From Corners Unknown

Hello folks! Welcome to a new podcast endeavor here at From Corners Unknown. It took me a decent while to settle on a name for this series, but I think “Lost Transmissions” aptly encapsulates what I’m attempting to do here. I almost went with the title “Sh*t Ryan’s Missed”, but I didn’t want to misconstrue the idea that the albums I’m covering in this series are excrement. Actually, quite the opposite. The goal, thrust, essence, whatever you want to call it, of this series is to illuminate for you all more albums that I have been sincerely enjoying as of late. These are records I’ve yearned to discuss in a long conversation format with Connor, but as you could understand, there’s only so much time in a week for both he and I to dissect albums with the depth we strive for. Hence the creation of this new series.

The format and structure of this series are still being kneaded, but it can be summarized as follows: me, all by my lonesome, reviewing three releases in a succinct five to ten minutes apiece. Unheard of, right? Since when have any of our podcast episodes been under the half-hour mark? Don’t answer that. Ultimately, I want this series to be a focused effort where I provide you more pointed recommendations amidst the interviews and long-form reviews Connor and I piece together week-over-week.

To inaugurate this series, I selected three albums that have been in constant rotation for me several weeks over. In order of discussion, we have the debut LP, Building a Better World, collaboratively produced by vaporwave artists 猫 シ Corp. and t e l e p a t h, from the burgeoning ambient record label, Hiraeth Records. Then we have Sepulchral Blessing from the utterly vile black ambient/death industrial artist, Clavicvla. And lastly, there is Ocean Is More Ancient Than the Mountains, the latest two-track EP from the instrumental stoner-doom juggernauts, Plague of Carcosa.

If you don’t feel keen to listen to this episode, I included the text of each review below. Please note that the style of writing is a bit more casual than what you may typically expect as I am aiming for a more conversational approach for this series. Thank you so much for tuning in.

Beyond the Ghost is a cinematic dark ambient project from the mind of France denizen, Pierre Laplace. Just before the autumnal winds began to blow in 2019, Pierre made his debut on the Cryo Chamber label with his album You Disappeared. It teems with melancholic piano movements, evocative, and at times, harsh, guitar timbres, and a snow-insulated aura that oscillates between isolating frigidity and a hopeful glow. This was an album Connor and I had a bunch to say about on a previous podcast episode and throughout and post-conversation its atmosphere continually stirred in me a genuine wonder about its creation.

Many years before Beyond the Ghost came to be, Pierre helmed the experimental rock outfit, Vera Clouzot, from 1994 to 2004. In 2010, he and his niece formed an atmospheric folk duo named The Sandman’s Orchestra, which continues to exist to this day. Over these years, Pierre ceaselessly etched, kneaded, and refined his skills in song-writing, all the while possessing a keen ear toward atmosphere and textures foreign so as to elicit dreamlike moods. Though after honing his craft for so long, he desired to fracture the song-writing mold and breach sonic territories wholly abstract. Thus Beyond the Ghost was born.

Plunging into the typically dreary abyss where dark ambient resides, Pierre found composing tracks in this medium to be quite liberating. It grants him the ability to strip his compositions of his singing voice and instead focus on the undiluted phantasmagoria of heart-wrenching moods that are often too complex to encapsulate in spoken language. You Disappeared exemplifies this in that it articulates the overwhelming feelings of losing someone close and it’s the primary focus of this interview. In addition to the in-depth discussion of this record, Pierre goes on to detail how he joined the ranks of Cryo Chamber, as well as noting a handful of musical influences that have left indelible impressions upon him throughout his perennially evolving musical endeavors. There is a good deal more we speak about, but I will leave his insights for you to discover. Thank you so much for tuning in.

Blut Aus Nord (or “Blood of the North”) is an experimental black metal outfit hailing from France. Having existed since 1993 and having originally formed under the guise of Vlad, the solo guitarist and vocalist, Vindsval, adopted a name change a mere one year later. At this time, the project expanded from a one-man army to a duo by adding W.D. Feld as a drummer, keyboardist, and electronic atmosphere conjurer. And it is both Feld and Vindsval that have persisted through the decades, offering us thirteen LPs, a bundle of EPs, and some splits along the way.

