...Sjebano & Neodoljivo...In music, “lengthy” doesn’t necessarily equal “epic.” But in the case of The Seer, the 12th studio album from experimental post-punk act Swans, the two terms are basically interchangeable.
Michael Gira, the veteran band’s frontman and guiding visionary, told the Quietus this album “took 30 years to make,” and based on the album’s jaw-dropping length alone (clocking in at just under two full hours), it’s tempting to interpret that quote literally. But The Seer is equally ambitious from a sonic standpoint: blending disgruntled noise-rock, fragile acoustic balladry, terrifying post-rock grooves and strange experimentation—more or less every sound Swans have previously attempted over the past 30 years—into one of the year’s most divisive (and unique) listening experiences.
“Lunacy” opens this endless behemoth with a bright, if discordant, lit—timpani flourishes, huge snare rolls, shards of distant guitar noise—before a wash of vocal harmonies coalesce into a rousing battle cry. Its subtle, elegant beauty couldn’t feel more distant from “Mother of the World,” which jarringly shifts to noisy propulsion. The track lurches and fumbles, unweaving a creepy Middle-Eastern vocal melody over layers of percussion and raw distortion—but, as is the case throughout most of The Seer, Gira and his massive band rarely revel in weird ugliness for weird ugliness’ sake; there’s always a destination in sight, no matter how strange. For a while, “Mother” seems destined for an inevitable fizz-out, but it gradually introduces new musical ideas: strummed acoustic guitars, twinkling synth arpeggios, Gira’s gurgled croon. An entirely new song seems to arrive out of thin air.
