O’Death: Out of Hands We Go

There are some bands, once I discover them, I sink my teeth in and never let go.
It was around this time about two years ago. The leaves were yellow, the sun was working part time and it was dark earlier than usual. It might have been snowing a little.
I had just bought a book. A great Southern, gothic noir novel by Denis Johnson.
In other words, it was like the universe was pointing me towards O’Death.

Their new album just came out earlier this month. It’s great, fantastic, perfect…I could go on and on saying the same thing over and over.

I will tell you this. These guys are serious musicians. With each album they become tighter, more cohesive. They retain the rawness I fell in love with.
Those barren landscape vocals and pleasantly grating sounds are still there, unmistakable O’Death.
But they are growing, strengthening their sound, building upon a sound I’ve heard nowhere else.

They are the perfect October band. The band to listen to as the trees blacken, the nights grow chilly, the ghosts creep about.

O’Death fills me with the same anxiety I get when I realize I’m lost in a city I should know by heart. The music that plays for shadows to dance to around a bonfire.

Savannah halloween cemeteries.

Buy their new album. Buy all their albums. It’s not October unless you’re listening to O’Death as you walk down a yellow sidewalk in the purple dusk- hand in hand with your own demons.


About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
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