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Wooden songs are crackly with history, with soil and human grease. They are subliminally powered by 16HP and him and standing arm in arm with them and every american blueser that came before but filtered through Swedish sun and forest floor. While they remind one of the aforementioned they do not bow, but rather they are used as starting blocks to sonic expansion.
Textures take Wooden songs to a different focus using an audio palette of blues-infected folk brushed with samplings of old record crackles, radio broadcasts, the clatter and drone of machinery and whatever to bring out layers of ghosty familiarity. It's music that is as wonderfully odd and dextrous as Malcolm Holcomb, as menacing as a primitive church of Christ riven 16HP and others and as mysterious as your dead Uncle's collection of blues 78s that were kept near that back room in the basement. The one with the dirt floor.
There's a creepy David Lynchian vibe throughout Wooden Songs, sinister and primitive sounds of tension and harvesting at night, underpinned by Nick Drake-like melodies and fanned by suggestions of Tim Eriksen's studied appalachian death moans. Sweden is always selling us back our culture in interesting permutations and with varied success. Old Kerry McKee is a raw winner.
Swedish high lonesome metal machine music rules.
