From atop the hallowed earth of Athens, Georgia -- the music Mothers revealed tonight is likely as much conjured as it is constructed. Deeply sorrowful, nearly fragile chords. Mixed with dissonant loss. A sound that reaches deep into the hidden tectonics of the soul. Shakes loose the disquiet of night's lonely, mocking cry. A loon's shriek intermittent at the midnight hour. There is pain here. It is not safe for you inside these measures.
I suppose the artist Mothers most reminds me of would be Kristin Hersh. Maybe with some sharp slivers of David Byrne tossed into the mix? But somehow.. Different. I throw a Mothers record on the turntable when I need to bleed. This is useful art. The kind of art that has survived. The kind of art that might teach you how to survive. They played their set almost entirely in the dark, where you could wrap their heavy tones tightly about your shivering, broken soul. Surrounded in fellowship. With the secret, hidden knowledge that we're all hurting -- if we have any sense, at least.
I feel like Mothers is an important band, if there is such a thing left as important bands in this fucked up world. And if you get anything of what I'm saying in this space? And you don't already have it on your shelf?
You should run out right now and buy their work.
. . .