The photo above is Kenny Bloggins doing his angry Michael Gira face, exhibited with the gatefold spread of the Can’t Find My Way Home 12″ by Swans. I love this single. It was a going-away gift from punk rock historian Uncle Bill Widener when I moved to Chicago. I like to crank it when I take my relaxation bubble bath, complemented by only the finest sacred oils and incense imported from India. This, among other reasons, inspired a little write-up on Swans.
First, boo’s been into reading rock biographies as of late. In the past month, she’s read memiors by Beatle wives Pattie Boyd and Cynthia Lennon, Clapton by Eric Clapton (not joking about the title), and Everyone’s Fucking: The Fleetwood Mac Story (okay, I am joking about that one). Now she’s in the middle of the new Sonic Youth biography, Goodbye 20th Century by David Browne, which she says is excellent. The first half of the book details Thurston Moore’s relationship(s) with experimental/no-wave luminaries in the New York area, Michael Gira in particular. She was excited to discuss with me all the reasons why Michael Gira, at least at the dawn of the ’80s, was pretty much a doo-doo head, albeit an intriguing one. Secondly, Swans is not recognized nearly enough for being a premiere shoegaze band, and as such, I wish to entertain an argument for this premise. And thirdly, M. Gira’s playing a show this evening in NYC for five binks. All these reasons seemed poignant enough to me to write an entry, so let’s begin, shall we? Continue reading ‘Me and Michael Gira Down By the Schoolyard’
