There is something about the sword and sorcery genre that fascinates the 20jazzfunkgreats. Not the lore, or the tropes. We find lengthy disquisitions about genealogy and arcana tiresome and generally clunky, and roll our eyes at clichés, lazy tropes and Manichaeism.
Yet we come back to it, for those moments that make our heart beat faster, broader, deeper.
The awareness of self trundling snowed-upon wildernesses inhabited by creatures that will eat you, and people who will decorate their dwellings with your bones.
How manna floods from the beyond into this reality, following uncanny thermodynamics.
The hallucination of the battlefield, like being lost in a forest of swords, to kill and maybe die knowing Valhalla lies beyond.
Just three manifestations of an unmediated relationship with the world whole – physical, animal, human, occult, spiritual – a escalation of its steepest cliffs, a dredging of its deepest pits, and a nourishing of its fertile fields with the thickest blood, red or otherwise.
This awe, freedom and mystery we find in Wreathes S/T album, its rhythms pummelling like the march of legions, its chanting a recounting of legendary sagas, or a shamanic foretelling of dreadful omen, its arpeggios coiling like cruel wyrms awakening from their petrous slumber, or pillars of smoke rising from pillars of stone.
We call it world building, the gift of gods, poets and giants.
Wreathes features Nate (Brave Mysteries), Troy Schafer (Rain Drinkers, Kinit Her) and Clay Ruby (Burial Hex, Horrid Red). It is released in some truly special splatter vinyl via Pesanta Urfolk, go and get it.
Maybe S U R V I V E’s artwork has biased the visions that Omniverse rains upon us like switchblade-winged raven in the black streets of Argento city, for these visions are unremittingly astronomical. If above we communed with our tribe, at the windswept summit of a place of power, here we attempt to navigate a world in tatters after a psychic drive-by by lunar gangbangers.
Think of the general disarray produced by certain stellar arrangements in H.P. Lovecraft’s oeuvre, but taking place in the dance tent of a forthcoming summer festival – hooded silhouettes forever dancing outside your field of vision, crowd levitation, mass shadow of leathery wings spreading through the stroboscopic zoetrope, as the hierophant’s set reaches its delirious climax.
S U R V I V E are our Solar System’s finest hope. They are currently incarnated in Austin. Go and get their S/T album from the wonderful Mannequin.Epilogue -
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