The Glow, Pt. 2 - REVIEW

I'm sorry everyone, I have been struck with a bad case of writer's block recently and I just couldn't bring myself to review anything that has been released in the past two weeks or so. I just haven't been able to think of anything substantial to write that would do any album justice, rather if it was critical or appraisal. But to get back into the groove of things, I thought that I revisit my favorites list and review something from it, and lately I've been in a somewhat introspective mood. I've been staying up very late into the night, discovering new music, or listening to old music and just thinking about the future, which still frightens me quite a bit. But who isn't afraid of the future?

One of the most acoustic albums, aside from Pink Moon, that I recently added to my favorites list, which I added about three months ago or so at this point, is The Glow, Pt. 2 by Phil Elverum's first musical project, The Microphones. This band, much like Phil's contemporary musical project, Mount Eerie, was a relatively prominent lo-fi indie band in late 90s and early 2000s that created incredibly gloomy and dramatic music that focused heavily on acoustic instrumentation, soft vocals, and a mixture of ravaging sounds and noises that further added to the dreary but also intimate feeling that one gets from the music.

Unfortunately, there was almost nothing I could substantially find concerning the production of the album of itself, and this doesn't necessarily surprise me as I have began to notice these past few months that Phil is a very reclusive and private person, and that's completely fine. I'm almost certain that it's this introverted nature of his that he's been able to produce the kind of albums that he has. I at least know that he uses mostly analog audio equipment to record his music and produces in private studio spaces to further alienate himself to ensure that he's completely in control of what's going on. The result are densely layered albums that seem to tug at your feelings or deep thoughts.

The Glow, Pt. 2 is the kind of an album that one could ideally listen to for certain introspective occasions. It's about an hour and 7 minutes long, so it definitely has the duration of a lengthy car ride somewhere or a wonderful supplement to your insomnia. When I first listened to the album in it's entirety, I was riding on the Mega Bus from Austin to Grand Prairie. I rode during the night time so I knew I would be in for a nice, relaxing ride. But since I have a bad habit of not keeping myself hydrated, I had developed an annoying headache in the middle of the trip, so I was basically in a considerable amount of pain while stuck on the bus. I was constantly looking through my phone for relaxing music, which I truly believes helps to relieve headaches, and I threw on The Glow, Pt. 2.

I don't know what is was, but I felt like the album was reveling in the pain with me. Like it's music was perfectly fitting my situation but was also distracting me from my headache at the same time. It was during this headache filled bus ride home that I noticed something about the album that I could not believe I wasn't noticing before: Throughout the entire album, there is a single note that is repeated over and over again until the very end of the album. In my research in trying to determine what was the noise I was hearing, I found out it was the imitation of a foghorn that ships use when traveling at night, because you know, it gets pitch black out at sea without the moon.

And to be completely honest with you, this foghorn is one of the most ominous and relaxing things I've ever heard in an album. It's striking to hear that it literally permeates throughout the entire album, giving you this feeling that something is following the listener. Like a ghost lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike, but never does. I used to think that the foghorn itself was what "the glow" was in reference to the album's title, since it seems like the audio equivalent to a glow of light. But no, it can't be that since the album's title is actually referring to a song entitled "The Glow" from the Microphones album that preceded this one.

And that's the thing about Phil's music in general, including this album. Despite all the substance, ominous noises, and acoustic guitars, I can't help but feel that Phil's music doesn't seem to be about anything, it just exists. Or perhaps I just haven't thought about the lyrics all that much, because I haven't. I'm usually too distracted about how darkly beautiful Phil's music is. Generally, I get the feeling that this album deals with loneliness, insecurity, and isolation.

Even though the album has been criticized for having "too much filler", I would defend the extensive use of the instrumental and interlude tracks as a central part of the album's dark and moody atmosphere. In fact, I feel like the album wouldn't be as dramatic or as astounding without all the "filler".  Aside from those tracks, the "main" tracks of the album are just as beautiful. I still get can't get over the chilling feeling from songs like "The Mansion", "I Felt My Size", and "Map". And despite how "quiet" this album is for the most part, don't be surprised by the extremely lo-fi and brutal attack of the aptly titled, "Samurai Sword".

Even though I still have a long way to go in terms of shuffling through Phil Elverum's discography, as the only other album I've heard from him is Mount Eerie, I'm ready to see what else Phil has conjured up in his head. At the same time however, the only thing that has tainted my experience with Phil's music is that his wife, Genevieve, has recently passed away from cancer. I can't imagine what he must be going through right now. Especially since him and Genevieve had their first and only child together not too long ago. All my condolences and respect to him. But I'm not proclaiming that this album or any of Phil's albums are haunted now, it's just something to bear in mind. The music is still beautiful and ominous no matter what happens.

Overall: 9.2 out of 10

The Glowing Man - REVIEW

The present day incarnation of post-rock and experimental rock collective known as Swans have finally released the concluding piece to their modern day "trilogy", The Glowing Man. Riding on the waves of sheer creative force and passion like he always has, front-man and lead singer Michael Gira sets a tone of isolation and desperation in this washed out and lethargic album that despite it's most impressive and riveting moments, falls short of it's high expectations in comparison to it's predecessors, The Seer and To Be Kind.

As people may or may not know, Swans is the name given to the musical project that is under the direction of Michael Gira, who is now 62 years old. Their first incarnation saw the release of several albums in the 1980s that fell under the label of "no wave" and "noise rock", that sounded very violent and dirty, but not necessarily in the fashion of a typical metal band around the time. After several lineup changes, 90s Swans encompassed more of an industrial and post-rock sound that became increasingly experimental leading up to the band's disbandment in 1997.

