While not abandoning the spirit of Prurient’s earlier work, the pronounced change in process is evident across the board. This is an album of electronic music, rather than a noise record. Take the EBM themed single “A Meal Can Be Made”, a track so aggressively danceable that it screams for public play, a concept unfathomable only a few years prior. Rather than a concentrated moment documented (as on his prior major albums such as Pleasure Ground and Black Vase), Bermuda Drain is an elaborately labored album, created over months of intense focus. Its attention to detail and structure eclipses anything created by Fernow thus far. Once obscured by assaults of high frequency or impenetrable static, the artist is brought into closer focus than ever. His lyrics are clearly decipherable, even when shouted directly at the listener. “Watch Silently” showcases this technique and its results are disturbing in their clarity.

Further down this spiral, speaking quietly becomes far more confrontational for Prurient. The most chilling moment of the record comes during “Palm Tree Corpse” when Fernow starts by coldly stating that if he could he would “take a tree branch and ram it inside you/but its already been done”. It’s delivered with a conviction that invokes an intense naturalism while implying a total futility. Synth lines cross over each other, layers of subtle percussive tones break to an almost new-age descending minor-key keyboard phrase. Fernow rips out his proverbial insides over the funeral-like hymn to resolve in a power electronics dense refrain, reminding the listener of the industrial throb of the darker side of Prurient’s palette, leaving a pulsing wound as the albums centerpiece. Over the course of the track, the distillation of his modern process is laid bare.

Perhaps the most integrated synthesis of all these recent techniques can be found on “Let’s Make A Slave”, in which minimal IDM beats merge with Muslimgauze textures and distant haunted field recordings in a swirl of tonal accents and micro developments. Fernow whispers a death ode to the parasitic nature of procreation, a fascinating examination of personal politics that takes the concept of Prurient and its exploration of uncomfortable ideas to the next level. Sex, a central theme to the project from the start, becomes less traumatic than the complications it implies. Lyrically, Fernow takes the reins to explore the ideas of crumbling relationships, denied expectations and ritual cleansing. Rather than outsource, the lyrics here are stemmed from the artist’s own pen. A return to form after a period of re-contextualization.

Prurient has always focused on the intensely personal, the real pieces of everyday tragedy brought into sharp, painful examination. Bermuda Drain is no exception. In this sense the album is right in line with the project’s conceptual agenda, yet it reveals a post-sexual world of thematic complexity riddled with desire and disappointment. The musical development, however, has ushered in a cross-genre amalgamation of electronic influences. Ultimately Prurient is a cut up collage, down to the overwhelming visual aesthetic displayed over the project’s decade-plus run. The logo of Fernow’s own imprint, Hospital Productions, features a pair of scissors, a symbolic representation of the physicality of fetishistic cold steel cutting paper. They stand for the possibility of stitching ideas together, but now the splices are so seamless its hard to tell where these source materials meet. Rather, they blend to make something entirely unique for both artist and genre. Bermuda Drain couldn’t have been made by anyone else.

The music of Tor Lundvall is a post-modern midnight dream, a universe that exists unto itself. As an artist, Lundvall remains an enigma, having released albums for the last twenty years and never once performed live or been pictured on his records. He remains a blank figure even as his music reveals a richly profound artistic viewpoint. The effect of his music is akin to deja vu’, its seldom clear where sounds originate or end, a calling from somewhere distantly familiar transformed. As the years passed and the releases continued, the questions piled up. Dais Records has just done the world a great service by reissuing three seminal Lundvall albums Ice, The Mist, and Under the Shadow of Trees and combined them with one new album, Turning, for a complete seasonally themed box of ghostly minimal compositions, appropriately titled The Season’s Unfold. Each album, framed by Lundvall’s dramatic paintings as artwork, throws the participant completely into this shadowy abyss. With a discography and reputation approaching Jandek/Muslimgauze proportions, the release of this special CD box set has prompted the curtain to be peeled back. For those unfamiliar with Lundvall’s deeply hypnotic textual music, this collection is a necessary antidote to rote genre-ism and conformity found in most modern music. The Season’s Unfold is a haunting example of one of today’s most mysterious composers and a perfect introduction to the mist-soaked, minimalism of Tor Lundvall. There is truly nothing else like it. Swingset was able to coax this reclusive artist into answering a few questions via fiber-optic lines.