Hallucinogen marks a turning point in the band’s sound. Gone are the characteristic industrial underpinnings and in their absence there now reside blistering melodies. Amethyst-hued clouds of psychedelia billow across an infinite blanket of space architected by the outfit. Trancelike they shimmer with a royal luster. Solar flares of rock and roll unfurl fervent hooks. Searing they latch onto your synapses to ignite nirvana. All the while, wisps of seemingly wordless chants harmonize with the cerebral aura percolating from the instruments. It’s an utmost transcendental experience, one that defies words and provides glimpses of verdant celestial bodies unimagined by the human mind. I have known of Blut Aus Nord’s existence for a multitude of years, though I have never taken a deep plunge into their discography, save a handful of listens of their 2014 LP, Memoria Vetusta III: Saturnian Poetry. Connor is in a similar boat; however, he has not listened to a fleck of their catalog until this record. That being said, we came into this review quite fresh to Blut Aus Nord’s new sound. We sincerely hope you enjoy our discussion of it. Thank you for tuning in.

Blood Incantation is an atmospheric death metal quartet from the mile-high city of Denver, Colorado. Founded sometime back in the year of 2011, the outfit churned out a handful of demos during 2013 and 2014 before dropping their EP, Interdimensional Extinction, in 2015. One year later came their otherworldly debut LP, Starspawn. And now, three years hence, their sophomore effort, Hidden History of the Human Race, is bestowed upon the cosmos for beings both earthly and extraterrestrial to travel through.

At this point in time, so much has already been said about Blood Incantation’s latest effort. And to folks who have been following us for a good while, it should come as no surprise that we are fashionably late to dissecting an album that has been out for several months. However, Connor and I had the immense pleasure of experiencing this album front-to-back at the Fire in the Mountains Festival in the summer of 2019 before the album was officially debuted. With the striking jaggedness of the Grand Teton mountain range slicing across the horizon as Blood Incantation brutalized us with riff after ravenous riff, we were both utterly enamored and perplexed by the sight and sound transpiring before us. It was transcendental to say the least.

With Hidden History of the Human Race, Blood Incantation ports us to a civilization immemorial. They provide us a glimpse into the true origins of humanity, pockmarking their cerebral expedition with tones both alien and Egyptian. Throughout each track, we hear the reprisal of a flange effect that promulgates a cinematic quality akin to an alien spacecraft streaking above dilapidated structures corroded by thousands of years of exposure to piercing winds, brutal rainfall, and endless floods. Beyond these elements, however, we are subject to eviscerating riffs and rather grooving drum patterns that peel back the long-dormant veil curtaining our lineage. This is reflected in the album’s arcane lyrics, which Blood Incantation summarizes as articulating “the unseen cosmic forces behind the systems of omnidimensional quantum oppression, the cycles of time, death and rebirth, etc. which define samsara and the transmigration of the soul across the timeless millennia of material engagement.” If that is beyond your comprehension, don’t fret. Connor and I both had a field day trying to wrap our respective gourds around it and well… we’re still not sure we got it correct, but we enjoyed trying to disentangle the ideas. That being said, we both had a bunch to say about this record and we hope you enjoy our discussion of it. Thank you so much for tuning in.

Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean is a doom quartet from Springfield, Massachusetts. Though the exact year of their formation is somewhat unclear to me, they made their initial mark with their LP, Decay and Other Hopes Against Progress, in September 2017. Since then they have published two EPs: I Carry My Awareness of Defeat like a Banner of Victory in December 2018 and Tell Me What You See Vanishing and I Will Tell You Who You Are in October 2019.

An uncanny aura pervades Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean’s brand of asphyxiating doom. At a passing listen one could potentially chalk the quartet’s sound up to possessing relatively straightforward caveman battering riffs; however, there exists a swathe of spellbinding and skin-crawling textures that lurk within every crevice of their compositions. Pangs of piercing feedback squawk a la dissonant hardcore, and in glimpses, the outfit dissolves into pure blistering noise. Each note thrummed on Tell Me What You See Vanishing… promulgates a keen sense of drowning whereby their molasses unfurling resonates like a fading heartbeat. And the corrosive howls from Chained’s vocalist infiltrate our blood vessels, filling our lungs with noxious gas as we descend further into a fathomless abyss. Oftentimes there is no light guiding us toward a respite. Obsidian depths and suffocating forlornness reign. However, the sorrowful ecstasy oozing from the last several minutes on “Out, Brief Candle” is profoundly poignant.

While this episode is a bit shorter than usual, Connor and I had quite a lot to say about the approximate 21-minute duration of Tell Me What You See Vanishing…. We sincerely hope you enjoy our exchange. Thank you so much for tuning in.

