Bloodstream (Runey Moon Version)
Ring Bells
House Of A Grape
In Exodus
Prelude To An Alchemical Wedding
Forty White Horses
You Have Suffered
Nancy's Song To Charlie
Stars Fall To Earth
Passiflora
Creeping

Armature of the malformed, The Gray Field Recordings, evokes crepuscular borderlands of surreality articulated with mocking motions of our own actions; disturbing and familiar. A musculature of vocals, organic and inorganic instrumentation coupled with extensive audio dismantling animates the fractal abstraction of "Hynpagogia". Shuddering tape edits oscillate stereo whirlwinds to a graceful calm of sonorous drifts of female vocal and disarrayed tintinnabulation of tiny bells in 'Bloodstream'. Oriental fluting peals lance the ear to the tattoo of 'Ring Bells' rustling with a shroud of its namesake. Guitar, mandolin and banjo swell on the ocean tide of 'House of a Grape', woefully swaying like the hulk of some ruined ship against a reef. 'In Exodus' cycles a nocturne pantheon to a black bulk of a sample that absorbs all it passes, where digital static serves as only reminder of a realm beyond, trapped or not. The musicians continuously tune mordant discord in 'Prelude to an Alchemical Wedding', too immersed in their own notes to perceive their fellows. Banjo plucks a lonely melody full of dynamics and stylistic quirks, the embrasure to an ethereal swamp of sound and evanescent vocals of 'Forty White Horses'. Gramophone stutters vinyl records regaling olden times in 'You Have Suffered' before dissolving into fragmentary repetition. Languid cello and violin strains sway the backbone to the vocals of Rebecca Loftiss throughout 'Nancy’s Song to Charlie', a dreamy glide. 'Stars Fall to Earth', inscribed with its giger counter looms an industrial structure punctuated by behemothian rhythm and abused dulcimer-like steel string guitar. Loftiss recites story to 'Passiflora', hove with crisp duet of guitar and harmonica before the last track, 'Creeping' rouses anomalous digital space as pulses, glitches, and oscillations scintillate among the volumes of dark space.

Experimentally, The Gray Field Recordings is an eidolon to behold, whose minimalist aural gatherings evoke aplenty without smothering the listener in dense tracts of samples or drones. The work bears a similarity at times to Ruhr Hunter by blending poignant elements of folk and lush vocals and should find deserved receptacle in any who seek beautifully disturbed (sic) and highly original ambient forays.

A limited edition CDR that belies its self-produced status, the rich orchestration aside, the disc, one of 123 hand made copies, is presented in a fold-out digipak of recycled card, stamped with macabre woodcut and liner notes. Recessed into the package itself, the CDR printed and not labeled, while the rear of the digipak features an incarnadine tri-spiraled seal over lengths of ruby twine.

NYR