The straightest line connecting Memphis and New Orleans is the esophagus of the south. 400 miles long and seven inches in diameter, the duct throttles all sound in its path, condensing the region’s humid, oddly sinister aural climate into a movable stream of emotion: a homogenous, free-flowing surge of general emotion that obliterates distinctions between pain and pleasure. Between glottal samples and guitar riffs that undulate like involuntary muscle contractions writhe the fermented husks of chords, stirred into liquid submission.
At the receiving ends of this peristalsis wait the A and B sides of this lathe-cut split between Tennessee’s Holy Gallows and Louisiana’s Proud Father. The two ambient composers take pretty similar approaches to creating their soundscapes: each side of the untitled effort dynamically and texturally builds at a slow pace, draping blankets of varying thread-counts and nubbliness atop a formless, stagnant drone that rests snugly inside its sonic bedding.
Holy Gallows’ composition, “Tilting to Windmills”, take on a more arid tone than its B-side counterpart, looping a single guitar phrase across a desert landscape of doom-metal bass and sampled choir. Desolation ensues: the groan of defeat — the crumbling of the Quixotic ideal that the title implies.
Proud Father subs out some subtlety for granular aggression on “Bajo Fuego”. The B-side opens with insectoid synths that recall Daniel Lopatin’s early discography, which are parasitically consumed by a creeping, bassy darkness that houses unseen evil forces. 6 minutes in, this darkness completely devours PF’s original idea, digesting it, and leaving a trail of sludgy, rhythmic noise in its wake. Keyboard arpeggios spell out a death sentence — fade from black to solar white.