Row (like a boat) or row (like a fight) are interchangeable when Cheryl and I pronounce this name, and lately I’ve been calling it Rest of World (like when yr shipping international), but she doesn’t like that as much, so sometimes we compromise with capitals – ROW or R.O.W. – to keep it mysterious and to make it look like the letters stand for something, maybe it’s a secret history or location (like rippling old willows), a place you could go to and to be hypnotized by.
Cheryl moves at a different pace than I do with recording and putting together albums, her Sealadder project is a lesson in patience and non-ego, letting it go to come back to later, nothing attached from before and no conceptions or philosophies taking it into the future. Just listen, make minor changes, listen some more, and let it rest. A monk tending to her garden, getting out of the way, letting nature and photosynthesis do the heavy lifting, guided by the wind shaking the branches and the sun and rain texturally changing the colours.
She won’t think twice about cutting out or editing around material, where I tend to work more in salvaging/repurposing, and a hell of a lot faster, which is my achilles heel. I move too fast, one project’ll bleed into the next and I’m going right after it, fired up, staying up way into the night on work nights and the weekends, almost hurriedly lose no time Kerouac-blues gunning for elated or high-feeling euphoria in-the-moment, sometimes I’ll get close, but never a direct hit, which keeps me cycling back to the paper-scroll of typewriter streams of consciousness.
First thought is always best thought when I work, I tend to blow right by things that most likely need another once-over or two, and I tend to get ahead of myself on every project I work on. That sentence has a lot of I’s, and that’s another problem.
This material has been sculpted and dug out from almost two years of recording, working purposefully quiet to slow-build the tracks.
This is much dirtier and grittier than our first album. The bright and trebled melodies have been replaced by claustrophobic, alleyway landscapes where soil and concrete overlap and turn grey. We wanted to go a bit deeper into our psyches/spirits and like a bad-trip vision quest you have to flip out a bit before you settle into yr own skin. We want the work to teeter on the edge, be more realistic, stripped of the shine and our idealistic naivete, it should include mysterious-feelings of our existential what’s-this and less feelings from us simultaneously. Blanker, content yet sympathetic, trying to get out of our own way, a natural flow where you can trace the direction and the path.
A blistering hot hike for hours inside a canvas of growth and brush, only secondary moments of sinking sun and winded breeze as relief, the meditation and endurance plays tricks and is the trick itself.
Magic is a state of mind.
Call it amateur electronic dub and chant communication. Things slip out of time, parts don’t totally line up as they probably should, there’s frequencies that are skying out of the frame, and that’s the wind blowing through the trees. We’re trying to build this from scratch and we’re winging it, and that improvisation and home-made craft-effort hopefully transcends the means and pushes this closer to that ecstatic environmental-sounding hallucination we’re after, or at the very least, it’s a step in that direction.
North/northwest and climbing.
I may have rushed this album a bit compared to how Cheryl would like to work, but that’s because I deeply believe in it (her as well) and think something happened along the way with the recordings we were collecting, a synchronous infinitive before-now-after, a strange feeling that they have been waiting here for us and will continue to grow out from our own rougher roots as transmissional sign-place, here-now and gone, flying off on their own cycle unattached.
Cheryl said that one track made her feel like she was in another world, and maybe we’re hoping that would actually be the case, a signal-spark at a microscopic level colliding with a floating oral history, only preserved by jumping tides. One can dream.
From the both of us, we hope you give a listen and we sincerely thank you for sharing your time with us.
Tapes were done in a small edition dubbed at home, in an edition of 25. Digital is free. Get in touch via email (powermoveslabel at gmail dot com) if you want a cassette, they’ll be free, we just ask that you can cover post, but we can work that out later. A few copies will be made available on bandcamp too if that’s a better/easier choice for you.