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Black Dirt Oak — Wawayanda Patent (2014)

 Black Dirt Oak — Wawayanda Patent (2014)

Black Dirt Oak — Wawayanda Patent
∏   a run-on continuation, a mulligatawny hotchpotch hotpot
∏   shimmies with an LSD funk from across the dope-smoked floor of a jazz club under the sea
Location: New York City
Album release: 13th of January 2014
Record Label: Mie Music (MIE024)
Duration:     43:17
01 The Real Crow     3:34
02 Peeled Egg Cigarette     4:14
03 Florian's Wind-Up     3:12
04 Demon Directive     5:32
05 The Drowned Lands     4:43
06 Heurequeque     1:37
07 Freak Fang     5:20
08 From The Jaguar Priest     8:34
09 Crowning The Bard     6:31
Dave Shuford, Jimy SeiTang, Justin Tripp, Steve Gunn, Nathan Bowles, Margot Bianca and Wednesday Knudsen
Pressing Information
∏  500 LPs with DL codes and available digitally.
∏  Recorded and mixed by Jason Meagher at Black Dirt Studios.
∏  Artwork and design by Georgia.
∏  Mastered by Patrick Klem
By Linus Tossio
∏  Is Black Dirt Oak a supergroup? Perhaps. With members of Desert Heat, Violators, Pelt, Black Twig Pickers, Rhyton, Psychic Ills, D. Charles Speer‘s band and NNCK (that’s just from the more well-known groups too) it probably counts as one, if such a term really holds much meaning anymore. With seven musicians on board, it often sounds like there are yet more hard at work on creating as psychedelic an experience as they possibly can, from the opening sound of what could be mistaken for every primitive guitarist since Basho and John Fahey getting on down to jam, to the outer reaches of the drum-machine rippled “Demon Directive,” which shimmers and shimmies with an LSD funk from across the dope-smoked floor of a jazz club under the sea or high — very high — in the clouds, the saxophone puffing (or is that the singer?) and wheezing like there’s still plenty left to draw on, taking it from the bridge right down to the roach.
∏  Add in some extremely stunned-sounding female vocals, the intricate interplay of banjos and guitars doing their level best to escape the Western orbit on a lolloping percussion groove and what soon becomes obvious is that — what with all the backmasked Easternish words and scales — Black Dirt Oak are on a trip to gods alone know where, probably without much of a route map beyond that which they scribbled on an Indian restaurant napkin (lemon-scented, naturally) after the munchies got too much and they really needed a banquet or two to revitalise them for the ascent towards inner space and/or until they achieved Nirvana, musically or otherwise.
∏  Featuring Steve Gunn (GHQ, Desert Heat, Violators), Nathan Bowles (Pelt, Black Twig Pickers), Jimy SeiTang (Rhyton, Stygian Stride, Psychic Ills), Justin Tripp (Georgia), Margot Bianca (Flown, Key Demo), Dave Shuford (Rhyton, D. Charles Speer, NNCK), and Wednesday Knudsen (Pigeons, Sea Donkeys) (http://freq.org.uk/)
∏  Pelt is a trio formed in Richmond, VA, whose drones are influenced by psychedelia, modern composition, and, on albums such as 2001's Ayahuasca, Appalachian folk music and Indian raga.
∏  Hypnotic, elusive New York City experimental rock band Psychic Ills were formed in 2003 by Tom Gluibizzi (guitar/keyboards) and Tres Warren (vocals).
Rob Smith (Pigeons, Rhyton)
∏  The epic Wawayanda Patent by Black Dirt Oak is the Black Dirt Studio-affiliated supergroup with members of Pelt, No Neck Blues Band, Desert Heat, Rhyton, Pigeons and more. Coming out on the 13th of January 2014 Wawayanda Patent will be available digitally and in a limited edition of 500 LPs with a download code.
∏  MIE has cast a harvest wreath upon our season's door, a deceptively intricate record woven like a spell by many interlocked arms and voices: a welcome hex.
∏  Featuring Steve Gunn (GHQ, Desert Heat, Violators), Nathan Bowles (Pelt, Black Twig Pickers), Jimy SeiTang (Rhyton, Stygian Stride, Psychic Ills), Justin Tripp (Georgia, Steve Gunn), Margot Bianca (Flown, Key Demo), Dave Shuford (Rhyton, D. Charles Speer, NNCK), and Wednesday Knudsen (Pigeons, Sea Donkeys), Black Dirt Oak's Wawayanda Patent is a song sung from a splintered Ouija board, a mass Shaker gift-drawing, a truly exquisite corpse. All these musicians have been fixtures at this rural studio west of New York City for years, but never so integrated as in this bizarre working. With songs that seem both plant and animal, this music splices many logics into a trembling unity. Without a doubt, an alkaloid-laden root is cellared down in Jason Meagher's Black Dirt Studio. To drop the needle onto this record is to slice across its concentric spheres. The fumes instigate fever dreams: Arco banjo strings and horns spiral like vines and gently strangle steeples erected by drum machines, leaving a skyline of electrified maypoles twinkling in the dark. Hands clasp and graft synthetic and old-world strains into an agrarian wish. The plant leafs out, flowers, fruits, and then sinks silvery seeds back into the rot. Someone plucks a song out in processional cadence only to fall backwards into a seance, channeling creation myths aloft in winds of disembodied voices. The harmonics float down and shroud the earth in breathable fabrics, tenderly draped over dead electronics like stainless skeletons half-buried in dirt, grinning to expose a circuitry of gold fillings amidst the teeth. To describe this music is to clog a drain with hair. You can see what repeated listenings do. I've flooded my bath.
∏  To be sure, each musician has left her telltale fingerprints all over this record; however, the patterns are spun around an entirely different magnetic north, or maybe an underworld passage where the pole should be: Bowles blankets SeiTang's synthesized landforms in wet forests of frailed banjo, wooded hollows haunted by Bianca's porcelain song. Their impossible horizon melts with a setting inner sun that turns out to be Knudsen's sax. Meagher spins the whole like a glass witch ball, the distended interior described by Tripp's geomantic figures, the crystalline surface etched by Shuford's acid. Gunn delicately suspends the microcosm by a golden thread... and then they all trade places without us even noticing. Familiar sounds are put to unfamiliar tasks. While the music was germinated in the protected warmth of this cellar, pressing up against those walls are ten-thousand hectacres of soaked earth, the drained and fertile remainder of ancient swamplands known as the Wawayanda Patent: soil fat with sulfuric allums, tubers, and now this occult growth, uprooted from below Orange County's sun-soaked surface. Ingest with care. (http://mie.limitedrun.com/)
PR: Northern Spy / Clandestine — Adam Downey

Black Dirt Oak — Wawayanda Patent (2014)




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