In the past month, I have attended concerts
by two of my heroes: Philip Jeck – mainly because of his Vinyl Requiem – and Michael Gira in Swans. Neither gig was as
ecstatic as I might have hoped. In both cases, the live experience did not
expand on my joy in their recorded output.
In many ways, Swans are easier to
understand: it is clear that their live sets chase the ecstasy and the
limitations of the venue’s sound – and a slight discomfort caused by the ritual
of the gig, in which the audience are reduced to spectators – undermined the
ferocious assault.
There were moments of sheer brilliance: an unexpected version of A Coward proved that Swans’ latest incarnation can be as hard-hitting as Gira’s earlier line-ups, and there were several improvised moments when the guitars, and percussion combined towards a monumental majesty. Gira himself, reveling in his new, confident baritone, was appropriately messianic and my subjective experience was clearly not shared by the entire audience. The sheer volume, the interludes of droning distorting, the energetic runs driven by the twin drummers: even on what was not a perfect night, Swans are proving that there is an alternative to the nostalgia circuit.
There were moments of sheer brilliance: an unexpected version of A Coward proved that Swans’ latest incarnation can be as hard-hitting as Gira’s earlier line-ups, and there were several improvised moments when the guitars, and percussion combined towards a monumental majesty. Gira himself, reveling in his new, confident baritone, was appropriately messianic and my subjective experience was clearly not shared by the entire audience. The sheer volume, the interludes of droning distorting, the energetic runs driven by the twin drummers: even on what was not a perfect night, Swans are proving that there is an alternative to the nostalgia circuit.
Philip Jeck is harder to assess. In a
triple bill of experimental musicians, his analogue approach stood out. The use
of vinyl lends his performance a rougher, human edge (later, Thomas Koner would
evoke landscapes that dwarf human scale, much like an icier vision of Swans’
scope). Yet, having worked with dancers and creating installations like the Vinyl Requiem, Jeck’s solo is oddly
introverted. He builds layers of sound through adding recordings and even rolls
out a few bass lines that sound fresh from a John Carpenter horror flick.
If he never quite reaches the scale of
Koner, he does use his drones in a familiar, almost friendly manner. The
awkwardness of vinyl makes the tunes distort under pressure – at times, the
tone evokes a lost radio transmission. Yet the live dimension adds little.
While Swans battle the elements – and there
were few moments of boredom and plenty of potential – it makes sense for Gira
to tour. But for Jeck, the nature of his music seems more comfortable in a
recorded format. Gira aims to be shamanic, ramping up the traditional rock
egotism into something spiritual, while Jeck is tinkering with idea that are as
immediate experienced in a solitary cell. There are two forms of mysticism at
work – which explains why these characters became my heroes in my teenage
years. One is liberatory, expansive, feeding on nature and the moment. The
other is scholarly, monastic.
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