How did you come to find your sound? There is something uniquely Lundvall on all of your recordings, its unmistakable.

My sound truly came into its own around November 1995 when I was recording the first piano pieces for “Ice”. I knew during those sessions that something unique was happening within the music. I think certain events in my personal life at the time must have triggered and influenced this musical growth and transformation.

There’s an amazing juxtaposition of thematic transcendentalism using processed sound in the music. There’s a calming tranquility in the naturalism yet there is something so alien about the sounds. How do these ideas connect for you?

On a strictly technical level, my trusty reverb unit plays a large role in enhancing the organic and otherworldly nature of the music. I don’t merely drench or disguise my sounds with echo. Instead, I look for unique patterns and atmospheres to emerge from the processed sound and then I construct my songs around them. I find that the most interesting pieces of music are those where you can’t pinpoint the instruments generating the sounds. Prior to 1995, I implemented a lot of foreign samples into my music. I’d record fragments from old radio broadcasts, movies and even comedy tapes and then transform them into ambient loops or washes. Many of the tracks on “Insect Wings” and “Turning”, for example, were constructed around these loops. From 1995 onwards, I’ve rarely used samples that are not homemade. Nearly every sound on my recordings from “Ice” onwards have been generated from objects within hands reach or from outside my bedroom window.

You have described your music as “ghost ambient”. Are you channeling or do these phantoms already exist, and in either case should we be afraid of them?

There’s no reason to be afraid… at least not yet!  I’m actually rather skeptical when it comes to ghosts and the supernatural, in spite of the fantastic nature of some of my music and paintings. At the same time, I have to wonder where some of the distant voices and other unintended sounds lurking within my music come from. Perhaps I’m channeling after all! These unexplainable sounds are the main reason I once described my music as “Ghost Ambient”. Although I’ve never been fond of labels, there was a time when I felt compelled to do so in order to avoid being pigeonholed.

Is there an intended affect for the listener? Surely there is a darkly romantic thread running through the material but atmosphere seems to be the thread that brings them all together, but how do you imagine people listen to your music?

I hope that the listener gets lost and absorbed in the music and the images it evokes for them. It’s certainly not entertainment and I’m sure my recordings would bore the hell out of anyone looking for just that. At the same time, there’s a lot going on beneath the surface and I hope that people will discover more with each new listening.

Do you see your work as refining a particular aesthetic? What goals do you set for yourself with the projects individually and what challenges and motivates you to continue down this path?

My work flows so naturally and instinctively that I rarely think in terms of motivation or challenges, at least not consciously. My painting and music is something I just do. My only real challenge is avoiding laziness and minimizing daily distractions. Once I’ve recorded a few new pieces of music, I suppose my one main goal is to make an album that sounds as coherent as possible. I’m never satisfied until this happens.

The voice on your records is so consistent. Is the narrator speaking to the same person throughout your work or is there a change with the seasons?

It’s a voice of personal reflection and observation for the most part. In a few rare instances, the lyrics are aimed towards a certain individual or a symbolic representation of that person. The seasons, the weather and even the time of day always play their part in setting the tone of the lyrics and the vocal delivery.

On a sentiment do your paintings and music express the singular or do they serve as separate outlets for different ideas?

My painting and music are interwoven and they channel the same spirituality and intuition. The only difference is the medium used and how they are absorbed by the senses.

How does soundtrack play into your work, your music can work dramatically in both the foreground and the background at certain points. Do you intend it to function equally in both or are certain works supposed to be more subliminal?

That’s an interesting observation. There’s no conscious effort to make the music function one way or the other, however it usually succeeds in being absorbed both actively and passively. There’s a gray area I like to explore, perhaps even more so with music than when I paint. There’s nothing intentionally subliminal about the music, however the undefinable elements are endless and fascinating places to get lost in.

Can you tell me about where you’re from in Long Island and what about that place/time factors into your art? The naturalism is so strong in the music, perhaps you can thread a parallel?

My surroundings have always had a tremendous impact on my music and painting. This is why there are usually more places than people listed on my album credits! I moved to East Hampton, NY in the Summer of 1992. Although the town is infamous for it’s insufferable social scene, it’s also one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever known. I’m instinctively drawn to the landscape out here and it continues to influence and inspire my work.

