Michael Gira founded Swans some 27 years ago. Time has brought a measure of nuance and versatility, but the raw, inhuman power of the band persists, even as many of their more lauded peers have succumbed to nostalgia or exhaustion. Pure tenacity, as much as loud guitars and violent lyrics, is what gives the new album the brute force that is characteristic of Swans at their best.
If anything, My Father… is a reassertion of principles on which Swans was founded. The anger, fear, and contempt of their earliest records still lingers, embodied in one unmistakable element: the impossibly dense wall of molten guitar noise generated by Gira and longtime Swans member Norman Westberg. The blunted, lurching style they developed remains unmistakable. "Jim," a tale of urban bitterness and revenge, demonstrates that the dynamic still has legs. The song begins rapturously, with images heavenly ascension and paradise, and then devolves into a murderous rampage as the eponymous character finally settles his scores. "Let’s strangle the mayor at the top of the stairs/Let’s piss on the city that burns down there," Gira sneers as a lead-footed waltz beat circles around him, the band’s skill at pulverizing audience resurrected intact.
Despite the heaviness, Swans still manage to insert slivers of beauty into what seems like an impenetrable storm. Mandolin and vibraphone embellishments flitter through the loudest guitar squalls. My Father… is intense both in volume and clarity. That is not to say that the record lacks moments of simple and unadorned beauty. The lyrical coda to "Inside Madeline" finds Gira waxing unabashedly cosmic. "The engine divine is inside Madeline/The star dust is yellow and red/And it’s mapping out time inside of her head," he sings, the moment resembling his more delicate work with the Angels of Light.
My Father… also makes use of another more recent development in Gira’s career, his free use of irony to poke fun at his fearsome artistic persona. "Reeling the Liars In" is at once a bloodthirsty call for honesty and parody of bitter old age. There is something almost goofy in the way that he deadpans, "The only true thing/the place to begin/is to burn up the liar pile." Of course, Gira implicates himself as well, changing the words from "the liars" to "this liar." This disarming clash between arrogance and humility make the song a standout track of the album.
Included in the deluxe version of My Father… is a second disk of outtakes, vocal fragments, and instrumental tracks sewn together in a continuous mix. Though not essential for enjoying the parent album, the disk is a rewarding listen nonetheless. The disembodied voices and phantom instruments recall the widescreen audio surrealism of albums like Soundtracks for the Blind.
When he announced that Swans were reforming, Gira justified his decision vigorously, in advance of any criticism that he was going soft or cashing in. He needn’t be so defensive. The results speak for the wisdom of that decision. Furthermore, the excitement generated some long overdue interest in a band that is often pointedly overlooked. My Father… has all the elements that make Swans a challenging and ultimately rewarding group.
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