Talkdemonic
Our Own Foggy Smoke Signals
Nov 21, 2008
Words by Sean Moeller
Illustration by Johnnie Cluney
Sound engineering by Mike Gentry
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Welcome to Daytrotter
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CSJ9
unreleased
This is a brand new song that was written right before we left for tour and is kind of a departure for us on some levels. The drums are all covered by t-shirts and towels so they sound somewhat muted, inspired by dead 70's muted drum sounds a la Neil Young's "On the Beach" which opens up more space for the viola to float over everything.
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Shallow Doldrums
original version appears on Eyes At Half Mast
Is a song about grief, isolation, and intense depression, a very emotional affair. We were really excited to record this one live as its quite different than the version on Eyes at Half Mast and easily our quietest and loudest song all at once.
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Bering
original version appears on Beat Romantic
One of the more atmospheric songs from Beat Romantic and features the noisy outro that we've been doing of late. Its always nice to break out an older song and kind of mess with it a bit, see what else you can do with it.
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March Movement
original version appears on Eyes At Half Mast
One of our favorite songs to play live with its momentum and energy. The album version features over 95 tracks which froze up my computer dozens of times during the mixing process. And it features vocals!! Finally something for the non-instrumental music fan…ha ha. "Talkdemonic Official Site":http://www.talkdemonic.com"Arena Rock Recording Co.":http://www.arenarockrecordingco.com
The opening minute and change of Talkdemonic's "CSJ9" has the texture of an orchestra warming itself up, getting slowly to work, just casually letting all of the participating instruments stretch their calves and clear the sleep out of their throats. The preparation of the wind and the sky, getting ready to do what they do on a daily basis, plays out in a very similar fashion, though it's typically nothing that's observed by any of the naked eyes. It's a gaining of momentum that soon bubbles into a stroll through a viney walkway, with trellises and spindly complexities that swoop and curl around the ankles as the green and blue-ish skybridge is admired.
Talkdemonic slows down the physical properties of stressfulness that are inherent in most every human body - the operations decrease their heart rates and allow the person who they belong to an opportunity to just let the elements strike them, whapping them friendly in the face and giving a good burn to the cheeks and a playful tussle to the crop of hair. The highly effective and effected instrumentals that Kevin O'Connor and Lisa Molinaro stir up are the syrupy soundtrack for a dense rumination, for a walk through a desolate piece of wilderness where the only sounds are the crunching of one's own feet trodding over the fallen branches and leaves and the rare critter scampering away for a hiding place.
It's music for people who find themselves in the state of needing peace and quiet more than nourishment or love and shelter. It's as if love has left town - just up and deserted ship - and there's a chance that the only talk that's going to be done between the town and love is going to be through a mysterious mediator like smoke signals or wistful stalking tracks in the snows outside a home that could be construed as any number of messages. The music is a wonderfully drawn out reminder that simplicity and complication can revel in each other and that often when there's enough on someone's mind they'll seek out some kind of tranquil environment to share it with to shed some of it.
There's a slinking and meaningful/propulsive movement to everything that O'Connor and Molinaro put together into song and it all feels like a racket, as if you're getting more out of it than it ever thought it would be giving you. It feels as if you've got a private listening party for someone's innermost thoughts, ones that sound an awful lot like a linear version of your own, as creepy as that is. So you're not spooked, but intrigued. The violins lead us down the cobblestone surrounded on both sides by poisonous apples that we still pile into our baskets and nibble on them when our curiosity gets the better of us. They chronicle those nibbles in the entrancing songs that just simply must be tracking all of the devious plots that our collective minds cook up from the time the sun comes up to the time it comes up again, rattling off all of the possibilities that are lying in the wake.
These are cool waters with patches that could heat noodles, though they're invisible upon looking. Or maybe it's the other way around. It all depends on where your head is that day and how much sleep you've been getting. The dream works. You're somewhere that's not within shouting distance of where you started and that could give you the willies or some serious consternation. Might we suggest a walk?
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