There are a few specific compositions that stand out for me, perhaps you can share some of the stories or process behind a few in particular: “Twilight Girl,” “Windshield Dream,” “Hills in Flames,” “Faceless Boy”

“Twilight Girl” was inspired by one of my paintings which appears inside the booklet of the 1st edition of “Under the Shadows of Trees”. There’s a guitar riff I’m really proud of in the second verse, although it’s somewhat camouflaged in the mix. Lyrically, it’s an answer to the grief expressed in my track “Ice” which was released on the album of the same name. The lyrics convey (among other things) the idea that one can be deeply hurt, but not destroyed by lost love.

“Windshield Dream” is one of my favorite recordings from the “Autumn Calls” sessions. The track was built around a TR-808 drum pattern which was treated with delay. The loop had a hypnotic effect that sounded like wiper blades moving back and forth across a rain-soaked windshield, hence the title. Tony Wakeford added the excellent moody bass line. The distant trumpet and agitated strings provided by the other musicians helped complete the picture.

“Hills in Flames” is one of my earliest recordings dating back to July 1991. My father had a rusty, antique dulcimer with only three functioning strings. I plucked and sampled a series of notes and then added some other sounds, including the steady bass from my old Sequential Circuits Pro-One synthesizer. There are at least 5 different versions of “Hills in Flames” tucked away in my archives, including a few vocal takes. One of the whispered lyrics can be heard on the version featured on my “Insect Wings” CD. I always loved the title of this track and even considered using it as an album title years ago.

“Faceless Boy” still manages to creep me out to this day. I was messing around with my brother’s guitar effects processor and discovered that it made some incredibly strange sounds when it was used to treat vocals. The original mix of “Faceless Boy” was released on the “Seasons Sketches” CDR and it features the most radical vocal processing.

I understand that happenstance and the unexplainable play a role in your creative process but are there any rituals that help facilitate these chances?

Taking long walks, driving through back roads or just looking out of my bedroom window are my key rituals. The things I see and the feelings they evoke always facilitate the creative process and become permanently tied into the work. I can’t listen to my track “Sunday Evening”, for example, without being transported to that precise moment in time.

What binds you to your form? For the most part your work is concise to fit the general constraint of a “song”. Have you ever considered extended or other formats?

I suppose I’ve always preferred writing shorter pieces of music that blossom, shimmer and fade. Apart from the full length version of “The Falling Snow”, I haven’t recorded many extended compositions, however this could change at some point in the future. There are a few tracks on my forthcoming album “The Shipyard”, for instance, which are more loop-oriented and exceed my normal running time.

Would there ever be an occasion or reason to perform your work live?

That’s difficult to say. I’ve had several offers to play live over the years, however I’m hesitant to go forward with a live event for a variety of reasons. My music is so studio based that it’s difficult envisioning how it would translate to a live performance. I also haven’t played a proper gig in over twenty years, so the idea of going on stage again after all that time is a bit intimidating to say the least. Needless to say, it would take quite a lot to get me on stage again.

In what sense does a piece need to connect in order for it to be considered finished? What properties does it need to contain?

It just has to feel right, however it usually takes a long time for this to happen. I’m never satisfied until I’m completely immersed in my work and all the details are in place. I need to feel like I’m entering another world.

What future releases/plans are coming?

Apart from “The Shipyard”, a limited edition cassette EP is scheduled for release on the Period.Tapes label later this year. “Autumn Calls” may also see a reissue soon. The other day during my morning walk, I had the idea of making an album about a quiet park. Song titles such as “Symbols on Pavement” and “Field of the Red-Wing” popped into my head on my way back home. When this happens, a new album is never too far behind.

Violence and hardcore have always come hand in hand; often it’s a reaction to the music. Salvation, and you as the frontman, seem willing and able to jump fist-first into this chaos. This is instigated by both the band and the audience. Do you feel like you have an adversarial relationship to your audience? Is the violence internal and the music causes a visceral physical reaction?

Hardcore and punk music have always appealed to me due to its energy. All I really have to say in regards to this: if your music doesn’t set you off, you’re not doing it right. It’s confrontational music, and whatever happens when we play happens. It is an outlet for the internal.

