“Lots of music that is inspired by Southern Gothic fails to get past the weird-for-weird’s-sake sort of deal where oddity or perversity or violence is included because it seems to add indistinct depth, but… here, the strangeness is specific and targeted, cathartic confessional hymns to critique human behaviour and the good ol’ Social Norms it has created”

As you can probably tell, this not only makes Pasture Dog a great listen but also a perfect fit for our Quiet, Constant Friends compilation. Luckily, Alexa agreed and we are delighted to unveil ‘Everything That Rises Must Converge’ as part of our release. The song is inspired by the Flannery O’Connor story of the same name, a tale which holds significance for the message on Southern Gothic as a whole (I’ve written my thoughts here, if you are interested) but feel free to skip ahead and just listen below:

The quite brilliant artwork in response to this track is by London-based illustrator William Exley. Check out all of his work on his website and follow him on Tumblr, Twitter and Instagram.

You can pre-order Quiet, Constant Friends now via the Wake The Deaf Bandcamp page. Remember, all cassettes come with super-limited edition art print postcards, so be sure to get your order in. I mean, look at Mr. Exley’s work above. Wouldn’t that look good on your wall?

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“Grow/Decompose… shares [David Foster] Wallace’s metamodern style – a postmodern web of motifs and strange humour countered with a modernist sincerity and genuine sense of hope …if played on repeat Grow / Decompose never ends, a musical ouroboros of well-worn paths that are both doomed and blessed and quite possibly all we have.”

We were lucky enough to get the opportunity to ask John and Eric from the band a few questions.

Jon: Thanks for speaking to us John. How is life in LA this time of year? Why did you decide to move from Chicago? 

Young Jesus: Life in LA is good. It’s certainly a strange place, easy to let it own you in a way, but also a highly motivating and inspiring place. There is a lot going on here that I really was not exposed to in Chicago. Chicago’s a wonderful place for me in many ways, but it became ‘home’ too much. I had an idea of what it was in my mind, so I wasn’t really open to a lot of the interesting things the city had to offer. It became a place where I drank a lot and played a lot of videogames. Both have their merits, but I personally needed to get out. It’s interesting that Home, to me, is a pretty straightforward record– almost journalistic. And I was hazy and drunk through a lot of it. Grow / Decompose is meandering, questioning, more subtle I hope. But I’ve never been more clear-headed. I guess the easier it is to think, the more questions come.

One thing I’ve noticed while reading up on Young Jesus is that no-one seems to agree as to who you sound like. I’ve seen Smashing Pumpkins, The Replacements, Staind, The National etc. etc., while I picked up some strong Hold Steady vibes, both in terms of your writing style and the dark-and-joyful sound. Do your listening habits reflect this wide(ish) range comparisons? Or are journalists and bloggers trying too hard to pin your sound? 

We listen to a lot of different things. From The Hold Steady and Pile to William Basinski and Stars of the Lid. It all plays a part in the thinking of a record. It might not be obvious while listening, but our musical influences affect things beyond melody/rhythm. Little eccentricities come out in strange ways. That’s what makes it interesting hopefully.

As a follow-on to that, how do you feel after releasing a new record to the world? Do you like that reviewers each come to their own conclusions? Or do you feel pretty certain of the narrative you’re trying to conjure? I was kind of guilty of bringing a lot of my own thoughts into my review of the album, and I guess I was conscious that perhaps that isn’t always a good thing for the artist? 

We have a narrative in our heads definitely. But a huge part of the narrative is that there is no absolute correct narrative. We’re glad to see people put their own interpretations on it cause that means they’re interacting with it. They’re having a similar process sorting through the album that we had sorting through life to create the album. I have a huge mental picture of records like Brand New’s Devil and God… or Weezer’s Pinkerton. And it’s probably so different from how they view it! That’s so great. That we ultimately have a point of intersection/relation and have– potentially– come to it from totally different places. Albums (as Roger Ebert said about movies) can be machines that generate empathy.

Grow / Decompose, just like your previous album Home, seems to focus on a defined set of themes and characters in a way that makes it not quite a traditional album but perhaps not quite a concept album. How do you feel about the term ‘concept album’ in relation to your releases? 

