Chelsea Wolfe has always been a conduit for a powerful energy, and
while she has demonstrated a capacity to channel that somber beauty
into a variety of forms, her gift as a songwriter is never more
apparent than when she strips her songs down to a few key components.
As a result, her solemn majesty and ominous elegance are more potent
than ever on Birth of Violence. There is a core element to Chelsea
Wolfe’s music—a kind of urgent spin on America’s desolation
blues—that’s existed throughout the entirety of her career. It
manifested in the lo-fi bedroom recording experiments of her debut
album The Grime and the Glow (2010), the electrified dirges of
Apokalypsis (2011) and Hiss Spun (2017), the electronic embellishments
and distorted growl of albums like Pain is Beauty (2013) and Abyss
(2015), and the sparse acoustic arrangements of Unknown Rooms (2012).
At the center, there has always been Wolfe’s woeful longing and
beguiling gravity, though the framework for compositions has
continuously evolved based on whatever resources were available. Her
austere beginnings were gradually bolstered by electronics and filled
out with full-band arrangements. The music became increasingly dense
and more centered around live performances. And while these lush
recordings have in many ways magnified her power, the elaborate
renditions create a dichotomy given the private and isolated nature of
her art. Her latest album, Birth of Violence, is a return to the
reclusive nature of her earlier recordings, written and recorded in
the solitude of her remote home in Northern California. “I’ve been
in a state of constant motion for the past eight years or so; touring,
moving, playing new stages, exploring new places and meeting new
people—an incredible time of learning and growing as a musician and
performer,” Wolfe says of the era leading up to Birth of Violence.
“But after awhile, I was beginning to lose a part of myself. I
needed to take some time away from the road to get my head straight,
to learn to take better care of myself, and to write and record as
much as I can while I have ‘Mercury in my hands,’ as a wise friend
put it.“ Birth of Violence is the result of this step out of the
limelight. The songs stem from humble beginnings—little more than
Wolfe’s voice and her Taylor acoustic guitar. Her longtime musical
collaborator Ben Chisholm recorded the songs on a makeshift studio and
helped fill them out with his modern production treatments and the
occasional auxiliary flourish from ongoing contributors Jess Gowrie
(drums) and Ezra Buchla (viola). While it’s tempting to draw a
comparison to Wolfe’s acoustic collection Unknown Rooms, Birth of
Violence is a far cry from the unplugged nature of that album.
Instead, it feels like an exploration of one of Wolfe’s strongest
facets—her ties to the American singer-songwriter tradition. The
album opens with “The Mother Road,” a harrowing ode to Route 66
that immediately addresses Wolfe’s metaphoric white line fever. It
explains the nature of the record—the impact of countless miles and
perpetual exhaustion—and the desire to find the road back home, back
to one’s roots. Songs like “Deranged for Rock & Roll” and
“Highway” offers parallel examinations on the trials and
tribulations of her journeys while the ghostly “When Anger Turns to
Honey” serves as a rebuttal to self-appointed judges. Wolfe sees
these ordeals as a part of a musical tradition, and rather than using
her music as a confessional or diary, she tethers her experiences to
age-old themes. She touches upon the original transcontinental
travellers crisscrossing the country on state highways in search of
some new kick, the psychedelic caravans on a mission to Further, and
the vagabond busker whose home is both everywhere and nowhere. While
the record touches upon tradition, it also exists in the present,
addressing modern tragedies such as school shootings in the minor-key
lullaby “Little Grave” and the poisoning of the planet on the dark
wind-swept ballad “Erde.” But the record is at its most poignant
when Wolfe withdraws into her own world of enigmatic and elusive
autobiography. Much like Alan Ginsberg’s hallucinatory long-form
poem Howl, the tracks “Dirt Universe” and “Birth of Violence”
weave together specific references from her past into an esoteric
overview of the state of mankind. The songs describe an internal
awakening of feminine energy, a connection to the maternal spirit of
the Earth, and a defiant stance against the destructive and
controlling forces of a greedy and hostile patriarchy. Though the
lyrical minutiae remain secret, the overall power of the language and
delivery is bound to haunt the listener with both its grace and
tension. In keeping with the general approach of the album, it thrives
by culling from the familiar language of American country and folk
music while setting it within Chisholm’s scenic soundscapes. Every
Chelsea Wolfe album introduces new unorthodox textures and approaches,
and the trajectory of her creative arc has generally aimed for larger
and more imposing sounds, but Birth of Violence deliberately alters
that course in favor of a more intimate atmosphere. “These songs
came to me in a whirlwind and I knew I needed to record them soon, and
also really needed a break from the road,” Wolfe says. “I’ve
spent the past few years looking for the feeling of home; looking for
places that felt like home. That was the initial inspiration to record
it on our own—between Ben and I, we had all the tools and
instruments to capture what we wanted to create.” The result of that
humble approach yields Wolfe’s most devastating work to date.
Sargent House is proud to offer Birth of Violence to the world on
CD/LP and digital formats on September 13, 2019. Guests 21 and over
can join us in the Kerns Music Lounge (adjacent to our main lobby) 2
hours prior to scheduled door time for food, drinks and priority entry
into the showroom.
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21/11/2019 Last update