Several weeks back, Connor and I undertook the effort to discuss and dissect the latest LP, Reverie of the Revolving Diamond, from Orange County denizens Seizures. The two of us were quite disheveled during our recording as Connor just returned from a week-long road trip from the Bay Area to the outskirts of Las Vegas for technical lighting work and I merely lack the capacity to remain cognitively functional in late evening hours. However, the encroaching lethargy pushed our respective headspaces into a twilit limbo. And in a strange way, the palmy, sunset-hued riffs and the psychedelic shimmers streaming across Reverie‘s duration synchronized with our fleeting sense of reality while recording. The conversation eventually reached its natural conclusion, though for many weeks post-recording its atmosphere continued (and still continues) to linger. This resulted in a rather slow build-up of questions, curiosities, and the like, which culminated into a three-hour conversation between myself and Seizures vocalist, Cameron Miller.

Just over a decade ago Seizures cast their first stone, Antipathy. Boiling with vehemence, this succinct aural cudgeling castigates with angular riffs and scalding drum patterns, all while stifling your breath beneath a palatable atmosphere of unbridled animosity. A little over two years later came their sophomore effort, The Sanity Universal, which continued to harbor the berserk energy emanating from their debut; however, it marked a fascinating shift in the quintet’s sound. Instead of continuing to tread the familiar paths of chaotic hardcore, it embraces a multitude of experimental textures, tones, and riffs that promulgate a conceptual framework where we, the listeners, are ported to ethereal landscapes vaguely grasped in fleeting dreams. Cameron describes that this overarching narrative (or conceptual throughline) is meticulously woven and kneaded by guitarist Albert Navarro. And though each track and their respective sequencing do not necessarily conform to articulate a linear story, they all exist within the same universe.

With Reverie of the Revolving Diamond, Seizures careen full throttle into their celestial abyss. They plunge ever so deeply into its fabric, revealing to us vistas sublime and utterly harrowing. From the blissful serenity of “In a Valley of Twilit Meres” to the biting dissonance of “Toxophola”, we are chained to the quintet’s metaphorical vessel as they tear through a litany of tumultuous emotions.

In this conversation, Cameron discusses the trajectory of Seizures, from their earliest beginnings to where they are now. He describes their evolution in sound and their lyric writing process. There is also a good deal of time spent musing about his favorite band, Nine Inch Nails, his discovery of “obscene” music at a young age, his propensity to play N64 games, and so much more that I’ll refrain from rambling on any further. I sincerely hope you enjoy our exchange. Thank you so much for tuning in.

Osi and The Jupiter is a neofolk project from the mind of Kent, Ohio denizen Sean Deth. Named after his two German Shepherds, Osiris and Jupiter, Sean set out on this pastoral endeavor back in 2015. It’s a tonal far cry, at least instrumentally, from his other prevailing bands, Witchhelm (vocals and bass), Ulven (one-man, all instruments), and Burial Oath (vocals), each of which resides in the artery of black metal. However, when I steep myself in the mysticism brimming from Osi and The Jupiter compositions, I can’t help but feel a kinship smoldering between them and the arctic extremities of black metal.

The vast majority of the instruments and their respective arrangements are performed and placed by Sean. Be it the acoustic guitar melodies, the enrapturing swells of celestial synth, the chitters and murmurs heard from myriads of night critters, or his shamanistic vocalizations, Nordlige Rúnaskog encapsulates the serenity of nature in every fiber of its construction. This wondrous pine- and oak-sodden canopy is further elevated by the droning cello craftsmanship of Kakophonix (Hvile I Kaos). As it delicately weaves through and between each instrument performed by Sean, it permeates a primordial aura that sways like a tranquil wind. And meditative all of the strings become when tribal drum rhythms throb.

We both have a lot to say about this record. From the live Osi show we caught at Fire in The Mountains last summer to Connor’s attempts at re-telling Norse myths, there’s a great deal to unpack. Thank you for tuning in.

Unfurl is an introspective amalgamation of innumerable emotions siphoned through a gaping void. Be it the time-warping shimmers of sepia-filtered ambient that flicker like a dim tavern light or the intoxicating blend and bending of genres, Unfurl’s second LP, The Waking Void, writhes in an echelon perched well above the ocean of 2019’s extreme metal releases. Though it is not known when Unfurl formed, the Pittsburgh outfit (then a trio) dropped their debut album, Deathbed, back in April of 2016. From a production standpoint, Deathbed sounds rawer than its follow-up. It also harbored heavier leanings in post-hardcore territory. However, some of the ideas contained within its runtime, specifically the emotive and contemplative expanses, return, albeit with a more fully realized fervor on The Waking Void.

