PRESS » M. Gira
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Swans blow fuse in Grand Rapids, plow ‘terrifying and thrilling’ sonic terrain (Local Spins)
() - M. Gira, Michael Gira, SWANS, to be kind, young god
by Brian J. Bowe February 24, 2015 Playing in front of a capacity crowd at The Pyramid Scheme, New York’s legendary post-punkers led by Michael Gira delivered intense, lengthy and improvisational musical pieces. A sold-out crowd packed The Pyramid Scheme on Monday for a dense and intense performance by post-punk legends Swans. Over the course of a two-and-a-half hour show, the sextet built a brutalist edifice of layered sound that was terrifying and thrilling. The group’s musical pieces rarely resemble traditional songs — they’re more sculptural than declaratory. But the sonic terrain they traveled Monday ranged from delicate gong washes and dark ragas to plodding drone rock and the angular disco of the damned. In a rare treat for Grand Rapids, there was even a little Herman’s Hermits thrown in for good measure. Swans’ founder and frontman Michael Gira broke into a verse of “I’m Hen-ery the Eighth, I am” to kill time shortly after the group blew the stage power. The band is accustomed to larger venues, and apparently they used more juice than the system could handle. [UPDATE: Upon further research, it appears that this kind of stuff happens to Swans somewhat regularly. Which, ya gotta admit, approaches......
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SWANS' SENSORY OVERLOAD EVEN BLEW OUT MICHAEL GIRA'S AMP AT TREES (Dallas Observer)
() - M. Gira, Michael Gira, SWANS, to be kind, young god
It sounds like cathedral music at first. Then, like modern classical. A drone of swinging chimes and rumbling gong is Swans' overture. Each tone is so exactly measured that, initially, it sounds like stock music pouring forth from the venue speakers. Look closely though, there to the back-left of the Trees stage, and you can see him, or it: a dark figure chipping away at a spectrum of percussion instruments. He looks slight at first, then the shadows slip off his back, revealing a muscled creature like human skin wrapped tight across the frame of a bull. This is a man named Thor, Swans' famed percussionist. He must've been cut from the same cloth as mythology's Hector. The thunder of mallets continues as the bulk of Swans take stage and man their posts. We have the aforementioned Thor on percussion, a drummer, a lap steel guitar, a bassist, and, once frontman Michael Gira arrives, two guitarists. Just as the low-end percussive drawl plateaus, Gira advances, looking like he's fresh off a homicide. His hair is spindly and wet. His face, which he wears like a mask, is pinched and screwed, as if animated by a mix of rage and ecstasy.......
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Enigmatic Instrumentation, Atmospheric Elements Entrance Crowd (Oberlin Review)
() - M. Gira, Michael Gira, SWANS, to be kind, young god
Danny Evans, Arts EditorFebruary 27, 2015Filed under ARTS, Music, Recent Stories From the opening moments of their set at Cleveland’s Beachland Ballroom and Tavern Wednesday night, Swans made it clear that they did not plan on granting their audience a standard concert experience. The New York post-punk veterans, who performed for nearly three hours but only played six songs, started so quietly that attendees didn’t even register they had begun and utilized everything from a hammer dulcimer to wind chimes to a homemade viola in pursuit of auditory devastation. Clearly, nothing about the set adhered to audience expectations of what a rock show consists of, but despite this, infamously demanding frontman Michael Gira and his five bandmates managed to offer one of the most powerful concerts I’ve ever attended. Percussionist Thor Harris introduced Swans’ set by himself. He stood near the backstage area, hitting a gong softly. As the gong grew louder, alerting the audience to Harris’ presence, other members of the band joined in. Lap-steel guitarist Christoph Hahn droned forebodingly, and Phil Puleo, the band’s other drummer, complemented Harris’ gong with tasteful cymbal work. The band built up slowly, silencing chatty showgoers. My jaw dropped as Swans’ entrance manifested......
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Swans at Le National
() - M. Gira, Michael Gira, SWANS, to be kind, young god
If You’re Hearing This, You’re Already Dead On Thursday night, I went to see Swans. It was a viciously cold evening, snowing like hell, the wind whipping up and making my eyes water as I marched against the wind tunnel that is Ste. Catherine St., making my way toward Le National. My fingers were actually blue by the time I stumbled in the doors, I was greeted by a nose bleed as soon as I hit the wall of steamy heat inside. I sighed, and bought a drink. It was a strange way to start an evening, but probably appropriate for seeing a band like Swans. The blood certainly was, anyway. This is Swans’ first show in Montreal since June, when they played with another groundbreaking act, Jamie Stewart’s rock n’ roll/avant/partial, electronic/partial, orchestral/partial art piece, Xiu Xiu. This time around, Swans maintained their fantastic taste in openers, bringing out duo Xylouris White, featuring George Xylouir and Jim White of Australian Dirty Three. They were fantastic, not only as a band, but as an opener. They absolutely shredded – Xylouir scampering around the fretboard of his lute, White casually alternating with utmost ease and natural flare between halting, fitful jungle......
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Concert Review: Swans and Xylouris White @ The Phoenix – Toronto (A Music Blog, Yea?)
() - M. Gira, Michael Gira, SWANS, to be kind, young god
I had certain expectations when I walked into the Phoenix concert theater on Friday, with Swans as the headliner I had prepared myself for a fairly loud evening. As I made it past the coat check I heard music that I wasn’t prepared for… klezmer music. Passing the stage, a large crowd basked in pale white light was gathered listening in relative silence to Xylouris White. Consisting of drummer Jim White and virtuoso Cretan laouto (lute) player George Xylouris, the the duo played a mix of jazz, psychedelia, and folk music (not just from the Balkans, but from many different traditions). With George singing intermittently, Jim White played complex but subtle drumlines while playing with his drumsticks like a baton twirler, spinning them around with flourishes of his arms with every other beat. I found a spot between two older men near the sound booth and had started settling in when I heard a scream. Behind me someone had collapsed on the ground near the back bar. Staff rushed over but didn’t seem able to do much because a lot of the rest of the set was punctuated by cries and moans of the injured person. This added in a......