Woodhouse Interviews

The organ is the most physical instrument.

The sheer weight of it creates a panoply of sound beyond the notes. The cracking and groaning of wood and metal, the click of pedals, the rattling of the pipes as bellowing low notes expand and contract like magma.

Forged in the crucible of grief, The Weight of the World uses the organ as a channeler of catharsis and dread. Vocalist Erika Sirola and composer Murrettumeri traveled across Europe and play in some of the most resonant churches on the continent to capture sacred sound. A mixture of modern classical and holy minimalism, The Weight of the World is an unearthly beauty that evolves from abyssal dread to a shimmering, ever present hope. We talked with them below.

It’s hard to balance tenderness and horniness.

Lean too far into the former and everything becomes saccharine and safe. The latter and you dash all chances for sweeping romance. Fuse the two within music, especially country music, and you’ve created something special.

And Andrew Sa certainly has with his solo debut American Rough. A lush, thrilling, queer country album obsessed with love, American Rough is one of the finest debuts in recent memory. It’s flooded with cinematic moments, perfectly arranged horns, and Sa’s out-of-time croon. We talked to him here on the Woodhouse.

Metal and Country have more in common than you think. Like the void.

The darkness at the center of Townes Van Zandt is the same consuming abyss that fuels Xasthur. Jordan Day knows that better than anyone. A metal guitarist at first, he’s now dedicated his art to old school, outlaw country plunging into the depths of the soul. His newest Learning to be Empty includes features from metal fiddle player Charlie Anderson and comes out on bluegrass/metal fusionist Panopticon’s label. We talked to him about the record below.

When Daughn Gibson disappeared, he left brief bursts of radio transmissions.

EPs would suddenly appear on Bandcamp, taken down months later. Did that album even exist? It was an easy question to ask considering the noir, mysterious tone of his previous records. Gibson, bass-baritone sprawling out like a wounded animal moaning their last breaths, made three albums in the early 2010s that were too early. The sample based, country-indebted, Twin Peaks inspired misdirection and intrigued they all held gained Gibson a cult following before he stepped into the mist.

Over a decade later, he’s returned with the death-haunted, darkly hilarious Lake Mary not mysterious. Gibson plays with perverse beauty, a Vietnam soldier falling madly in love on a napalm strewn battlefield, a beer bottle to the head revealing a glimpse of heaven, a murderous nurse bestowing the “day of the pillow.” There’s a version of Gibson who writes Raymond Carver or Flannery O’Connor short stories, balancing biting wit and desolation in equal measure. But we’re lucky he pairs it with his dark, entrancing musical world. We talked with him below. 

Sometimes an album is a cage match. Sometimes that cage match is man vs self.

Jab/cross from Spain’s Niños Luchando is the sound of a man fighting himself—or dancing with himself. With synth arpeggios spiraling like double helixes, spooky instrumentals jittering beside thumping kicks, this is self-reflection through the dancefloor. We talked with him below.

There’s a tendency to focus on a prodigy’s age and what they could do in the future.

But that obscures what heavensouls has already done as a teenager. He became a RateYourMusic darling as one part of epic collage rap pranksters The Sidepeices. But his newest solo album westside trapped on its own is a remarkably self-assured, virtuosic effort, sparkling with the type of righteous anger that can lead to joy. heavensouls layers a multitude of afrobeat experiments over each other, creating these monstrous, lumbering beasts of rhythm that interlock at strange angles. Every track on the album feels like it’s on the verge of total collapse but will suddenly find a moment to mesh into something stunning. We talked to him below.

Take the Broad-Ridge spur straight to hell.

Emily Moales’ version of Philly has baristas mingling with wizards and turnpikes to celestial realms. Its the mundane and the magical, but even dragons have to pay rent. Highway to Hell follows some lost soul in a Philadelphia-shaped purgatory, accompanied by chiming and lush pianos, skittering drum parts, and Moales own dreamy voice floating above it all. We interviewed her below.

“Condemn me”

It’s the first sentiment on Belgian band Ão’s hypnotic, stunning album Malandra. Thumping electronic beats are bolstered by bellowing drums, labyrinthine guitar patterns entwining, and orchestral stings adding bloody drama. Singer Brenda Corijn brings alluring darkness from her Portuguese roots, the smoldering sadness of Fado, and the hope at the center of saudade, a moving, energetic melancholy. It’s entrancing witchcraft at every turn. We interviewed them below.

Richard Carrick makes maps.

Yes, he’s a pianist, and in the middle of a trilogy of albums inspired by North Africa, but each record outlines his cartography. l’Algérie, a tribute to Algeria, his mother’s homeland, sounds like a tour of antiquity and magic. The album is overflowing with captivating rhythms and motifs that return like old friends again and again. Somewhere in-between jazz, classical, and Maghrebian music, Carrick has charted his own path. We talked to him below.

It’s the last day of summer, school is about to start, and the sun is setting. It still feels like heaven.

Destination Heaven, the collaboration between East Coast sweethearts Euphoria Again and Dogwood Tales is a shaggy, ramshackle, lovely affair filled with the power of friendship. The swooning alt-country record is the perfect companion to long, hot nights with an Academy folding chair on a porch, friends, and beers, close at hand. We interviewed them below.