Swans Concert Review/Poem. Really!

 Been a while, I know. But I've decided to kick the wheels on this blog and be consistent with posting. There's a lot going on that I need to report on, new novels and all that or perhaps old, uncollected stories to post, poetry, thoughts, desires, madness--whatever. 

And, yes, I expect there will be a Substack at some point, other means of communication, but for this moment, right now, I have this. 

Anyway, shall we? 

I saw the band Swans at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco (in a really dodgy neighborhood, let me tell you), May 2 of this year, and the day after scribbled this "poem." Tweaked it a bit here and there, but it's good to go. Perfection? My writing is always a work in progress, much as myself. Growing, changing, mutating...

The performance was astonishing, mind-blowing. The poem captures some of what I witnessed. 

Enjoy!

Gira: Swans May 2, 2024, Great American Music Hall, San Francisco, California

 

The shaman stands in the desert of burgeoning sound

The first primordial morning or final night falling

Scatological jazz harvested from Hell’s fiery lips

Speaking in tongues disentangled from ages long dead

The creature called Gira finds its way

To the first discernable lyric after thirty minutes

That also includes abrupt hollers, hoots, and howls

Only the creatures of the moon can decipher

While his followers scramble as newborn turtles seeking sea

The ebb and flow of noise as conducted

By a madman as sonic psychotherapy

--He’ll weep like a baby, crest as if orgasmic

Laugh as a lunatic, self-flagellate as the guilty--

Or the survivor of whatever humble beginning

Brought him to this sacred place tonight

Confessional murmurs in front of mesmeric minions

For almost three hours that lay waste

To whatever ragged soul he has left

As well as the disciples willing to go along

For a ride both ecstatic and harrowing

Swans swim through murky waters

While the creature called Gira

A whirling dervish adorned in the guise of human

Leads them to the oceans of magic and despair

A mystical, mythical, mysterious place

Where we gather as one

The pulsing rhythm of the strummed guitar

Eagerly lapped as we drown, we float

We hover, then soar

To the heavens of our own imagination

Trance-like and fully immersed

In the wonder of true unity

 

I would expect nothing less from the amalgamation

As clouds scud in front of stars

Dimensions unfold releasing lizard brain orgies

Only such miraculous experiences can unleash. 

There ya go! A taste of my experience. 

Here's Micheal Gira in his natural state, on stage, conducting the sonic maelstrom.