DBL105: High Aura'd - No River Long Enough Doesn't Contain a Bend

LP Release: October 13th, 2017
Digital Release: October 27th, 2017

John Kolodij - Photo Rob Galo

About No River Long Enough Doesn't Contain a Bend

No River Long Enough Doesn’t Contain a Bend, the newest album from John Kolodij’s High Aura’d project, is a document of place. In 2015 the artist moved to Ohio from his familiar coasts of Rhode Island. In attempt to grapple with the marked difference in geography Kolodij dove into discovering the old forest and rivers of Steelhead Alley. The resulting album is a deeply Autumnal work. Calm, warm, bittersweet and resolute in the face of the coming changes. High Aura’d records previously have touched on the darkness and light of the American wilderness, but never in such an “Americana” form as this. This is a document of a guitarist as cartographer. Digging deeper and deeper into what he is capable of shaping in your mind. This is poetry, if not in form, at least in feeling. 

The album features an small army of longtime collaborators: including John Twells (Xela), the renowned trumpeter Greg Kelley, Glenna Van Nostrand (Omnivore), Ken Linehan,and Angel Olsen. Mastered by Helge Stien at Audio Virus LAB. Packaging and design by Kevin Gan Yuen (Sutekh Hexen, Viraloptic) with a hidden-in-plain-sight short story by William Cody Watson. 
No River Long Enough Doesn’t Contain a Bend finds High Aura’d’s bleak, wordless Americana is at its most visual—patiently building in intensity and lingering like clouds of smoke. On past releases, John Kolodij’s guitar drones rattled with the ominous fury of thunder (or a black metal band). Here, he conjures a wider range of textures: stirring guitar soli; starry post-rock; vicious noise. His music now sounds as dark and burdened as the country it depicts. His record takes you places.
— Sam Sodomsky
John Kolodij sketches a future past with rugged Americana smoked in tea leaves, sheer drones wrapped in muslin cloth.
— Lars Gotrich
High Aura’d makes music to change your mind. This can mean calm or excitement, hypnosis or agitation, dreams or nightmares. But whatever effect it provokes, “No river long enough doesn’t contain a bend...” will change your neural paths for the better.
— Marc Masters

Videos

Directed by Angel Olsen 

Featuring Angel Olsen and Greg Kelley

Directed by Ken Linehan

Featuring Glenna Van Nostrand


Info, Streams & Downloads

Soundcloud, Bandcamp embeds available upon request. Email sam@debaclerecords.com

Download 256k MP3 
Download WAV 
Download Artwork 
Download Press Images

Tracklist
A1. Burnt Hills
A2. Black Grasshopper
A3. Turned Corners
A4. All the Spirits that Dance
A5. Remain in Light
B1. Hodge's Lament
B2. Red West
B3. Iridescent Grasshopper
B4. Spivey Point
B5. Red Rocks

Format: 12" / Digital

Credits
Mastered by Helge Sten, Audio Virus LAB 
Design by Kevin Gan Yuen for viraloptic.com 
Short Story by William Cody Watson 

Thanks Given: 
Glenna Van Nostrand 
Ken Linehan 
John Twells 
Greg Kelley 
Angel Olsen

Debacle Records
www.debaclerecords.com
DBL105


This piece appears on the back of the LP jacket in UV spot gloss

Out there, in all that green and then the blue with the gold trim and the refracting black peppered with flecks of silver. We cut through the liquid glass of river water, and shade our eyes from the brilliance of the sun, thankful in the ways it engorges the spirits abounding. All in all, we come to think of this all medicinal. Cutting outwards into the ether, blending our bodies into the wet, all smiles, casting out, asking the spirits for fresh life. 

Nature blossoms with an embrace. We let our own flesh smear into the colors of bold springs and wild forests. Leaves that sway on a breeze the sky whispers. The sun soaks us, wraps us, elevates us behind our clothes. A spiritual bake. There's never been a time such as this, as we've been on these waters hundreds of times, each day a day different. Spectral and radiating its own solemnity. We crease our hands and cast, hoping to meet that maternity and her fine bosom, mastering our craft.

The water feels alive. We aim ourselves in its nooks as it folds in on itself like a constrictor under the sun. All the sprites that dance across her ink. She laps at us, relaxing our wits we'd poised bladed. There's defiance in the moves of the water, but it allows an ambiance for transcendence, and we've always come back to her for it. To move ourselves beyond our bone and blood. To her everlasting embrace andofferings. Slanted back, eyes cast to the sky again, the soft purr of engine lapping. 

Pulling hooks out. Holding silver fleshed beings like bars of gold up in the light; an offering looped. We receive from the earth to return flesh back to water, watch it cut away through the stream. 

Over yonder past the flesh of the treeline moving its tense limbs, past the black silhouette of sacred mounds; there's a fire burning. Hotter a fire than hell itself. Smoldering, ash plumes, char covering the earth. It's moving closer every day, yet I stay in the water. I stay on the water. The water stays on me. As a heart of comfort. I sweat as the unholy grows ever closer with obsidian cumulus spreading, webs and veins coursing. I see it there, I feel its hot pulse. I wipe my brow.

I think I'll just stay right here.

-William Cody Watson