Mizmor and the Value of our Labors

Mizmor’s recent releases have pulled listeners deeper into the ever yawning gravitational well at the center of the project, seeing the band swallow droning ambience (with ambient composer Andrew Black), Louisiana sludge (with Thou), and spoken psychedelia (on their Wit's End EP). With all that soaring expansion behind it, the band would surely at some point make a conscious descent back to Earth, to taste dirt once more.

Enter Prosaic, the most human, feral album of Mizmor's career. In both sound and subject matter, the 4 songs here reflect the contortions our bodies make to accommodate lives of unspectacular repetition, and the toll taken in doing so. We spoke with ALN who as ever wrote, performed, and produced the record in isolation, about the changes required to create an album with its feet planted firmly on the ground.

–Luke Jackson

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When listening to a new work from an established artist, people tend to have questions about how it’s going to relate to their body of work, stylistically speaking. Prosaic hammers out of the gate with "Only An Expanse," which has this searing punk energy, it gives you so many answers about the album within the first 10 seconds of pressing play. Was that deliberate?

Yeah, I wanted to start the record with a bang, in the sense that my approach to making Prosaic was all about trying to trim the fat, keep it punchy and interesting, and just kind of get in and get out as quickly as I could, within reason and without making it sound like an entirely different band. So I wanted to start things loud and fast and grab your attention from the get go, get right into it.

We're used to hearing your work described as black doom, what does it mean to have creative access to those two extreme ends of the spectrum in terms of tempo and style? What does it mean for your songwriting, both technically and in terms of the stories you want to tell?

Those have always been my two favorite sub genres of extreme metal, and I think that's probably because they tap into melancholy so effectively. They have sad melodies, as opposed to other sub genres that are more concerned with venting emotion and anger–I'm in it for the sad shit. So black metal reaches more of the angsty side of that for me and doom metal gets to more of the really depressing side of things. I could never pick between sub genres for a sound because I always want to do them both, so I've always interwoven them with droney passages and whatnot. It is nice, I like the way you put that question, it is nice to have access to both of those tempos, because it does give you more space to work in, more places that you can take the song, and more emotions you can evoke in the narrative that you're trying to tell. So often I find that melodies I write that I'm planning to play very slowly, also sound really cool with a blast beat behind them. So I might be able to transition those two parts together and then take it to a different spot.

You do have quite the singular voice in doing so. If we take the holy trinity of black, death, and doom: there are quite a few death doom bands operating out there, quite a lot of blackened death too, but black doom seems to be like a less populated space.

It’s certainly not intentional for me at all but yeah, doom metal is just not very popular compared to the other two. Because it's not fast and a lot of people find it boring but it was my first love in the metal world. It just works for me really well. I don't know why.

I was immediately taken aback with the artwork for Prosaic by Bryan Proteau. Your recent releases leant into these grand painterly landscapes, I think you were the first I recall featuring a Lewandowski for a cover as you did with Cairn, but Prosaic could not be more different; it has the energy of a middle ages woodcut image, how does that shift tie in with the album?

Totally, so I’ve done illustrations for covers a while back, and then I kind of got into the painting thing for a few albums in a row there. But going back to illustration this time was a deliberate choice, because I wanted to make a record that was less grandiose, and less epic sounding. I didn't want to make an album that had the vibe it felt like it was a masterpiece, some huge thing, I just wanted it to be more humble, human, and straightforward. The themes center around work, and the day in day out slice of life, monotony, and the purpose that we struggle to find or do find in work and how that both propels us and also makes us suffer. To me these themes were very plain, in a good way. And I just wanted it to look a lot more from the hip and raw, to me that was a drawing. I’ve also leaned more into classic black metal sound throughout the record, so there are a lot of obvious art references of older classic black metal records that were presented alongside illustrations in a style that I wanted to evoke, like peasantry, working and being a plain person.

You’ve said that in producing this album you asked yourself some questions, questions about whether you can forefront the fun and the self love aspects of creation, rather than getting super down in the weeds of perfectionism and needing it to sound a certain way. What did you have to do to keep that in check throughout the album's creation?

It was a real active practice, almost like a mindfulness or meditative practice where you deliberately notice your thoughts and your feelings arise, seeing them going in a certain direction, and intentionally not becoming enraptured in them and course correcting back to the goal, the exact task that you want to do. And that's obviously hard, it was a challenge. I mostly succeeded in it. I just became curious about what the final product would be, what the record would sound like if I stuck to this approach. And so there were always temptations to, to obsess and become unproductive, in my opinion, trying a performance or a take over and over and over again, or trying to troubleshoot this tiny, tiny little sound that you don't like. I did that to an extent, to try to and make something that's good, but all the while trying to default back to this mode of “is it good enough? Yeah, it is. Let's just keep going.” And so it was more about making a record that's good enough, while keeping a positive mental attitude, than it was about making a record that was quote-unquote perfect, despite having to tap into a negative headspace, because I've definitely made that record before, and worked that way before. And once you’ve made records over and over again, you become curious about different ways to do it, for yourself and to keep it interesting, right? So I was like, you know, it could turn out like total trash, but what if I didn't have to suffer quite as much for the record? Could it still be a great record? Could I make my process easier, more fun, more interesting for me so that I'm excited every day that I go into the studio to make it instead of feeling like, here we go again? And you know what, it turned out that I really loved how it came out, I liked the results of the experiment.

Reminds me of something Trent Reznor said, he was talking about the Nine Inch Nails live album and was saying, sometimes there's a weird hiss, or a note that doesn't sound perfect, and that can be the right thing or it can be the wrong thing: it's about deciding what to address.

Totally.

