Darkness, darkness. Trumpets, muttering, and darkness. Oh, and banjos. Before the explosion and the rain and the flood and the falling, falling. I don’t know what this is all about, but I sense the mossy underbelly of a Civil War battlefield, quiet on the surface, raging with ghosts just under the surface, in an unsettled soil. What is wrong with me? Gr8, strange work from The Loom, from Brooklyn.
“For The Hooves That Gallop, And The Heels That March” (download mp3)
“For The Hooves That Gallop, And The Heels That March” (play)