The return of Swans has to rank among the least cynical of
comebacks/reunions/rebirths of any band in recent years – few bands
command as much respect and fear (in fairly equal measure) as Michael
Gira’s merry circus of outcasts and deviants, and The Seer is
nothing if not a huge statement of intent. Only a handful of musicians
retain the youthful fire of experimentalism in their bellies for so
long, and for a man approaching sixty Gira has to be up there with Tom
Waits and John Cale in terms of being a restless musical innovator,
continuing to make interesting music while his contemporaries are
getting ready to claim their pensions. The Seer is the
culmination of thirty-years of ear-shattering, soul-crushing musical
experience in an often overwhelming but awe-inspiring two-hour package.
Starting with something of a curve-ball, opening track ‘Lunacy’ is a
lush orchestra of chiming guitars and Gira’s booming vocals, backed
angelically by Low’s Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker. But it’s second song
‘Mother of the World’ that brings us into more familiar Swans territory
– jarring rhythms? Check. Mind-melting repetition? Check. Slowly
creeping sense of bewildering insanity as layers of ambient noise and
freak-out vocals weave in and out of your speakers? Oh yes. The song’s
overtly sexual lyrics (another Swans hallmark) are drilled into your
brain with a repetition that mirrors the music: “In and out and in and
out agai-ai-ai-ai-ain.”
The album’s centrepiece is the half-hour title-track which wastes no
time in bringing the noise, a kind of drone palindrome, beginning with a
racket that most drone bands would take half-an-hour to create before
slowly clearing space for a clattering rhythm of twinkling piano, drums
and frenetic cymbals, deep hypnotic bass notes and a queasy guitar
slide. The song organically warps, twists and turns through prolonged
crashes, drawn-out notes and even wailing harmonica before settling into
final death-rattle groove, Gira purring “I love you too much” and
various maniacally gibberish phrases. More than any other song on the
album, the shapeshifting nature of the instrumentation demonstrates the
immense skill of Swans in their current incarnation, a line-up that Gira
has called the best ever. They cater to every musical whim so naturally
– it’s really quite breathtaking.
The band further display their adaptability on ‘The Seer Returns’
which is a kind of blues shuffle, Gira delivering his lyrics like a
whisky-voiced beat poet. In stark contrast ’93 Ave. B Blues’ is pure
feral, nightmare noise – all swooning low-end, crashing cymbals and
crying discordant strings. ‘A Piece of the Sky’ begins with nine minutes
of drone before relaxing into a longing, melodic stomp and finishing
with a Velvet Underground/Silver Jews-like twisted pop song. It’s one of
the most lush moments on the album, an unexpectedly beautiful symphony
of bells, pianos, mandolin, and a bouncing bassline with Gira crooning
wonderfully. It turns out to be the final respite before album closer
‘The Apostate.’ It lulls you into a false sense of security with a
relatively tense but chilled beginning but then six minutes in the band
let rip. Screeching, headache-inducing guitars, crashes and a bizarre
free jazz outro bring this dizzying, rollercoaster of an album to a
close.
Swans are not a band known to make easy records and The Seer
is no exception. For starters, it’s two hours long; some tracks contain
sections of pure noise and feedback that are longer than some bands’
entire songs and the album includes songs that are longer than some
bands’ entire albums. That being said, The Seer balances the
classic abrasive Swans sound with moments of elegant beauty. The second
disc opens with a straight-up country track, ‘Song for a Warrior’ which
features Karen O on vocals, and is the prettiest track on the album,
particularly when Gira joins in with backing vocals towards the end of
the song. When Michael Gira said that he had utilised everything he had
learnt in the last thirty years making this album you can hear that it’s
true. Swans don’t need to make another Cop – they’ve made The Seer, a mature album from the mind of a man who refuses to grow old quietly.
[Originally published by the Sleeping Shaman, 21/09/2012]
Swans - The Seer
No comments:
Post a Comment