Thee Angels Of Light and Stars Of The Lid -- Live At The Bowrey Ballroom, July 3rd, 1999, NYCity

The Angels Of Light
&
Stars Of The Lid

Live at the Bowrey Ballroom, 3 July, 1999, New York City

     I arrived at the Bowery Ballroom on July 3rd fairly late in order to avoid some of the sweltering heat of the day. Fortunately, the club was air conditioned. The Stars of the Lid opened up the evening with a simply incredible set. I hate to call the music of Adam Wiltzie and Brian McBride ambient, as it belies the power and majesty that they display. The shimmering, shifting soundscapes that these two create with just their guitars and a small pile of effects and effect processors really has to be heard to be believed. I noticed a few of the faint-hearted sticking their fingers in their ears, but the volume didn’t seem excessive to me at all. The music was aided by a wonderful visual backdrop which perfectly matched the music. The performers stood with their backs to the audience, allowing us to concentrate on the performance and the light show, which took us from the depths of the ocean to the furthest reaches of outer space and back again.
      Adam Wiltzie is the founding member of Windsor for the Derby, who I was fortunate enough to see opening for Swans on their ’97 farewell tour. The Stars of the Lid’s music is similar to Windsor’s music at their more subdued, and lacking the drums and vocals of Windsor. Brian McBride is from the band, the Pilot Ships, which I unfortunately know nothing about, except that Brian described them to me as “more mellow [than Stars], with drums and pianos and things.”
      I suppose M. Gira thought it necessary to ground us with the band, Gunga Din, after the euphoria of Stars of the Lid; he did the same thing in ’97 when he stuck Low in between Windsor for the Derby and Swans. However, I did not see the need for this grounding and used the time to go downstairs and buy a Stars of the Lid record, chat a bit with Brian McBride, and catch up on my reading. Probably the kindest thing I can say about Gunga Din is that they had a slightly jazzy feel, and reminded me at times of Bertoldt Brecht and Kurt Weill’s songwriting. They would probably not be offended by this comparison. Don’t get me wrong, they were perfectly competent, but not exactly to my taste.
      Finally, Angels of Light slowly drifted on stage, setting up a tight little playing space, possibly to further emphasize the intimate nature of the performance. When the band were all seated, someone yelled out, “we love you, Michael!” To which Gira sardonically replied, “if only you knew me.”
      This was my first exposure to The Angels of Light, and I was not disappointed. It is tempting to view Angels as a departure from Swans by Gira; however, it is more truthful to say that this is a progression for Gira. His choice of a primarily acoustic instrumental lineup merely serves to lay bare the bones of Gira’s songs. And when exposed, they are revealed to be marvels of dark, emotional storytelling. He writes poignant hymns to the inner demons; his and all of ours. Some may complain that Gira’s gone country, but if this is the country he is choosing, I can’t say that I blame him. The songs range from the gentle to the searing; one thing Gira hasn’t lost is his sense of dynamics. In fact, it has been growing for years now, thanks, I think, largely to Jarboe, whom Gira has distanced himself from, though he dedicates the album, New Mother, to her.
      All of the trademarks of Swans are on display with this band, from the surging, relentless rhythms to the prolonged crescendos and even the walls of sound. For The Angels of Light are no quiet band; they thrash and writhe under the encouragement of Gira. Birgit Staudt seemed to be wrestling with her accordion, emitting great heaves of sound. Thor Harris played his vibes and drums at the same time, and Cristoph Hahn pounced and stroked his pedal steel. The female bass player kept it all nailed down. [Editor's Note: Does anyone know her name? Email me if you do. Thanks in advance.] In the meantime, M. Gira himself acts as ringleader and master of ceremonies with his eloquent vocals and frantic guitar playing. Gira was in fine form, vocally, despite the cough that has nagged him all of this tour. At one point, Gira went solo, just him and his guitar and his cough, and serenaded the audience, thanking them for contributing to My Suicide. The bassist with Thee Angels of Light is Dana Schechter.
      As the show ended, we all called for an encore and The Angels obliged. Many in the audience called out for God Damn the Sun, and Gira replied, “good, ‘cause that’s what we’re gonna do.” The band finished up with another from New Mother, and Gira told us to “stick around, ‘cause we’re going downstairs after the show to drink our heads into the toilet.” I went down and waited for Gira. When he showed his face (under an enormous cowboy hat), I thanked him for, well, everything; everything that he has given me for the years that I lived with his music and his writing. M. Gira beamed; his smile illuminating my soul. This was no dour prophet, but a man who has known pain and is happy to share it with all of us. I got him to sign my copy of The Consumer, and left, ready now to live my life. Thank you, M. Gira.