I became pretty engrossed in this album over the past year. It took over my life in a lot of ways. I gave myself to this record rather than to people, and at one point couldn’t really see a love that was there for me because I was so absorbed in the story/writing. I loved Neil, Milo, and May. So the concept is a strange reflection of life. Grounded in reality. Without a traditional arc because life doesn’t have that. Some things end, some don’t.

There is a decidedly novelistic feel about your writing. Would you say literature has an influence on your writing style? (If yes) Which authors would you say have had the biggest impact? 

I work in a bookstore and am reading more than I’m listening to music probably. Literature has had a major influence. The five main books are Hilda Hilst’s The Obscene Madam D, Clarice Lispector’s Near to the Wild Heart, Mircea Cartrescu’s Blinding, Wise Blood by Flannery O’Connor, and Suicide by Edouard Leve. And Muriel Spark. So six. These books very literally changed my life this past year. Oh and Jesse Jacobs By This Shall You Know Him.

Lispector/Cartrescu/Hilst showed me that it was okay (and beautiful) to think in absurd, non-normative logics. That you could create your own, and these logics are capable of carrying emotional/sentimental weight.

Reading Leve felt like breaking the law. It’s a work he turned in to his publisher and soon after killed himself. In fact, I could read it and feel safer. I do think it is a dangerous book, not for everyone, but for me it was a powerful life-affirming read. Almost named the record Les Atomes which is a band mentioned in one of Leve’s books (either Suicide or Autoportrait, I forget).

O’Connor and Spark deal with religion (specifically Christianity) in a rare way. They are ultimately believers, but are not afraid of examining the grotesque byproducts of belief. It’s easy to write off organized religion, maybe a bit harder then to look at it very honestly and specifically and turn the lens onto yourself as well. I’m an atheist, but some of my favorite thinkers (Spark, O’Connor, Jeff Mangum) are oddly Christian. Who knows what that means. Time to become a priest.

With its stories of addiction and general sadness shot through with a sense of hope, I compared Grow / Decompose to David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest. Where do you stand on the whole irony vs. sincerity debate? Do you subscribe to the New Sincerity movement, or do you feel cynicism and darkness have role to play in the best, most enlightening/comforting art?   

I think you can confront darkness with sincerity and that the best stuff acknowledges the light that is in the dark and vice versa. We’re on board and interested with what New Sincerity could be about, and if people want to group us in with that, that’s okay. But we can also be sarcastic and ironic. So watch out.

You guys run the label Hellhole Supermarket that is putting out Grow / Decompose and take care of all of your own press and management. Is this sort of control important to you? I mean, I know there are some great labels out there, and some PR companies who make the effort to connect as human beings, but I can’t tell you how nice it is to get personal emails from acts about their new music. Does this increased involvement lead to a more rewarding process overall? Or is it an annoyance that gets in the way of music (or watching TV or whatever)?

I always tell Harrison, “if this label gets in the way of BBT (Big Bang Theory) one more time I’m gonna lose my smoothie.” I love those bang boys.

Finally, could you name 4-5 artists you are currently enjoying? They can be old or new, hidden gems or radio darlings, whatever you find yourself returning to at the moment.

Fragile Gang‘s For Esme, Pope, Mitski, Princess Reason, Earl Sweatshirt (‘solace’ is connecting a lot today).

Read our review of Grow / Decompose and then buy the album from Bandcamp or Hellhole Supermarket.

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The latest Pasture Dog release is Southern Gothic, a collection of songs that uses a combination of everyday life-type scenes and vivid, strange imagery to create something equal parts unsettling and comforting, just as the title suggests. Lots of music that is inspired by Southern Gothic fails to get past the weird-for-weird’s-sake sort of deal where oddity or perversity or violence is included because it seems to add indistinct depth, but Masi’s songwriting manages to capture the wider perspective. Here, the strangeness is specific and targeted, cathartic confessional hymns to critique human behaviour and the good ol’ Social Norms it has created.

‘Lazarus Saturday Sulking’ kicks things off, a song packed with Biblical references that serves as an intimate exploration of gender roles and sexual identity. Masi’s narrator is isolated and, worse, understands enough to resent the isolation to the degree that it forces her into deeper isolation (and so on etc.), a sort cyclical it-really-fucking-sucks-that-this-has-to-be-so-hard-and-that-makes-it-harder situation, as made clear by the inability to communicate which lays at the core of the song:

“I’ve been coughing up “sweetheart” into the crook of my arm. It’s force of habit, it’s the crime I commit. But he calls me baby like an insult. To bury my love is an old art. And I’ll do it again.”

