The Glowing Man

Listening to Swans is an exhausting process to be sure, but it’s rewarding in its self-analysis; you might not leave entirely sure of yourself, but you’re sure as hell more in touch with the inner workings of the mind.

Gira feeds on the drawn-out, high-tension passages of accelerating cymbal crashes and swelling guitar dissonance, many of which exist on the 25-minute “Cloud Of Unknowing.” But while the axis on which that track rotates features deconstructed, incohesive drum rolls and a kind of radiant summoning from Gira--one that bleeds and pools into negative space you didn’t know existed--the plodding, sinister rhythm that precedes it proves more hypnotic.

The love in his music is as terrible as it is beautiful, a wrenching act of spiritual determination. Swans make this sound effortless, though, in a fitting end to a remarkable chapter of their career.

Consolidation more than innovation, The Glowing Man still presents the current incarnation of Swans in its best light, as if this is the record the band has been working toward these past seven years.

With a running time of just under two hours, The Glowing Man may prove too punishing for some but those willing to invest time in its fiery depths will discover yet another remarkable Swans album.

This line-up’s chemistry has reached peak levels here, however, leading to astonishingly wild, lysergic adventures in dynamic sound like sprawling opener Cloud Of Forgetting and the bleak, amorphous 21 minutes of Frankie M.

Those looking for the conventional will find it, relatively speaking, in the sparseness of When Will I Return?, while the near-29-minute title-track--like the album it's housed on--is both a journey and a total trip. [25 Jun 2016, p.53]

While albums and concerts get to end, the knowledge that real lives carry on scarred by real-life tragedies like the one related make The Glowing Man a fraught record to hear.

Even though The Glowing Man offers a satisfying, substantial conclusion to the Swans discography, listeners shouldn’t expect a now-or-never, paradigm-shifting opus.

Tempered with meditative calm, space and restraint are the dutiful catalysts of each blissful rupture and devastating pay-off.

[The Glowing Man] finds Swans ever so slightly more playful, and on the cusp of a new era.

These tracks chose to morph and mutate rather than petrify in any sense. [Jul 2016, p.92]

It has a transitory feel; a half-step back from those monolithic builds and whiplash grooves, gesturing towards something more contemplative and ... well, "softer" feels the wrong word, but weathered by the journey. [Jul 2016, p.80]

The Glowing Man seems sadder, gloomier, and more disturbing than the more hopeful To Be Kind, but the band have always embraced many positive and negative elements in their work, and they all add up to an extremely powerful expression of nearly every human emotion.

Another bold, beautiful statement of purpose that also stands as a singularly menacing test of listener endurance.

Much like religious experience, the constellations of songs here (and their brethren on the two prior albums) rely on an intensely relatable core, a simple idea or feeling sizzling at the center that anyone can attach to. From there, the instrumentalists ripple out in meditative layers, never covering over or distracting from it, but rather reinforcing.

Fans of the band will enjoy the mature and practiced sound of this very good album, but the unconvinced might remain so, as the band don't exactly reinvent the wheel on The Glowing Man.

The Glowing Man is the most formless of these records--light on groove but long on drifting passages that require leviathan feats of patience to endure.

Whereas The Seer and To Be Kind defied boredom and logic with two-hour runtimes, The Glowing Man wears its 118 minutes less gracefully.

While their long, drawn-out, circling dark clouds remain potent, ultimately The Glowing Man is the weakest of the three powerful epics they've released since 2012. It can be muted and jammy, the build-ups are not as dramatic and it brings little in new ideas for Gira's dead-eyed yowl.