Antony And The Johnsons
Swanlights

And then the angel wept.

And all of us with him.

Who didn't cry out at that miracle that was "I'm A Bird Now"? The pinnacle of all a destroyed pop legacy behind the big and complex man's powerful voice, yet with a fragile and sensitive soul that shattered you like a glass bottle smashed against the wall, that album was the pure essence of the sensory magic called "emotion". Antony himself, charismatic and undeniably talented, had made clear from the start his own exasperation for emotions: "Emotions are the new punk". And not crying in front of two flowers, two crimson roses of songs like "Hope There's Someone" and "For Today I'm A Boy" is something for insensitive boors. And even though he had already recorded with his Johnsons a beautiful debut that went initially unnoticed and then was recovered like manna from heaven, it's "I'm A Bird Now" his absolute seal, his poetics. The functional and perfect piano lullabies immediately touch the heart and then destroy it under screams, whispers, twists of voices. And then "The Crying Light", twenty spans below the previous, yet still surprising: more lullabies, more jumps, more tears. 

And not even a year passes before Antony emerges with the look of a lost puppy and his fingers on the white keys. He returns with "Swanlights", an album that, unfortunately, turns out to be a glacial disappointment. Disappointment because while Antony seemed to be evolving, even following the same exact path (and I'm talking about a bone-crushing piece like "Shake That Devil", which seemed to bring rhythm and fury into a touching noir pop), it didn't happen. Antony became a star, practically shaken on every music magazine, even the more commercial ones, singing with any female singer he came across and an album recorded so quickly after the previous that no one noticed. 

And while before repetition seemed also to be his ace in the hole, it becomes flatness. Because here even what he did best is missing, which was to unleash strong inner emotions. The songs seem like b-sides from the previous two: same style, but not at all impactful, often without even the right melody ("Thank You For Your Love", so damn jazzy and politically correct, that I already see it in some American family movie), sometimes sending shivers, but then getting lost in long and identical tails, which dull yawns that make walls collapse (the almost eight minutes of "Christina's Farm").

Don't get me wrong. I'm a big fan of Antony, as my other two reviews on his account show, but in front of the emptiness of these pieces, whose void is calmed by the usual angelic voice and piano wisdom, I get a lump in my throat. All perfectly packaged technique.

There are exceptions, and they're two, even splendid: first and foremost the masterpiece, "Flétta", duet with the always magnificent Bjork, with those very simple broken melodies, his distant voice, the whales breaking with the water. It feels like you're floating in the ocean and makes you travel. Same, magnificent, emotions in the opening "Everything Is New", which in four minutes synthesizes the entire album through sudden breaks, the repeated title, and the rising tension. Then there will be the anticlimax, but it doesn't matter. It's fine like this. With a beautiful dusk behind and dawn ahead.