Shacked up in his rehearsal space, McBean found an old chair in an alley, spray painted Producer on the back and pressed record. Friends from the endless rock’n’roll highway were invited over and 22 songs were brought to life. While some were laid back into shallow graves to dig up once again at a later date, the remaining skeletons were left above ground — given organs, skin, eyes, and the opportunity to grow their hair real long and greasy. Some of these zombie hesher jams were sent on a journey to Canada where longtime band member Jeremy Schmidt, slipping on the Official Collaborator satin jacket, had at them with his legendary synth arsenal. As he added long flowing robes, sunglasses, driving gloves and medallions, the undead songs began to transform into the new breathing creatures that make up Destroyer. Schmidt’s work with these songs turned out to be the transformative glue for this new era of Black Mountain.
A collection of reflections are visible in the mirrored structures of Water Memory and Mount Vision, two chapters - two halves - each complemented by a written verse. As much about the presence in youthful experimentation as the permanence of transition and maturation, Water Memory is the first long-form instrumental music Emily ever channeled, generated over a year of self and sonic exploration between Massachusetts and New York.
By contrast, Mount Vision was conceived in a smaller window of time than its predecessor, the pure residue of intense emotional build up during a period of self-healing and unguarded reflection. Composed and captured in Northern California, the body of Mount Vision is a trio of synthesizer pieces; deeply grounded compositions of extended tones trilling into the ether.
Emily's mission on this planet may be facilitating - or illuminating - the correspondence between innermost knowledge and intelligent nature, and Water Memory / Mount Vision are most certainly monumental documents along this sharing path.
One might expect such a transition, from the artifice of a band name to the intimacy of one's given name, to be born of some newfound, inward focus. It makes sense; it's a story of an artist going back to basics, getting real. It's also not what happened.
'Fluff' is an album about home, and one's place in it, love, and intimacy, and it's the result of Steve marrying his direct, honest songwriting with a deeply collaborative process. He developed the record with fellow Bloomington, Indiana resident, and standout producer/engineer Ben Lumsdaine (Kevin Krauter, Major Murphy, Spissy) and together they open up the songs, giving them tangible depth.
The title track, "Fluff", with its precise drums, layered guitars, and visceral, emotive vocals, captures the power of this collaboration. It's a song that is delicate, yet driving, lyrically opaque, yet emotionally direct. It is, like the rest of the album, in perfect balance.
Our Planisphere, for those within the 30-40 degree zone, will provide you with a fairly discernible chart for discovering both deep-sky objects and telluric emotional pulses.
Blaming Neoliberalism and the irresponsible notions of utopia fostered under it, Brown argues that in recent decades the Western world's assumption that humanity would continue to prosper into the future has, on the contrary, created a disastrous political vacuum. Without a true plan for a sustainable future those in power will continue to offer humanity new policies, technologies, and politicians that promise change but are only capable of "readjusting the locks" on our incomprehensible existential predicament.
'You Maintain the Stain' and 'Cut It Open' set a strong tone for what is to come. Mermaidens are in new terrain; exploring power and control in a confronting lens. They're looking at the gatekeepers and dominators of the world, dissecting their power one song at a time.
Electronic music pioneer Steve Fisk and burgeoning sound artist Steve Peters started a quirky electro-pop project called Customer Service. After moderate exposure in Olympia and Seattle (their first gig was opening for Gang of Four), this duo morphed into a trio with future fanzine publisher, cassette-zine visionary, and Sub/Pop record mogul Bruce Pavitt, called Professional Ethics. The rhythm section of drummer Phillip Hertz and bass monster Paul Tison came on board, and Tiny Holes was born. For a year they annoyed the neighbors and laid waste to dance floors in Olympia, Seattle and Portland. This album is from their last show, recorded on a mobile 8-track. Producer Jack Endino agreed to handle the mix, comix artist Peter Bagge was drafted to create cover art, and here we are.