Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
When I listen to Brooklyn band Holy Spirits, it does feel like there's a steeple somewhere. It feels like there might be a church nearby, but it's not in good working order any more. It's been boarded up and there are raccoons and pigeons living in the belfry, sleeping in the collection plates, shitting all over the place. The stained glass windows have somehow withstood any of the vandalism though - a miracle if there ever was one - perhaps because of the potential damnation that no one really wants to take a risk on. It's better to be safe than sorry. It's better to put the rock down instead of desecrating a hallowed place of worship - believer or not.
When we get pulled right into the center of the sound, it feels like the weeds and the grass start taking over, as if we've become the victims of some real-time, time-lapse videography. They roots have taken hold and they're growing over our shoes and up our calves, making us a part of it. We've become part of the decay, part of the abandon, part of what was left behind. We're out there fending for ourselves - a feeling that might not be quite novel, but it sure does get the heart racing a little bit. It gets the blood flowing like a flooded stream, rushing downhill.
Lead singer Aaron Hodges makes you feel like you lost all the remaining daylight months ago and you're hanging only onto the dim light of the campfire that you last created and watched burn out. The songs make you feel like you're going to need to try harder to survive, like you don't know what you're actually in for. You just throw a buffalo skin over your shoulders, put your head down and try to weather through the elements, dodging the swarms of locusts that never seem to thin out.