Surrender

When I was a toddler, I used to sit in the family car for hours on end. After it had been baking in the sun on a hot July afternoon, I would crawl in, roll up the windows tight and just sit there as I commandeered my little prepubescent head trip. I still carry around crystal clear memories of those meditative hours, and my searing flesh on hot plastic seats.

I haven’t hopped into any hot cars lately, but when I last saw Swans obliterate le National almost two years ago to the day, I was instantly transported back to that immobile rust bucket in the dog days of summer.

During a particularly balmy night in Sept. 2010, Swans head honcho Michael Gira demanded that le National’s air conditioning be turned off and the heating turned on to create the necessary womb-like atmosphere to saunter into our frontal lobes for over two hours. About halfway through the set opener, 20-minute creeper “No Words No Thoughts,” we were already emotionally crushed, wrung out and reduced to hopeless wide-eyed infants. The rest was just pure musical transcendence.

Bludgeoning would be a fairly apt way to describe the impact of a live Swans show, but I’m not talking about wanton violence or teenage misanthropy here. It felt like being peeled back to the very core and letting the ecstasy rush in.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Swans. I caught the 1986 Holy Money tour, after being introduced to them via the pummelling “Raping a Slave” on the old CBC radio show Brave New Waves. Within seconds, the trudge and dirge of my played-to-death Flipper singles and Black Flag’s “Damaged II” seemed puny by comparison. This era of Swans was most definitely violent, with Gira punching people, screaming like a banshee and inflicting pain on himself as the band pounded it out slowly and precisely behind him. It’s like their bursts of sound were meant to leave welts.

Being an impressionable teenager, I was forever changed. Their cacophonous onslaught nearly cleared the room (which was filled almost exclusively with goths, oddly enough). I was one of the last three people who dared to remain. To be honest, I couldn’t have left if I wanted to — my feet were nailed to the beer-stained floor as I took leave of my senses. I quickly realized that there were other musical avenues outside of my pedestrian punk rock.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to play the old-guy card and say the earlier show was better. Truthfully, it wasn’t. After that show at le National, I can say without a doubt that Swans are better now than they have ever been. On record though, the band has never been able to capture the panoramic experience of their live show in the grooves, until now.

Last week the band released the best record of their career, and probably the best record I’ve heard in the past five years: The Seer. Clocking in at almost two-and-a-half hours, with songs approaching the 20-minute mark, Gira and co. have managed to stay on track and never lose sight of Swans’ original vision while boldly pointing their stern to uncharted waters. Gira’s bending baritone is nicely weathered, and still haunting enough to shiver the timbers while providing the perfect vessel for barbed pearls that could make ol’ Zimmerman jealous.

Like all of the great band leaders before him (Miles Davis, Van Morrison, Nick Cave etc.), Gira knows when to loosen the reins and let the band flex and pulse behind him with guests like Low’s Alan and Mimi Sparhawk, Karen O. and, surprisingly, a cameo by estranged former bandmate Jarboe. It’s a pretty epic affair, though there’s nary a wasted note.

The Seer is not for everybody. Like all truly great records, this is an extremely demanding listen that refuses to languish as muzak murmuring away in the background, but if you’re brave enough to plunge headlong into it, The Seer will offer new rewards with each subsequent listen. Given the fruit fly attention span of most people’s music listening habits, this record goes against the grain. Once the final note of “The Seer Returns” rings out, after almost two-and-a-half hours, you should be utterly drained; if not, you just weren’t listening. Gira’s power to lull, disturb, comfort, insulate, exorcise demons and burst with joy has never been put to better use than it has here. If you’re looking for a modern rock (in the true sense of the word) icon or a true artist currently standing ground in the shifting world of rock, look no further than Michael Gira.

The Seer’s sole intention is to invite each listener to a truly personal experience. For me, listening to this slab of true artistic deliverance, I feel one thing, and if I could do a one-word review of this record it would be simply: SURRENDER. ■

Swans play la Tulipe on Oct. 26.

Current obsession: Swans, The Seer

Jonathan.cummins@gmail.com