Masi’s lyrics are poetic, reading like a stream of thoughts scribbled down late at night when gripped by an overwhelming urge to say everything, be it to a loved one or herself. “Because I can’t stay so long in the same static place,” Masi sings on “Louie’, “and I can’t sustain to make all the same mistakes, over again and over again.” ‘Garden Tomb’ has a dreamy feel, the slight reverb acting as a subtle funhouse mirror, rippling the track in odd ways, while ‘Labrador Blue’ opens with a more hopeful guitar strum: “I don’t worry anymore,” declares Masi, “I don’t get so overwhelmed,” although this positivity does not seem to last as the song closes with the narrator feeling blue while reminiscing about the past.

‘Lizard Patrol’ speaks of the confused line between positive/negative identity perspectives, the indecision of (or oscillation between) 1. hating yourself, 2. understanding that you don’t hate yourself and 3. working towards conditions where it would be considered normal not to have to hate yourself should you choose to embrace the image you envisage as You. It’s bizarre situation of understanding what is right and moral while being susceptible to all the pain and doubt that the human body/mind is so good at, pain and doubt which leads to self-limitation and sabotage even though your rational clear-headed opinions know you are moving in the right direction:

“I can’t let my thoughts get so outstretched. but really I was limiting myself, and limited the ways that I could fix – oh god how am I gonna fix it?”

The theme of an internal dissonance between love, hate and acceptance is made clearer on the final track. ‘Everything That Rises Must Converge’ is named after a Flannery O’Connor story, a tale concerning a recent graduate named Julian. The man is ashamed of his mother’s racist perspective yet fails to connect with any of the African American characters, highlighting an inherent racism in his own personality. “True culture is in the mind” he argues, only for his mother to counter “it’s in the heart.” Julian feels like a transitionary stage between past bigotry and future tolerance – he knows what he ought think yet still harbours the subconscious prejudices that are a product of the society in which produced him. For me, Pasture Dog explores the twenty-first century equivalent of this, that is, the exact same thing. Be it with racial equality or sexual/gender identity, it seems many have accepted the theory of equal rights (ie. in their minds) without fully embracing the change of attitude on a deeper subconscious level (in their hearts). Masi explores the very real pain suffered by someone on the wrong end of this inconsistency, someone trapped in and tormented by the outdated heart-shaped morality that pokes through in even the most well-meaning person or society.

You can grab the album on a pay-what-you-can basis via Bandcamp.

P.S. For those of you who are into pictures and words, Masi also runs the art magazine Field Notes, which collects a variety of visual and literary pieces into a colourful journal. All of the issues are available online here.

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I listen to (and write about) quite a lot of what I would describe as folk music and I got to thinking that maybe I could put together a second volume of ‘Lost And Found’ which covered artists that could fit into the category of folk and roots music. Here’s where I enter a disclaimer: I am not an expert in this area, more an interested amateur. This collection of songs does not reflect a definitive collection of any one genre or historical period of music. Instead I have chosen a collection of old songs that I feel have huge influences on the folk music that followed, from Dylan and Cohen to the host of new artists we have covered here at Wake The Deaf.

It features country and bluegrass, gospel and Appalachian mountain music. There’s something here for everyone, from Roscoe Holcomb’s easygoing rambling song ‘Roll On Buddy’ to ‘Down In The Willow Garden’, a murder ballad by Texas Hadden and her brother Hobart Smith. ‘Shine On Me’ is an impassioned and foot-stomping chorus by Ernest Phipps and His Holiness Singers, while ‘I Wish My Baby Was Born’ by Dillard Chandler is as sorrowful an a cappella recording as you’re ever likely to hear. ‘I Am A Poor Pilgrim Of Sorrow’ by The Old Regular Baptists is perhaps my favourite track of all. It’s an incredibly intense congregational hymnody from deep within Appalachian coal mining country. The song has an insistent, almost ominous, drive and continues to build in burning fervour. Mumford and Sons this ain’t.

I urge you to give this mix a listen. I’ve really enjoyed putting it together and constantly found myself amazed at the quality of the songs, some of which were written well over a hundred years ago (although some were recorded much later). If you’re a fan of modern folk music, of the legends of the sixties revival, of the Coen’s “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”, or even works of Southern Gothic literature by authors such as Faulkner and O’Connor, I’m willing to bet you’ll like this mixtape.

