What I love most about the weird weeds’ music is the subtle shift in perspective that it playfully seduces from me. Before recording the album, they played a weekly residency at Cherrywood in order to solidify the arrangements. The first time I heard the new songs was at one of these performances. I distinctly remember them playing what would become track 3 on the album: a simple chord outlined on guitar, a four-note bass drone, and the most sparse drum beat I can remember since Hag Me by the Melvins. This song has NO MOVEMENT, in fact it might not even be a song. After about 2-3 minutes of unwavering repetition I was on the edge of my seat in awkward anticipation. Then, all at once, something clicked in my head. There was a moment of understanding or maybe self awareness where I realized the absurdity of my own expectations for the music. I was trying to superimpose my own internal narrative on the music, and simply NOT LISTENING. Nothing changed musically, and they must have continued for another 10 minutes; the only thing that changed was my perspective. In retrospect, the movement of this song is not musical, it is psychological; the aural equivalent of monochome painting. I loved it!
I must have looked like a confused dog with my head cocked to the side, but when I finally broke through and really started listening, I found myself at the bottom of a giant fish bowl, submerged beneath a tourmaline sky, the people and chairs around me barely grounded and gently swaying with the music. I didn’t want the song to end. I was beaming… The weird weeds do not force a change in perspective, they invite it. No one wants to be told that they are wrong, but when they come to that conclusion on their own it can be life changing.
We recorded the album live to tape using an MCI JH16 2” 16-Track. It was then mixed and mastered by John Dieterich (Deerhoof, Gorge Trio, and more). Available through Sedimental Records: http://www.sedimental.com/catalog/index.php?ID=67