Swans - Burning World

SUNLIGHT BURNS TEARY EYES

Burning World is more necessary to the Swans mythos than many fans dare believe. For me, after bearing the blunt force trauma of Swans' dire dirge of 80's New York No Wave, Burning World came out as a revelation. A baptism for musicians mired in sin. Yes, Children Of God begins the transformation, subtle and ever-so creeping into moody, Gothic territory, but their coerced signing on a major label - Uni Records - and the proliferated evolution that followed, gave Swans' ensuing Neofolk era (their best) foundation to build upon. It was a swinging pendulum, from misanthropic to ethereal. Without it, Michael Gira likely would've never embraced the perverted Americana that inserted a bleeding, beating heart into Swans' otherwise soulless parable. For some, especially followers of Swans beforehand, Burning World proved too tender to touch.

Apparently, for Gira as well, who would soon come to loathe the album. But who wouldn't, when memories of poor sales and the immediate dropping from a label come to mind? In spite of its murky surroundings, Burning World is ever-so delicate. Jarboe's background harmonizing, mixed with the anthemic acoustics, folksy philter, and occasional string sections, warps Gothic Country on songs like 'The River That Runs With Love Won't Run Dry' and 'Saved.' After a rocky, or perhaps just generally mediocre first half, 'Saved' is where the record, ironically, salvages itself. It's auspicious and downright pretty, amplified by Gira's gravitational vocals and his charming histrionics, two factors sitting in complete contrast to Swans just three years prior. From here on out, there isn't a single ordinary moment, as the Jarboe-led 'I Remember Who You Are' grows around free-flowing Contemporary Folk, as 'Jane Mary' finds bliss in melodic twang.

All these aspects come together in complete harmony on the unquestionable standout 'God Damn The Sun.' Gira's poetic lyrics dominate the proceedings, much in the same way of his greatest work 'Blind,' as simple, shimmering acoustics accompany him on his moment of triumph. It's a conflicting song, following the feathery weightlessness of Burning World's sound whilst in dour straits over Gira's tumultuous past. The final, title-expounding coda marvels in this conjecture, as a string ensemble - built like angels sent down through rays of light - overwhelms Gira's depressed melancholy. A beautiful paradox to end an album that sits, harmless and amiable, as the paradox to Swans' recondite career.