Shadow World Archive Vinyl, CD & Tape 4 Items

Last LP scored big on end of year lists for Quietus, Brooklyn Vegan - this one is even more out there - Listen TO IT. FFO Popul Vuh, Aphrodites Child, Sunn O))), Eduard Artemyev

Here I AM is the first thing. A powerful incantation sung in full choral style at Dartington College of Arts in 1982 and captured on tape, now in 1s and 0s for all eternity. It’s a bold phrase, this assertion of existence, this permanent claiming of space in time; these three words we were made to sing in church, that we used to recite one after another at the beginning of class. Doing so might seem mundane, or easy, but it’s not. What’s easy is not. Not declaring one’s presence, not showing up at all. Claire Bushe, Cathy Frost, Lisa Halse, Cathy Josefowitz, and Mara de Wit showed up, took a side. They called themselves Lining Time. They were here. ANY Woman CAN SAY I’M A Witch, they said. Strike is the album Lining Time made. It plays out like a freedom spell, like liberatory healing magic. Reveling in the power of the voice, Lining Time sing. Not at us, but for us. As if by putting voice to the traumas inflicted by the patriarchy and capital, they could be made right. As if the whole world might join in and sing along, might join in and take action - might join in and strike.There’s nothing exclusive about the music Lining Time made. Like many of the best and weirdest records of the post-punk era, Strike wears its amateurism as a badge of honour, flies it like a flag to rally around. It is inclusive to the extreme. Which isn’t to say anyone could’ve made Strike. That’s the thing. The music preserved here is too weirdly spare and idiosyncratic - and wildly overconfident in the way that only the young and young at heart can be. Sometimes it’s almost protest folk, acappella or accompanied by a single acoustic guitar, as on ‘It’s Possible’. Sometimes schoolroom auxiliary percussion clunks out a cyclical, ritual rhythm, as on the title track. At no point does it feel less than singular. Still, this is music about and for universal sisterhood. It invites solidarity. Take up an instrument for the cause and sing your own song. Time Passes Time Passes Time Passes Time Recorded music often functions like a time capsule. It’s not rare that an album is “lost”. Rather, it’s rare that a work is heard widely at the time it was made. Often, it’s barely heard at all. It just exists somewhere, a cave painting or an ancient piece of graffiti, waiting to be stumbled upon for whatever reason. The reason, in Strike’s case, is a wonderful posthumous exhibition of Cathy Josefowitz’s artwork, The Thinking Body, a cooperative effort between Kunsthaus Langenthal, Centre Culturel Suisse, Paris, Macro Roma, Les Amis de Cathy Josefowitz, and Elise Lammer. It’s possible that some might be tempted to think of Lining Time as a sideshow curiosity to the main event, but that’d be foolish. Strike, nearly forty years old, is as alive and relevant as it was when it was recorded in the wake of the Reclaim the Night march. If anything, it’s shocking how potent and necessary its message remains today.

Hazy, gentle almost euphoric explorations and improvisations made in Leeds and Manchester throughout 2019 and 2020. Sam and Chris understand, lean in to, and translate those wonderful relationships and historic personal moments that smudge in to your DNA forever. Their language is of classic genre playing and hardware samplers, and they’ve made a record about low down personal shit; our deep trauma, beautiful platonic love, isolation, connection, it's all there; Blunches look and listen to the world around them and have created their own version of it. It’s like those summers watching skate videos, feeling upset all the time, getting into bed at 4am, being with your mates, just getting through it. This record doesn’t have a lyric in it, yet it speaks to me as a kid from a grey-ass town as clear as any pop song ever has. I dare you to play this and not feel it.

Tag this as somewhere between “hospital ambient” and “backwoods industrial.”

Shadow World Archive is proud to present The McClintic Chorus, the second full-length LP from Kristen Gallerneaux. The follow-up to her critically acclaimed debut Strung Figures, The McClintic Chorus finds Gallerneaux in world-building mode, crafting a psychogeographic landscape of folkloric Appalachia through sound. Turning her inimitable, idiosyncratic ear to field recordings and sound sources recorded or re-recorded in and around Point Pleasant, West Virginia and the McClintic Wildlife Area's infamous TNT domes, Gallerneaux performs a sort of alchemy, teasing uncanny and unknowable deep-time histories from post-industrial rubble. Transforming the hyper-local and hyper-personal into something that can be universally felt - in your head, heart, and guts. Literally. 'Cause this gear bangs.

The McClintic Chorus is presented as a digital download and as a luxe 2xCD + zine. The second disc includes Where The Whistles Mingle, an album-length longform track only available with the physical release.

But enough from us. Let's hear from Gallerneaux herself: The McClintic Chorus is a 68-minute composition and multimedia performance created from recordings gathered at the McClintic Wildlife Management Area in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. From 1942-1945, this site was known as the West Virginia Ordnance Works or “tnt Area,” in reference to its history as a WWII-era explosives manufacturing facility. Over 720,000 tons of TNT were produced daily on the grounds. A series of concrete “igloo” storage huts were erected and covered with earth to camouflage them from potential enemy aircraft. These structures are the only architectural clues that remain of this landscape’s former life.

In November 1966, the TNT Area received attention in local newspapers as the place where a mysterious 6-foot-tall, winged humanoid with red eyes known as “Mothman” was first spotted. A flood of reports connected to the TNT Area described Mothman’s penchant to silently glide alongside cars and interfere with telephone calls by emitting shrill blasts of tinny static, beeping, and electronic pulses. Today, many paranormal seekers visiting the site believe the cryptid was a “harbinger of doom” who was attracted to the Point Pleasant area to observe or warn of the fatal December 1967 collapse of the town’s Silver Bridge.

The McClintic Chorus is a biography of place—exploring the tenuous collisions between industrial landscapes, ecological redemption, and contemporary legends embedded in rural Appalachia. While producing this work, the complicated oscillations between the bucolic and the vaguely threatening were visibly and audibly palpable. Searching for the overgrown entrances to abandoned ordnance huts—the deafening sounds of bullfrogs, redwing blackbirds, and other wetland wildlife compete with the rattle of gunfire from the nearby range.

Binaural, contact, and stereo microphones were used to capture the powerful echoes from inside and around the TNT domes. Recognizable recordings of these sounds permeate the work, blended with fragments of recordist stomps, gasps, coughs, and voices—which were transformed into several DAW-based drum kits and instruments.