Cinematic features within music can often be an overused way of describing music, an intangible term that struggles to describe much musicality but more “how it feels when you shut your eyes”. When it comes to the post-rock equivalents of Swans, the likes of Explosions In The Sky, Mogwai et al, it can be used to describe the fantastically picturesque setting that their music paints for you – pastoral in its nature. With Swans and particularly on The Glowing Man, it deviates a little from this having a tendency for the apocalyptical more than anything else. The Glowing Man sees the group arrive back to the forefront of music wth Gira deviating the tempo and throw towards the most horrific and hideous. The sound of Swans has always rested upon tension, this is no secret whatsoever with Gira deciding that The Glowing Man would be the last release with the current line-up, to say this tension and anger has somewhat transposed onto the album is a mere understatement. Unfortunately Gira tragically struggles to differ between the vulgar and the interesting with The Glowing Man leading it to become 2016’s biggest celebration of himself and two fingers up to the listener. Is it a statement or a shambles? Probably the latter.

If you have not seen Michael Gira in recent times, do not be too surprised – neither has the rest of the world. In a similar way to American Psycho’s Patrick Bateman, he exists purely within his own solipsistic fantasy, caught somewhere between his own backside and the mirror. Hopelessly self-indulgent. Admittedly, Swans have always been one to put together a long song. The difference here is that the musicality of the long song has become lost and now suggests it is time Michael Gira realised that the novelty has worn away and people do not have the patience to listen to him moan on for 28 minutes – yes, you heard correctly, there is a 28 minute song – ‘The Glowing Man’. It is the fact it is surrounded by four other tracks that exceed 12 minutes, two of which exceed 20 minutes. This is the point though, it is a niche audience and not everybody has the time for avant-garde music with post-rock tendencies. However, where is the line between songwriting and fumbling around on guitar piecing together what seems like spontaneous expressions on guitar. It becomes like a drunken conversation with a friend rambling about his ex-girlfriend, pulling together no logical conclusions. King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard’s ‘Head On/Pill’ for example comes in at 16 minutes, but there is direction for the song – it has movement and a reason for being that long making the most of dynamics. The same cannot be said for Swans on this occasion.

The Glowing Man itself comes in at eight tracks long, a reasonable amount of tracks for an album by all means. Wait however, because the album itself comes in at just under two hours long. Two hours, for eight tracks. The album itself shows various degrees of musicality, some interesting for sure but some just seem to get disappointingly lost consistently. It often seems that Gira’s waxing lyrical about various topics throughout ‘The World Looks Red/The World Looks Black’ which does nothing but outline more so why he is so lost as a musician right now. It drifts on, bringing together various musical elements that appear to have no correlation whatsoever to one another. The lack of hook and chorus gives you as a listener nothing tangible to hold on to, there is no sense that you will be rescued from the atrocity – being caught within Gira’s palm becomes a terrifying, claustrophobic ordeal. A lack of chorus is nothing necessarily alien to Swans, but without any significant hook or melody either, it just becomes excessive as you prolong four minute junctures of torrents of Gira, Westburg and Hahn lashing fruitlessly at 18 strings.

It is clear to see where Gira and co are trying to go with The Glowing Man. They build dense, dark textures within their music that carry as much of a story with them as Gira’s lyrics do too. It is just desperately, desperately unfortunate that they fall on the side of this concept that stigmatises the vast majority of the songs as void of anything other than incessant narcissism. When it does pay off, they find themselves producing something exceptionally interesting though, ‘Frankie M’ for example is something that transforms throughout but actually acts as the first song that builds to a crescendo, it builds to a climax and you feel satisfied by the end, it’s just a shame you had to wait an hour to hear it. At long last, it seems The Glowing Man becomes worth the wait. Don’t speak too soon though.

Throughout the likes of the self-titled track and its 28-minute long marathon, it becomes more a question of Gira’s sanity. It is 28 minutes of ringing with the first 10 being void of anything but humming guitars. There just appears to be no logical reason to push music this hard with a solid three minutes being the same abrasive drum and guitar pattern, you glance down to see if your the track is skipping only to realise that no, it is just an ego on repeat once more. Barrages of noise hit you with the force of a nemesis’ fist on a Saturday night but after the first couple of blows, you are out for the count. You do not wish to be pulverised to this extent. It becomes a savage display of brutally aggressive guitar and pounding drums. Swans seem exceptionally good at over doing things, over doing them to the point of utter despair. Within the album opener, ‘Cloud of Forgetting’ beautiful sounds mask the start of the song, delicate melodies with the methodical rhythms of Phil Puleo and Bill Rieflin holding fort. Raging hell is unleashed throughout various interjections by Gira, Westberg and Hahn cutting through atmosphere with no mercy. The unfortunate part for Swans is their trouble at distinguishing between the monotonously repetitive and the building up. The songs suffer somewhat from a personality disorder, never knowing when enough is enough.

The nature of the opening two tracks, ‘Cloud of Forgetting’ and ‘Cloud of Unknowing’ outlines two tracks that sit as prayers. In their lyrical content, they completely suit the crushing nature of the music. The dystopian landscape and the merciless world we live in, to try and imagine any other setting than the one Gira attempts to lay forth is treason to the mentality of the music, however, it suffers at times with how the music just becomes unbearably lost.

Where the album stands strongest is within the shorter songs, those that make their point and then move on to the next. The likes of the drunken swoon of ‘People Like Us’, a song that finds Gira at his most melodic with his Jim Morrison-esque croon: “We’re tracing our shape on the walls of your house / We’re surfing the sand that spills from your mouth.” Miraculously, Swans here find themselves within the carnival style of The Doors’ Strange Days. The conflicting nature of this when put alongside other tracks within The Glowing Man allows it to stand out, purely because it is a song and not a 25 minute dilly dally through Gira’s egotism.

This is no change though, traditionally Swans’ songs have always had emphasis on the lyrical contingency of the music. This has, ultimately, always strengthened Swans’ material, whereas within The Glowing Man it is certainly and unfortunately shifted to the back. Striking images are conjured within the words, particularly by Gira’s wife who talks of her terrible sexual assault within ‘When Will I Return?’:

His hands are on my throat /
My key is in his eye /
I’m splayed here on some curb – shards of glass – a starry night /
When will this pig-man stop? /
His stink is like a dog.

Tragic and cataclysmic in its imagery to say the least, it is utilised to outline the bashful force to which Gira and co can unleash this album; these are certainly lyrics that pose poignant imagery, regardless of the terrible meaning behind them. ‘When Will I Return?’ however sees Swans find that rare vein of form on the album. Set as more of an acoustic ballad than anything, it contrasts the hurricane of noise that Gira and co cement throughout the rest of the record.

It is fair to say that The Glowing Man is ambitious as an album. Almost because this is the final Swans album with the current incarnation, it seems Gira has wanted to literally tear away any previous restraints, completely and utterly ruthless in the way he wants to address the listener. Fair enough, but one really should take time to consider the direction in which he wants to do this. Everything through the album, asides from the aforementioned acoustic ballad is turned up and through the double figures, torrents of guitar attack you with the drunken belabour of a football hooligan. The Glowing Man lacks any grace in its movement, it maintains the conviction but there is no direction to it. Following To Be Kind, 2016’s effort has proved to be horrendously underwhelming and self-righteous, confirming nothing but Gira’s need to be identified as a musician.
Tom Churchill

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