Jason Anderson / Swanning (solo)
Abyssinia
229 S 45th St.
Philadelphia
April 29, 2026
Gentle persuasion: we all need it sometimes. The size of the task of believing in yourself fluctuates like tropical storms: some days it doesn’t even sniff registering on the Saffir-Simpson scale, others it’s violently off the charts. No matter who you are, you go through the ups and downs, and when it comes to getting up on stage, it’s pretty literal; it can feel amazing (and if you’ve never done it, I really suggest trying, it’s life-changing) but it can really leave you feeling vulnerable and exposed, even in the presence of the most kind and receptive of audiences. And like they always say with exercise or riding bikes (or anything really), the longer you stay away, the harder and longer the road coming back can be. It’s been years since Cynthia Ann Schemmer – the songwriter, singer and guitarist behind Swanning, not to mention a former managing editor of She Shreds Magazine and longtime guitarist in the great Radiator Hospital – played a solo set, and it took none other than the DIY legend Jason Anderson, on tour from Canada, to genially coax her out of semi-retirement. But that’s the effect Anderson has had, both on and off stage, on countless folks in the decades he’s been an active performer, writer, and gatherer of people: he gets you unguarded and out of your comfort zone, really feeling things with an urgent, now-or-never rush and an almost-Zen, definitely-punk commitment to being present. Few people I’ve ever encountered believe in themselves like Jason Anderson, and that fact is inseparable from the belief he has in others. (I gotta say: it’s easier to believe in yourself when your friends have your back, and thank heavens when they do.)
“This is the first solo show I’ve played since 2019. Pre-pandemic,” she told the room, to encouraging cheers. “I’m feeling nervous, I’m feeling sw-eatttttty,” she laughed, drawing out the word. I felt privileged and blessed to witness this return for Swanning – Schemmer was open and honest about the nervousness she was feeling after so much time away, but the packed room was support incarnate, and she sounded great. She performed her 2016 album Drawing Down the Moon front to back; between the lines you could feel the curious mix of weight and lightness in the way a decade flies by, the way bookending things can make old feelings flood back. Sometimes time plays cute tricks on us, though. Introducing her last song, the album’s title track, Schemmer said, “When I wrote this song, there were only 67 moons of Jupiter... Does anybody know how many moons of Jupiter they’ve discovered since then?” Someone shouted out that with the whole 6-7 meme the song’s even more on point than it was a decade back. She sang: “I am just another moon of Jupiter / One of 67, I fall back in line,” and whether it’s 67 or 115, I for one am glad she’s singing about it again.
A few words in closing on Jason Anderson – what can I say? I’ve seen Jason play many times since my early 20s, and he’s one of the many musicians and songwriters and DIY lifers that have irretrievably changed my life and made me love this shit. I don’t use the word lifer lightly; as someone I chatted with put it to me, “Bands come and go, but I don’t think he’ll ever stop doing this.” I’m far from alone in seeing him as sort of an older-brother figure, and every time he comes through town, I try my damndest to make it out. His sets are cathartic, emotional, open-hearted, and spanning the whole wide spectrum of feeling, from dead-serious and deeply personal to goofily heartwarming and broadly hilarious. His shows are so like campfire singalongs that you could close your eyes and feel the stars above your head, feel the trees creaking up there too. Anderson often has a lot to say between songs, but this time he spoke – briefly – about how right it felt to let the songs speak for themselves at this particular show, and I couldn’t agree more, so I’ll just quote some of the lyrics that had me biting my lower lip in a non-stop smile and comic’s-timing belly laughs:
I think the globe of you
And you hate your voice, you always have, but
You have a brilliant voice
So when will you sing?
Yeah, when will you sing?
When will you say, “Boy,
Chuck your spindly wrists about me,
And nuzzle my neck”? Okay,
Let’s get these sweaters off
When will you say,
“Please, please, please, please, let me get what I want this time”? I guess Morissey’s a fascist now [laughs]
But I still listen to The Smiths
When will you say, “Oh, Jason Anderson...” [bigger laughs] Welcome to the show.