TRACKLIST:

1. Roll On Buddy – Roscoe Holcomb
2. Oh Death Where Is Thy Sting – Rev. J.M. Gates
3. I’ll Be Washed – The Carolina Tar Heels
4. East Virgina – Buell Kazee
5. I Wish I Was A Mole In The Ground – Bascom Lamar Lunsford
6. Big Rock Candy Mountain – Harry McClintock
7.  In The Shadow Of Clinch Mountain – The Carter Family
8. Big Eyed Rabbit – Matokie Slaughter
9. Drunkard’s Special – Coley Jones
10. Shine On Me – Ernest Phipps & His Holiness Singers
11. Down In The Willow Garden – Texas Gladden & Hobart Smith
12. I Wish My Baby Was Born – Dillard Chandler
13. Jonah In The Wilderness – Henry Thomas
14. Amazing Grace – Horton Barker
15. I Am A Poor Pilgrim Of Sorrow – Old Regular Baptists

The links embedded in the artist names do not link to webpages or Facebook accounts like in our regular mixes, instead I have linked to a picture of the artist in question, just to give you a better idea of who you are listening to as you play the mix.

If this collection of songs piques your interest, then Smithsonian Folkways is a great resource, a nonprofit record label that strives to ensure the conservation of musical history and cultural diversity. Several of the songs featured above can be found on compilations put out by the label, so I would encourage you to purchase if you like what you hear.

The post Lost and Found: Volume Two appeared first on Various Small Flames.

But for me the album’s strength lies in the writing, which borders more on prose than the melodic lyrical writing of most other bands. Each track shares the high-quality writing and storytelling which, at least for me, is what makes anything Porterfield has released thus far so special. For example, a line in ‘I Am Not Waiting Anymore’ goes:

I spent eight long years working on my screenplay; it’s a teen movie with young actresses that plays to the middle-aged. I have read between the lines and I have been wrong every time, I burned it on the altar but I am fine. I am not waiting anymore.

And perhaps my favourite line from ‘Fergus Falls’:

I was concealing his kid under his crew-neck state school sweatshirt while he grinned off in the distance behind prescription shades and they were blocking out the clouded-out sun while he was hoping against a daughter and no-one saw my banners, my bruises, my flares, my flags.

The “new” tracks follow a similar blueprint and the storytelling aspect is never more apparent than on ‘Taking Alcatraz’, a song about Native American activist Richard Oakes who led an 18-month occupation of Alcatraz Island in San Francisco between 1969 and 1971, before being shot and killed aged just 30. The song is brilliant and it attempts to say more in its five and a half minute duration than most artists do in entire albums. Other previously unheard tracks include the laid-back ‘In The Year Of The Get You Alone’ and the dark ‘Chico The American’ which is all gin drinkers and country blues. Another standout is the closer, ‘Route 18’ which opens with the line: “Elizabeth said last night the lake roared like the ocean, I was landlocked under the orange-white solstice moon. Imagining a place just meant to conjure up another, three degrees of hometown disconnect in my unborn daughter’s room.”

The song goes on to pensively chart several generations of life in some American town, dealing with the weight of time and family history in the vein of classic American literature. I have recently been reading Neon Bible the debut novel by John Kennedy Toole (the author of one of my all-time favourite books A Confederacy Of Dunces), a nostalgic and reflective look at family in small-town USA, in a style that is Flannery O’Connor meets Harper Lee. Maybe it is just the proximity of me reading this book and hearing the song, and there certainly aren’t any real thematic links between the two, but the general feel and nostalgia of both formed some kind of link in my mind. This is, if nothing else, a testament to the high standard of Porterfield’s writing and should be taken as high praise. It also raises another important aspect of the record, which is that music such as this should ideally be heard during a period of peace or isolation, its full effect will not be realised if there are a number of other things vying for your attention, much in the same way it is difficult to read a book properly whilst listening to music or having a conversation.

The album is available now to stream in its entirety via Billboard and will be released on September 11^th on Partisan Records. A great recording of a performance at  The Mercury Lounge in New York City is also available via the excellent nyctaper, a free download of the set is available in good quality here.

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