Now a quartet, Unfurl has undergone a tonal metamorphosis and has metastasized into a pestilent brute of aural decimation. Grinding death metal, scathing black metal, gnashing thrums of hardcore, evocative auras that quiver with a shoegaze luster; every element comprising the The Waking Void‘s fabric invigorates. What’s most adroit is the album’s pacing and its uncanny atmosphere. So seamlessly does Unfurl barrel from one riff to the next, maintaining a seismic intensity that thunders with the vocalist’s surprising palette of divergent deliveries. And behind the familiar instruments of guitar, bass, and drums, there percolates a keen sense of ethereal dereliction that calls to mind decrepit landscapes only explored in the dreariest of dreams. There is much more to be said about The Waking Void in this episode and we sincerely hope you enjoy our dissection of it. Thank you for tuning in.

Firelink is a Dark Souls-inspired progressive black metal project from Atlanta, Georgia. Earlier this year, in May of 2019, guitarist Harrison and vocalist Adrian barrelled into the quagmire of extreme metal with their debut effort, The Inveterate Fire. While the first impressions I received via their album artwork primed me to anticipate a genre like dungeon synth or a bevy of tones leaning toward ambient-heavy soundscapes, I was pleasantly taken aback by its scalding riffs and its dense, long-form compositions. Although The Inveterate Fire spans a mere five tracks, it is bundled with molten guitar leads and invigorating dynamic shifts. From marauding black metal onslaughts to searing death metal animosity to awe-inspiring expanses of glistening melodies, I found this album nothing short of astonishing.

Harrison’s background is primarily steeped in technical death metal. Before Firelink came to be, he aspired to compose unrelenting riffs played with blistering rapidity. However, after many years of honing his craft, he came to realize the limitations of the genre. He could play notes to a vertiginous degree, but he found this stymied his creativity. Thus began Harrison’s endeavoring to fracture the genre constructs caving in upon him. He began to study and tinker with music theory and this imbued in him a sense of restraint. Instead of expressing himself via a bombardment of searing notes, he turned his focus inward to articulate complex feelings with melodies that unfurl like a heartfelt odyssey (listen to “Beckoning Sun” as an example).

Around this inflection point, Adrian played a rather crucial role in spurring Harrison’s inspiration. It is he who introduced Harrison to the unforgiving, dilapidated kingdoms harbored within the Souls series. And it is he who warmed Harrison up to black metal. These respective introductions gave rise to Firelink’s birth and with his passion kindled, Harrison embarked on this arduous journey.

In this interview, I am joined by Tim Harbour, who writes reviews for the website and is an avid Dark Souls masochist. We speak with Harrison about the formulation of Firelink, his intrigue with the Souls series, and how he underwent his metamorphosis from tech death shredding to crafting contemplative tales. There is obviously much more that transpires in the conversation, but I want to leave these morsels for your discovery. Thank you for listening.

It has been a couple of months since our last retrospective review podcast, but I am ecstatic to return to this series with my good friend, Duncan Park. Based in South Africa, Duncan is a drone folk artist who primarily produces music under his own name, though he relishes any opportunity to express himself in other genres. It was within our in-depth podcast interview that he walked me through his myriad of projects and articulated his love for all tones psychedelic and droning. And through this interview, he fervently expounded upon his love for First Utterance, the debut LP from the British progressive folk sextet, Comus.

To be frank, I had not heard of Comus until Duncan’s utterance of their name. Though after mere seconds of listening to the album’s opening moments embodied in “Diana”, I was perplexed, creeped out, but above all, elated. As Duncan describes in this review, he figures that “Diana” was slotted as the first track in First Utterance so as to steer casual listeners away. Although this is a hypothesis, “Diana” is certainly the strangest track on the record, featuring goblin-like vocals from lead guitarist, singer, and songwriter, Roger Wootton, in addition to a bewildering array of outlandish and simultaneously overwhelming psychedelic tones.

In this episode, Duncan discusses a medley of fascinating insights related to Comus. Some of these are personal accounts, where he would subject random friends of his to First Utterance so as to elicit raw reactions from the ominous mysticism contained therein. Beyond this, however, he speaks about the relatively troubled history of the outfit, describing how First Utterance and their follow-up LP, To Keep From Crying, did not bode well from a sales perspective. Though despite this shortcoming, Comus has gained traction as of recent, evidenced by a live performance at Roadburn 2014 and a string of other live outings. There is much more to unearth in the conversation ahead and we sincerely hope you enjoy our discussion of it. Thank you for listening.