After his work with Angels of Light, Gira decided to reform Swans in its current incarnation. This version of Swans offered a brand new lineup and a significant change in the composition of their albums. As they have become extremely consistent and comprehensive as the albums have a more set structure and thematic atmosphere when listening to them. That's why The Glowing Man is a part of this "trilogy" of recent albums. Even Gira himself stated that this album was "the final recording of this configuration of Swans".

While The Glowing Man did not reach the level of intensity and ferocity that absolutely gripped me from their two previous albums, the album is a still a tremendous effort for a concluding album, as this is probably the hardest thing to decipher about the record. I've asked myself several questions when writing this review: "What if the album's incredibly drawn out and slow nature was completely intentional?" "What if Gira and his crew who took everyone who listened to The Seer and To Be Kind on a musical journey full of gusto and power, made this album just to mellow them out in the end?" "Did Gira simply run out of ideas and become lazy this time around?" Either way, the album still leaves a lingering feeling of lackluster by the time it's over, intentional or not. But that doesn't mean it was a bad record in any sense.

Even though there are disappointing aspects to analyzing the album holistically, there are still plenty of moments in The Glowing Man that make it a fun listen regardless of what came before it. The title track and "Frankie M" are the pillars of the album, that take the listener through this seemingly endless journey through the desert. I say this because these songs made me feel like I was lost in a vast, open area, like a desert, and that I was trying to go somewhere, and I tirelessly trailed on step by step, hoping I would make it until the end. Other songs on the album, like "The World Looks Black/The World Looks Red", also contribute this theme of searching and looking for answers to impossible questions where anxiety and stress hang over the listener like a dark cloud made just for them. I just couldn't shake this feeling that the album depicts a person on this spiritual quest for some kind of solace or enlightenment. This feeling is supported through Gira's vocals that sound like contemporary hymns or chants, and the fluctuation between the repetitive, stoic instrumentation and the massive crescendos that make the listener feel like everything is coming down all at once. These crescendos, by the way, are perhaps some of the most intense and profound moments in any Swans album, and I'm glad Gira and company were able to appropriately incorporate them into this record as well.

The album cover itself appears to mimic a Native American hieroglyphic, perhaps to imply the presence of mysticism as one of the album's themes. Or it could mean nothing at all. This is yet another problem with trying to tackle Swans' music. You can never tell if you're reading too much into something, or not reading enough. In fact, I specifically remember when watching a mini-documentary by Pitchfork that covered The Seer era in 2012, when one of the interviewers asked Micheal Gira who "the seer" was inference to album's title, and Gira immediately scoffed and almost laughed, as he quickly said "Oh, I don't know. I don't think that part means much honestly. When I created that phrase when writing the the title track, I was just saying random things until something seemed to fit."

In the end, The Glowing Man still manages to be the most fitting, and perhaps bittersweet end to an epic and beautiful trilogy of albums. Even though its biggest letdown was being unable to have those strong, memorable moments that get people excited and reminded on why they should listen to a particular album once again. I just could not find those moments like I could with The Seer and To Be Kind. I can only guess what Gira and his friends may come up with next, or maybe this truly is the end of Swans, who knows. And even if it is, I would be completely fine with that, as Swans has given us more than enough music to last us several decades.

Overall: 7.8 out of 10

Wildflower - REVIEW

Imagine yourself driving on a dark highway, late into the night, and you change the radio dial to a station that didn't previously exist until this moment, it just appeared. And on this station, they played a series of songs that fluctuated between a number of genres, like a kaleidoscopic medley of samples from various eras of music. You become worried, wondering if you've gone crazy. But you haven't, it's the music that has, and somehow you're alright with this. You begin to feel the fun grooves of the sampled beats. You're not sure what you're listening to, but you love it. It turns out that this fictional radio station in this scenario has actually been playing the new album, Wildflower, by plunderphonics and electronic group, The Avalanches.

As it's been about 16 years since their beloved and critically acclaimed debut album, Since I Left You, The Avalanches are back in full force with an album that can't make up it's mind on what it's truly about, but that's all a part of the fun. The album, like stated before, incorporates a plethora of sounds, samples, and instrumentation from a variety of genres that ranges from hip-hop, dance, electropop, electro-swing, disco, and funk. There's even samples of gorgeous R&B that I was able to find in the album. Think about how particular it would sound if the styles of Daft Punk, Gorillaz, and DJ Shadow were to be mixed together. That's what Wildflower kind of sounds like.

To me, the album is so versatile and colorful, that I almost feel like I'm in a Baz Luhrman film when I listen to it. You know, that seemingly unpredictable, exaggerated, and over-the-top romanticism that dazzles and flusters with every waking moment, as there are virtually no boring moments in this album. There may be slow and calm moments, but never boring.

The most interesting thing about Wildflower is that it's a contemporary album that is filled to the brim with nostalgia-like melodies and fantastical tones. Many of the songs on the album could be used as the closing song or the end credits song of a heart-felt film that warmed your soul, or least it did by the time it ended. If you want feel good about things, songs like "Sunshine", "Because I'm Me", and "Subways" will definitely make you either want to dance with joy or lay comfortably in content. I guess another part of the album's captivating appeal is just how distracting it is. Like most of the time, I'm able to listen to albums that flow well with the work I'm focusing on, and they actually do a good job of providing a balance between enjoying something and getting my work done. Not this album, it's far too fun to simply have in the background. At least I think so.

And like many of the greatest albums that are either critically acclaimed or that I love personally, Wildflower does a tremendous job at flowing well with itself. Like a well executed stream of consciousness that one would find in a book like American Psycho. Wildflower presents itself like this singular entity of mixed genres and samples that will surprise and delight. In fact, it's not surprising if one finds oneself not being able to tell if one song has started or one has ended, but I suppose that's just what happens with this type of music. This is compelling and beautiful work, nonetheless.

Overall: 8.7 out of 10