SWANS – MY FATHER WILL
GUIDE ME UP A ROPE TO THE SKY (YOUNG GOD RECORDS)
The world would be a
crappy place if it were not for cranky old father figures giving us shit and
demanding (not necessarily commanding) our respect. I genuinely believe it is in human nature to
enjoy being pushed about, to have somebody else pick up the ball and run with
it for us while at the same time dragging our carcasses along with them.
Whatever Michael Gira
says this is a fucking reformation. Do
not be wet or deluded. So here he is now
after a very credible solo calling.
Taking a shortcut I
could be forgiven for saying that at a surface level this sounds like a cross
between Iggy Pop and Lou Reed fronting an obtuse version of the Bad Seeds. This is no doubt a description Gira would
fucking hate.
The record opens with
the near ten minute gesture of “No Words/No Thoughts”. I guess the intention to offer something
medative as slowly a sonic cathedral grows into a pulsing disarray designed to
disarm and alarm, to pluck victims and reduce expectation to rubble. So this is the flipside of Christian
Rock. And it is ugly.
As much as I despair
at the posturing of Gira I can help but feel a strong affinity with the man for
the mere fact he has a song entitled “You Fucking People Make Me Sick”. Even if the song does not live up to the name
it is a strong indication of what his and his audience’s mindset is like and
the perspective of the world being expressed with the album. Sure the song builds to weird horror movie
theatrics but the intention is there.
And I guess therein
lies the power. When the sonics and the
song writing collide it is a wonderful and powerful thing, especially on “My
Birth” as the song thumps and swings as if sawing someone open in order to drag
another soul into the universe. With the
trademark Swans repetition driving the motion all is pummelled.
There is something of
a congregation feel to the vibe.
“Reeling The Liars In” sounds very much a preacher cleaning house
prompting a person to question how much of this is spiel and how much is real. Then the full on Bad Seeds vibe of “Jim” is
all about taking a man to task, bringing him back in reductive fashion. Very Thirlwell. Where once was flight now is fight.
Over the course of
eight songs a lot of ground is covered.
A steady pace maintains right up to the end as all remains slow and
menacing with instruments screaming in resemblance of the lost souls being
addressed.
With its brooding
string section and massive march “Eden Prison” ensures the album culminates in
destructive fashion bringing a blunt sensibility to the end of an
existence. Here is the grandest
orchestra. And with that the damaged
croon of “Little Mouth” runs out like a set of David Lynch closing credits for
some reason reminding me of being lifted up to space in a Chevrolet Malibu at
the climax of Repo Man.
Ultimately this is a
tough record, the uncomfortable listen that Gira and co designed and
engineered. Eventually it clicked with
me but after too many listens. I stuck
with it and it grew on me. It would like
to say that it captivated me but it didn’t.
If you want an album that is going to make you work, here you go.
A deaf rattle.
Thesaurus moment:
anathematize.
No comments:
Post a Comment