Review Summary: Being kind to the blind
disclaimer: this is a 2-hour long LP with 8 tracks. This WILL be a LONG read. Individual tracks WILL be addressed. All of them.
Back in 2014, when the world saw the release of “To Be Kind”, I’ve made a critical mistake of leaping ahead to a conclusion and a subsequent review upon first listen of the album. I should‘ve known better – I’ve been a self-professed Swans enthusiast for a couple of years at that moment and I knew perfectly well that these majestic creatures and their ugly temperaments take a lot of getting used to. Nevertheless I spewed out whichever first impressions I’ve had and gave it a score that turned out to be very, very pre-emptive as “To Be Kind” proved to be one of the best records of that year and probably one of the best albums Swans have ever released.
When the executive Swan incarnate, Michael Gira, has announced that the follow-up album would be the last – at least in the current form of the band – expectations (which already rode pretty high considering the quality of the previous record) skyrocketed into the stratosphere. Not only “The Glowing Man” has to follow the giant footprints of “To Be Kind”, it also has to effectively close a particular chapter in the career of a highly-influential band – and an extremely impressive chapter, too.
As with all the other releases Swans have put out in the 2010s, music on “The Glowing Man” was forged in live improvisation sessions during the last tour, which should suggest similar results provided by a tried-and-true MO. However, one will be surprised to hear that of all the modern Swans records “The Glowing Man” is probably the gloomiest, moodiest and most melancholy pieces of work, merging the propulsive repetitious noise shamanism of its immediate predecessors with long depressing drone canvases and somber acoustic passages of goth-ish melody reminiscent of “Soundtracks For The Blind” and “White Light From The Mouth Of Infinity”, respectively.
Where previous records started pretty lively (as lively as it could get, I suppose), “Cloud Of Forgetting” opens the album with a dirge. The chilling vibrating string drone and the softly plucked acoustic guitar evoke the same detached feeling of apathy and loss that inhabited “Helpless Child” back in 1996. But it’s not simply a throwback or a nostalgic rip-off: the ebb and flow of instrumentation (a phrase that could be applied to almost every track here), the pulsating beat that enters the drone and gives it a direction and the hoodoo vocal delivery all effectively marry the two aspects of Swans sound into a cohesive experience. After a controlled explosion and a reroute to the drone, the band continues down the path of a more melancholic and despondent sound with “Cloud Of Unknowing”, but throws a curveball in the form of an absolutely kick-ass drum beat that gives the song a plowing menacing groove, which plays very neatly off the dissonant wails of cello and guitars. The song reaches several deceptive boiling points in which a choir (yes, a choir) joins Michael Gira in chanting the affirmatory but intimidating call of “I am, I am, I am” against a complete disintegration of a drum set that sounds like a mountain crumbling down in an earthquake. Massive stuff.
The suffocating opening pair of “clouds” is then followed by “The World Looks Red/The World Looks Black”. Starting at a slow creep the song suddenly sees Swans using glitchy synths and slowly picks up the pace to an almost danceable percussive beat with what can almost qualify as a sing-a-long hook (in Swans terms) with some incredibly tasty trumpets blowing through the mix with an unexpected level of swagger.
Now, another trope that 2010’s-tier Swans have developed is using shorter folky tracks as interludes and breather breaks in the midst of sheer madness and fury. I have to admit I’ve never viewed any of them as more then pauses but “People Like Us” is surprisingly enjoyable and hummable. The string-tinged arrangement and the world-weary bluesy melody make that song, well, an actual song and not just a semi-colon in a greater narrative.
“Franky M” gets the album back on the Drone Train but up to that point you should be familiar with “The Glowing Man”’s MO: start with something familiar and then spice it up. “Franky” delivers precisely that: after another wall-of-sound, choir-heavy dementia session and a solid late-Swans explosive coda it suddenly picks up the pace to an infectious refrain with some wonderful touches of female backing vocals before driving on to a runway and taking off in a swirl of percussion, ringing guitars and octave-jumping bass.
“When Will I Return”, released prior to the album, seems to have been a deliberate red herring: essentially it could be viewed as another breather track if not for the dead-serious subject matter. The eerie plucked guitar chords and organ hanging in the background create a nightmarish feel, fitting to the song, while Gira’s wife Jennifer sings with a gently trembling voice with the bluntness and directness of a child sharing a bad dream – only in this case that dream actually happened. The coda of the song is reminiscent of “The Seer Returns” and the “bring the suuun!” section of “Bring The Sun” but manages to employ those similarities to a purpose of its own.
Fittingly enough, “Bring The Sun” is what lies in the foundation of another monstrous title track. Having evolved from live shows it’s probably the only time Swans have ever deliberately quoted themselves on a track. The crushing starting assault of “Bring The Sun” is re-played once again in context of a more left-field ambient-driven surroundings but starts to shift into its own melodic progression which once again feels more emotional then pure body-and-mind sonic repetition juju. And yet again after rubbing all the familiar itches Swans take a dive into an electrified up-beat tempo that would not sound out of place on a Stooges record back in the day.
And at last the album comes to an end with the grimly titled “Finally, Peace”. This is where the “White Light” era influence shines the brightest: Michael and Jennifer singing in unison over a simple folksy chord progression in a slowly growing sea of harmonized backing vocals that take over the mix, turning the mantra “your glorious mind” into a desperate gospel which proceed to drown in yet another drone.
“The Glowing Man” sees Michael Gira and company taking a good look on what they’ve accomplished during the bands career and finger-picking aspects that could leave their latest development of sound in a different place then two years before. If up to that point you weren’t able to get into Swans – turn around and go, because in no way is this album going to make you change your mind. “Fan use only” discretion is advised, because the true joy of seeing Swans counterpoint their newer tricks with some older tricks can only be experienced by someone who’s got appreciation for both. But for those of you who do, “The Glowing Man” is a fitting coda – or intermission – to an earth-scorchingly stellar career.
