a master of the sprawling and fragmented form of noise and drone music to which he returns on Punk Authority. The ritualistic rhythms and hallucinatory loops plum depths almost beneath human hearing. He has spoken of his approach as being one of long recorded improvisations, at times stretching over ninety minutes per track, before a brutal edit which concentrates each idea into palatable form. This style does somewhat leave the listener fumbling around in search of what Swanson calls the 'narrative' of each piece that speaks to him. But there is a delight in the obscurity as well.

Whilst we get to grips with the guttural depths of the sound, we encounter disparate motifs shrouded in the messy fuzz. Glinting with subtlety in the distance is a 'house/dance' appreciation, most obviously recognised on 'Life Ends at 30'. He clearly has an appreciation of groove, imploring movement with its agitated syncopations; the music almost blatantly screams: 'Do something!'- a call to arms perhaps, through the murky cyclic atmosphere, that repeats with insistence.

If the record were a hallucination, it would be difficult to tell whether that trip were a good or bad one. More frighteningly however, is the consideration that this experience could represent a reality. Overloaded with motion and layers; like the black and white fuzz of a TV screen, there is an overwhelming amount to interpret. Perhaps reminiscent of the focussed, reductive nature of human experience which cannot process the infinite stimulus which we encounter everyday.

Or possibly echoing human interaction and empathy; inevitably belligerent, lacking focus and sustained interest in one idea. It isn't pleasant, and nor should it be. Punk Authority never even hints at a resolving sound or a reassuring passage to provide respite in the mayhem. It goes further than post-modern ideals of allowing dissonant refrains to occur, and instead, actually strives towards dissonance as its main objective.

Swanson leads us through a rain-dance in which there is no relent or pause from the restless insistence for movement. Its asphyxiating grip becomes an addictive blanket of euphoria that's hard to escape. In the mire of noise there are glimpses to catch sight of and convulsions to feel gripping the intestines; submerging us in an alienating, self-destructive world which, if nothing else, compels us to listen on.

There is the danger though, that the abstract notions can become disengaged from the orbit of the imagination and escape. Without doubt, if this record is given the time to work it will do so relentlessly, reinventing interpretations each time without becoming jaded in concept. This sort of expressionist drone music works on us in a different way to pop music and therefore demands that we either immerse ourselves completely, or not at all.