{"id":217167,"date":"2025-05-27T18:00:44","date_gmt":"2025-05-27T16:00:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.angrymetalguy.com\/?p=217167"},"modified":"2025-05-27T18:00:44","modified_gmt":"2025-05-27T16:00:44","slug":"swans-birthing-review","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.angrymetalguy.com\/swans-birthing-review\/","title":{"rendered":"Swans – Birthing Review"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"It’s hard to keep up with Swans<\/strong>. Since 1982, Michael Gira and company have cranked out sixteen studio albums, eight EPs, and ten live albums (not to mention all the compilations and side projects), influencing underground stalwarts like Godspeed You! Black Emperor<\/strong>, Neurosis<\/strong>, Godflesh<\/strong>, and Napalm Death<\/strong>, as well as more mainstream acts like Nirvana<\/strong> and Tool<\/strong>. No genre was safe, as noise rock, no-wave, industrial, sludge, post-punk, and post-rock were impacted in the process – yet Swans<\/strong> have always had their own inimitable and uncategorizable sound. In Gira’s words, “Swans<\/strong> are majestic, beautiful-looking creatures – with really ugly temperaments.” Seventeenth studio album Birthing<\/em>, a supposed end to the big sound of Gira’s millennial reformation, is an affirmation of both why some love them and why others stay far away. Maybe the real Swans<\/strong> were the friends we made along the way.<\/p>\n

The path of Swans<\/strong> has been one of blending ugliness with a sheen of pristineness. They’ve had it all, from the ugly industrial sludge of Filth<\/em> and Cop<\/em>, the more regal industrial noise rock of Greed<\/em> and Holy Money<\/em>, the Gothic rock groovers of Children of God<\/em>, the lush starkness of White Light from the Mouth of Infinity<\/em>, the post-rock-imbued apocalyptic prophecies of The Great Annihilator<\/em> and Soundtracks for the Blind<\/em>, the trancelike 2010s comeback My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky<\/em>, the formidably monolithic trilogy The Seer<\/em>, To Be Kind<\/em>, and The Glowing Man<\/em>, to the minimalist folk-embedded Leaving Meaning<\/em> and The Beggar<\/em>. If you wanted to devote a week to the Swans<\/strong> discography, have at it. Or get into the process of Birthing<\/em>.<\/p>\n

In spite of its higher focus on more acoustic textures and Michael Gira’s wild baritone, Swans<\/strong>’ use of repetition is a tether to which their grasp of reality is consistently mutilated, interspersed with moments of sparse accessibility. Seven tracks and nearly two hours of content greet the ears with repetition both nauseating and hypnotic, tracks undeniably modern-era Swans<\/strong>: folkier, more acoustic and organic, and retaining that trademark longwindedness and industrial\/noise barb, shifting from mood to mood with ease. You’ll hear painful dissonance, ritualistic passages of pounding percussion, Gira’s unnerving vocal lines, and synth-heavy crystalline atmosphere exchanged across mammoth runtimes. Especially in the first act, ugly stretches stitch together more uncanny valley passages of accessibility, like a synth rock jam session with pulsing basslines (“I Am a Tower”), beautiful piano ballads graced by spidery melodies and Jennifer Gira’s haunting vocals (“Birthing,” “Guardian Spirit”), catchy little choral “bum bums” (“The Merge”), and instrumental ambient swells (“The Healers,” “(Rope) Away”).<\/p>\n

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Gira and company find themselves in an odd predicament: in the shadow of their own influence. Swans<\/strong> has smartly focused on more acoustic and organic textures with their most recent releases, but in comparison to the 80’s and 90’s, and even the 2010s, Birthing<\/em> cannot hold a candle. No one can do music like Swans<\/strong>, but it feels as though the trilogy of The Seer<\/em>, To Be Kind<\/em>, and The Glowing Man<\/em> was Tsar Bomba, and every subsequent release has been the fallout. Likewise, the raining ash of Birthing<\/em> is lethal, unnerving, and undeniably Swans<\/strong>, but it doesn’t feel as monumental. The only track that feels crucial is the absolute fever-dream “The Merge” in its wholehearted dive into the abyss. Each track features Swans<\/strong>-isms that sear themselves into your brain if you let them, but therein, very few moments justify why you should devote two hours to listening to them – especially if you are not a fan to begin with. Their focus has never been to be catchy, impress with riffs, or go wild with novelty – as such, the trademark tapestries of droning dissonance (“I Am a Tower,” “Guardian Spirit”), free jazz\/industrial noise explosions (“The Merge”) are just difficult – aside from Swans<\/strong>’ inability to edit.<\/p>\n

I may be Swans<\/strong> lone apologist at AMG <\/span>HQ, and maybe I’m insane for it. Birthing<\/em> is nowhere near the influence of its predecessors – while retaining that noise and industrial sneer throughout, it’s a far more gentle album than the ugly classics of the band’s heyday. However, it’s probably the best of its era, blending its bad temperament with its more post-rock atmospheres and semi-accessible passages that keep listeners this<\/em> close to insanity. That being said, it’s still Swans<\/strong>. And a whole lot of Swans<\/strong>. Two hours of Swans<\/strong>. Yay\/ugh.<\/p>\n