Swans primary Michael Gira Credit: Daniel Veintimilla

Swans primary Michael Gira Credit: Daniel Veintimilla

Michael Gira did not stop the show, berate the sound engineer, or stare down audience members. Last night’s Swans show at State Theatre was, instead, both passionate and tightly executed, a gut-punch of raw emotion that didn’t need a tantrum to drive it home. [Text by David, photos by Daniel.]


Opener Little Annie was a fractured, open-wound lounge act, like something out of a Weimar-era Germany, but with more tattoos. Looking to be in her 60s, with huge Shelly Duval eyes, and sauntering to the stage with a cane, Annie mixed Genesis P. Orridge with Burt Bacharach as she slurred and sneered her way through slow, spare, melancholy songs about loss and alienation. It was a testament to the ageless appeal of punk attitude.

Swans (though they’d hate to hear it) did just as much to prove there’s no energy darker than old energy. Thor Harris – in his mid-40s and among the youngest members of the group – kicked things off with an incantatory roll from a massive gong. Cristoph Hahn joined in with a punishing, ethereal barrage of distorted lap steel, chewing gum skeptically behind his grey Van Dyke facial hair and giving as few shits as Tommy Lee Jones with a six-shooter. The other band members added layers of orchestral noise through a low wall of Orange amps scattered across the stage, until finally the mastermind, Michael Gira, made his appearance — half-shaven and hair lank, his face menacing — bearing a black guitar.

Swans Credit: Daniel Veintimilla
State Theatre doesn’t have a great reputation for acoustics, but on this night, perhaps with some help from those amps, the sound waves were as detailed as they were crushingly powerful. That, combined with the open and improvisational approach taken by the band, made for a set that felt more like an epic opera than a series of rock songs, or like Ennio Morricone played by Black Sabbath. Gira didn’t sing until about 20 minutes in, but from there he worked himself into a Wagnerian frenzy, conducting his band and waving his fists at the sky.

But there was something zen about the experience, too — the totally immersive volume and pulsating drive vibrating the audience at the frequency of the universe itself. Harshness has defined Swans in every stage of their existence, but last night’s show highlighted Gira’s openness to transcendence since the band’s reconstitution in 2010. He’s not out to make friends – purportedly, the discipline Gira imposes on his players rivals that of James Brown – but Swans now mixes confrontation with a measure of openness and exploration.

It all wrapped up with a moment that would have been inconceivable for the Swans of the 1980s and '90s. After hanging up his guitar, Michael Gira walked out to the merchandise table and started signing tee-shirts and records for fans.

The line was long.

This article appears in Apr 2-8, 2015.