Many wonders are tucked away in the endless forests of North Idaho, but few are quite as unique as Steve Von Till, the poet, educator, DIY-lifer and area resident best known for his work in the post-metal band Neurosis. On his mercurial new solo album Alone in a World of Wounds (released May 16), Von Till's eldritch, Odin-esque voice moves like lunar silver dancing through the shadowforms of trees — up their dark branches — around their dark leaves — down around their dark roots. Far from a "metal" record, the album still has a considerable weight, as it finds itself stuck in the cold sap of longing, sorrow, and regret.
"Don't weigh me down with your dark matter — I will arise with the dawn." ("Distance")
En route from Spokane to Von Till's abode, I recalled the winding, tree-lined roads of my home in Wisconsin — up past Highway 8, where one might spend a few days gazing at the sun rising over shadowy reflections of trees on a quiet, nearly hidden river. Roads, like rivers, are curious — like time, they're always racing around to come up behind you again.
This melancholic feeling of eternal recurrence seems central to Alone in a World of Wounds's lead single, "The Corpse Road." A dreamy track built around a sable, synthesized bass line that guides us inward as a symphony of stuttering strings and brass breaths surrounds us. Von Till's voice — an ancient, oak barreled vintage — invokes the unknown: "Calling out without question / knowing all along life does the asking." Throughout the track, there's a constant tension between this sense of return — this hope to "dream it all again" — and the veritable "corpse road" we all find ourselves on. "In the solitude of our inner spaces." ("The Corpse Road")
When I arrived at Von Till's hermitage in North Idaho, he invited me into "The Crow's Nest" — the current iteration of his home studio, where he tracked Alone in a World of Wounds. Built in an old barn, the studio is filled with meticulously chosen analog recording gear: some, inspired by past recording efforts with Neurosis; some, relics with unique properties. For instance, a vintage tremolo unit, capable of unusually slow rates due to its analog architecture. No one makes anything like it anymore.
I disclosed that I'd been listening to his first album, 2000's As the Crow Flies, on the drive over. Noting how intimate and DIY it felt, I asked how his process and subject matter have changed from that first solo record — a sort of barebones, dark folk record — to Alone in a World of Wounds.
"I mean, the first album [was] still DIY — there's that," Von Till says. "I was balancing a RadioShack microphone on my leg because I didn't have a mic stand. That's why it's such a close sound. I was living in the Mission District in San Francisco. Busy. I was writing and recording at 3 a.m. when the world was finally quiet."
"I didn't know what it was. I would have never thought in a million years I would put my own name on something. But I was reading a book that said that if you create something meaningful to yourself, or was transformative for you, you have a responsibility to share it so that others might benefit from the same transformation," Von Till continues. "So I decided I was going to own it and put my own name on it, which opened a doorway, just like poetry did later. And the through line lyrically: There's always a sorrow and a longing. I'm realizing I've been asking the same questions this whole time. Spiraling in and out." "It's the nature of loss that binds us to this rootless tree." ("Calling Down the Darkness")
Roots, and other natural imagery, are common motifs on Alone in a World of Wounds, which seems to erupt from the land Von Till has called home for two decades.
"What is the root of all this illness?" Von Till asks. "What is the root of all the sickness? What is the root as a species? As individuals with our own minds, within families and communities. What is this giant beast that seems to be devouring everything in its sight?"
It's just impossible to separate Von Till — as a person and an artist — from the Inland Northwest soil he's dwelled upon for the last two decades.
"In my 20 years here, I've become very acquainted with the parts of this piece of land. Which ones are 5 degrees colder than the others? Where will the wildflowers pop first? Where do the different species of birds like to hang out in different parts of the forest? Observing and watching, while I'm making my own 12-inch-wide paths of compacted earth — following along where the deer told me to walk," Von Till says."How that's impacted my music is that I've had space to breathe out of the beehive. Space to become what I'm supposed to become. Or at least begin to. And specifically on this record, there's one song ["Old Bent Pine"] I wrote the words for while walking with the dogs around the property in the morning — it's kind of my ritual."
The penultimate track of Alone in a World of Wounds, "Old Bent Pine," opens with occulted moans weaving beneath the substratum of synthesized bass lines before Von Till enters with more tree imagery: "I lean my back on an old bent pine / I left my worry in a burned out stump." The track, filled with strange buzzing and off-putting harmonies, seems to search for release and revelation: "Sometimes peace of mind comes without the lightning and the flood."
"I don't even know what you call this music," Von Till says. "Is it a rural psychedelia? Gothic Americana? Is it singer-songwriter? What is it? I don't know. And that's cool — that means I'm heading in the right direction."
"I want to sing into these landscapes. I want to sing into these complex things that pulls something new and challenges me. And it's ironic. It's at a time when I'm having vocal challenges. Physically, my range is getting narrower. I'm losing my lower voice — I feel fatigued. I've had to work hard and seek help to even preserve what I have. That's pulled out another layer of emotion out of me — something has opened in these last couple of records. I'm more emotionally sensitive than I've ever been." "Without my roots so firmly planted, a life to wander / Face toward the moon, I'm standing here, feet on the ground / The hunter's moon stares me down." ("River of No Return")
By way of parting, I asked Von Till about his seemingly unbreakable spirit — his refusal to settle on a single sonic tapestry and his willingness to perpetually explore the new, at an age where many musicians — especially those as accomplished as he is — might rest on their laurels.
"That's multilayered. I never feel good enough. I never feel satisfied. I always think the best is yet to come. I'm still seeking that sonic holy grail. I'll never find, but I'm going to die trying," Von Till says. "I can honestly say, I feel more inspired now at 55 than I've ever felt in my life."
That sense of perpetual inspiration awe — from the land, from the subtle energies that connect all living things, and even from that terrifying beast always looming on the edge, threatening to devour it all — is at the pulse of Alone in a World of Wounds.
The new LP features eight stunning tracks — and it's not hard to see the lure of these synthesized, sonic landscapes Von Till has found himself in. The track I find myself gravitating toward the most is the lone guitar-focused track on the record, the album closer "River of No Return." The track calls to mind the slowcore somniloquies of Songs: Ohia (aka Jason Molina) and the downtempo triphop ponderings the equally long-laden and vibrato-drenched "Roads" by Portishead. It's a fitting title for the last leaf on this tree.
I'm not sure that'll be enough to get to the root of human suffering, but we can hope Alone in a World of Wounds will help keep the beast at bay. ♦