When preparing for a show or a recording what do you do to mentally put yourself in a state so that you can perform the material with the proper intensity?

There’s really no method of preparation. Playing a show is usually enough of an anxiety overload.

Going into your second LP what were the challenges and goals and how did you tackle them? Did you feel the need to “up the ante”?

It’s rather imperative for me to stray from repetition with this band. Every recording must contain characteristics which set them apart. Who wants a totally predictable album? After sitting on Of Unforgiving Wind, I found particular elements that I felt needed improvement, so I took it upon myself to work on them. I wanted the atmosphere to be completely different from the previous LP as well. The construction of an album as a whole is vital, and so is the way one perceives each as a separate entity. Otherwise, the progression in songwriting is gradual. Progression within this genre of music is perfectly acceptable to me, but I don’t feel the need to incorporate an orchestra to spice up a record.

Salvation echo an existential nihilism that seems so far away from the direct language of what came before genre-wise. That being said, what of the regional is reflected in this music if any, and do you feel a connection aesthetically with certain peers?

All writing and thought expressed via Salvation is basically stemmed from the personal. Some bands, artists, and writers have clearly made some sort of subconscious impact on me, but in no way am I interested in purely channeling someone else’s thoughts. I have my own interests and I expect other individuals to hold their own, although most fail to. There are certain bands that currently exist which I can appreciate, but in no way do I feel a connection with any band aesthetically.

At this point of the bands existence, Salvation has outlasted many of its contemporaries. What continues to fuel and motivate the project when so many others burn and fade so quickly?

Salvation began as an outlet for whatever issues I had to air out, and has since been that. The band will come to an end when things begin to run smoothly. Bands within this realm tend to pigeonhole their sound, and that’s one of the main problems I see. Too many bands existing without any genuine traits whatsoever. People putting forth less focus on one project by dispersing their energy between six other projects. It all runs together.

How does your idea of morality play into the album? It seems almost like Salvation deal in a post-moral aesthetic, as you say stemming from the personal rather than the political.

I will begin by saying that politics mean absolutely nothing to me. Whatever political climate one is dropped into is what they must live with, and is what they understand. My stance relies on the bare bones of existence. Morality is a man made device implanted in the mind. The struggle we face as mortals and human beings is an everlasting indecision until our dying day. No matter what stance one may hold, there’s an underlying fear from any outside influence to haunt. Absolute chaos. Through personal experiences I’ve delved into a certain psyche, which at times I feel is impossible to let go of. The mind is a powerful, manipulative tool.

In many ways Salvation remain intentionally alienated, no comps or splits…Is it safe to say that you claim part of no community?

Association goes a long way. You can look at any band and quickly lump them in with a handful of others because they may be a part of the same record label, or merely base this off what bands they play shows with. This is fair for any person to do. It’s inevitable, however – yes, some bands think differently and do not care to be a part of what others are doing in a collaborative manner. I have no interest in being half of someone’s split record. I don’t care to be involved with any compilations. I enjoy the distance and crafting records solely for this band.

How much focus is required to accomplish an album for you? Having sent yourself to the brink of personal destruction at shows you all have intense dedication; have you ever felt you have pushed too far?

The process requires much focus and once started will remain on my mind consistently until completion. Being the main contributor as far as writing goes (music and words / Kyle places drums to my riffs); there’s much groundwork and expansion to be worked upon. The visual aspects of an album take just as much time and energy, and I skip through many avenues before deciding on the appropriate. I’d say it all comes together well in the end, but the process has been painful in the past with assembling the others to wrap it all up. My main qualm has always been the reliance on others, but you must take what you can get. As far as pushing too far goes – pushing it as far as possible is essential to attaining perfection.

Having released the record how do you feel about the direction of the band moving forward?

I feel great about it, really. I’m sure the album won’t sit well with some who glorified Of Unforgiving Wind mostly due to the slight variation in songwriting. I do think that it’s successive enough and is in no way too far removed from the last step. A transitional piece. I only foresee the band’s sound continuing along this path.

In the end, what motivates you to continue, is it sadism or masochism?

Masochism is what leads me on. Double negative equals a positive. My work reflects any amount of horror I have faced, and in turn the pleasure received from release merely dissipates for want of some escapist relief. That’s not an option.

photos by Josh Landes
illustration by Chris O’Neal

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