Angels Of Light

He doesn’t look at you once, be you arms rested on foot-propping monitor or craning your neck from the upper tiers of the balcony, line of sight desperately searching for the optimum vantage point. Michael Gira (pictured) just lives the music around him for the entire time he’s on stage (well, a few between-song quips and ass wiggling aside). This is pure immersion, and the on-stage effect is mirrored by all and sundry.

Today, the Angels Of Light are Gira backed by Akron/Family, the psyche-folk quartet from NYC via some backwater of rural America responsible for revitalising the one-time Swans man into penning the masterful …Sing “Other People” album (released earlier this year). The interplay the quintet demonstrate is remarkable; the individual musicianship, incredible. Akron/Family deliver a decent set of their own material prior to Gira’s entrance, and they’re far from overshadowed. Songs drift from tender folk-styled tales of love lost to incomprehensible prog-gone-free-jazz freakouts, with each member swapping layering instruments – a kazoo here, a penny whistle there – with a childish recklessness that can’t help but bring a smile to the face.

It’s Gira, though, that comprises the main event – the abundance of greying gentlemen calling for Swans material only midway through the set is evidence enough of that. Perched on a stool, centre stage, the man’s deliciously gruff tones add additional weight to songs that, whilst floaty on record, become juggernaut-sized behemoths when backed by bombastic drumming and frantic bass playing. When a stripped-back song like ’Lena’s Song’ arrives, Gira carries it largely alone, his evocative voice worthy of stages far grander than this Union building’s. ’Destroyer’ begins as a delicate acoustic offering before – quite appropriately – being bludgeoned by Gira’s backing prodigies. The haphazard assault on the senses sucks the viewer in with ease, the fleeting moments of unabashed beauty allowing breathing space between bouts of choke-hold chaos.

And then it’s lights up, no encore (although a Dylan cover, ’Pity The Poor Immigrant’ is tossed in as the penultimate offering), release and home time. The proceeding bus ride has never seemed so peaceful.