Alongside the artistic momentum and change that’s embodied in Prosaic you’ve said the songs are more slice of life in their narratives, touching on mundanity, repetition and labour, in turn steering the narrative of the album away from your personal philosophy and history. Did that feel liberating as a creator? Did it feel like hey, I can go anywhere now?

Yeah, totally. It’s just time to think about and talk about other stuff. And that I've come to naturally. You don't want to make the same record over and over again. And that plays into a few different areas like the approach to the production we just talked about, but also the lyrics and the themes. Am I going to talk about being an ex Christian for the rest of my life? I mean, no, I've made peace with that, and I've come to a good place, one of healing and growth and acceptance. And at least right now in my life, I don't need to talk about that. So it felt good to talk about something else, to talk about a few different things, not like one singular concept. I can construe a singular concept about the record in hindsight now, but at the time, it was like this song’s about time and our conception of time, this song’s about feeling like the grass is always greener, but that that's an illusion. And being in the present moment, this song's about, you know, depression. So, yeah, it was freeing not to feel like my identity as a person or as an artist is limited to just talking about God and atheism, and things like that.

Mizmor has been a touring band for a while now, but people have this strong association between the act and with you personally, reinforced by the fact that you’re writing, producing, performing, and creating records in isolation. But then in total contrast to the image of the lone metal wanderer, it seems like collaboration and friendship are really important to your ongoing work–how crucial is it to have both independent work, and then these big collaborations with Thou, Andrew Black etc. in your creative life?

It's really important, I definitely need the solo endeavor first and foremost, because if I was only in a band, or a collaborative project, I would go a little crazy. I need to have one outlet that doesn't get changed and that other opinions and edits aren't introduced into, for me to feel okay. I’ve been that way since I was a kid. It's how I process my thoughts and my feelings, it's like a journal, and over the ages, it just became metal and became Mizmor, but it's been many other things in the past.

So if I have that, then I feel like I can collaborate with other artists and not feel like I have to get my way, and be more open to seeing how things can evolve naturally by combining ideas, because I already have this thing scratching this other itch for me. And in taking Mizmor from the studio, the live band is really important. For the experience of the audience, it's really powerful to have all the instruments played live in front of you. The people that are my live band are really, really close friends of mine that I've been playing music with for between ten and 20 years, so we have this wonderful friendship and personal dynamic, but we also have this musical chemistry that takes a really long time to build up that's full of subtleties, nuances and idiosyncrasies. And I think that's really important, and I think the audience can feel that. It's great to just be able to do this serious, intense, extreme thing, but you're with all your friends and the second you're done performing, you're back to just making jokes and being there for each other. So it balances it out a lot and it keeps it positive, which I think is really important as well.

I think ultimately, I make this music because I have to for me, but I also have gotten to the point with the project that I do feel like I'm making it for other people as well. Because I've learned over the years that it's important to other people, and they resonate with it; that gives me a way bigger sense of purpose than just being a hermit, only making music for me, which is a really isolating and ultimately self centered practice. I really like approaching it in the sense that it can be helpful to other people - they want to gather in the same room and hear the sound waves and have a cathartic experience and connect with the lyrics. And it becomes bigger than just me, and my thoughts and feelings and whatnot. And so between that and the band it becomes so much more special, My process will always start with just me, and then eventually it ripples out and includes other people, I think both are important stages of artistic development.

It makes a lot of sense to want to come offstage and be surrounded by your friends and have fun and celebrate what you've done, especially after something so intense.

Yeah, totally. I mean, ultimately, life is completely absurd. And pain is part of that. And so is silliness. So, I kind of think they go hand in hand in a weird way, you know?

Metal is inherently silly and better for it! So Mizmor was never conceived in your mind as something that you could do live by yourself, and explore how those arrangements would work?

Not with the music that I'm currently writing, I think it needs to be performed with a full band. If I ever got to a place where I wanted to write a record that actually sounded like just a person playing an instrument and singing, for example, then I would probably be able to do that by myself live. But I don't want to be playing guitar and screaming with drum tracks. And I don't want to be playing drums screaming with guitar tracks, it's just not as interesting to watch. The live performance thing with these types of compositions and arrangements, I think both for the performers and the audience, it takes that full band chemistry and synergy to get everyone vibing and sharing in the experience.

On collaborations for a second, I was wondering how fun/difficult it was to keep Myopia a secret, and then to perform the album essentially on the day that it was announced?

It was difficult! That approach to releasing it was not my idea [laughs]. I like to have fun with peeling back the layers and teasing things and building some anticipation, not just for supporters out there, but for me, I think that's fun. It's also fun to drop a big surprise like that, but it was hard for me, because I was just so excited that I just wanted people to start knowing about it. Having said that, it certainly made some waves and was a lot of fun. That's why you collaborate, to do things you wouldn't normally do.

Prosaic is your first record on a new label, how has that impacted the workflow of its creation, and happens post release?

Chris [Bruni] at Profound Lore has been incredibly easy to work with, and is very responsive, things just move really quickly and effortlessly between him and I. I changed labels for a few different reasons, but one of them was to reach new people and a larger amount of people. And I think we've done that a little bit already, I'm really excited to see more of the after effects of that post release.

So there's another collaboration that's come around with this album, and that’s with the video for "No Place To Arrive." How did you end up working with Emma [Ruth-Rundle] on that piece, what’s your shared history?

Emma is actually my sister-in-law, I'm married to her sister. And we have been good friends for, I don't know, nine or ten years now. Over the course of that time, every once in a while, we’ve been a part of each other's work, and helped each other out with things. And so the idea came about to make this video. Zev Deans the director is a friend of mine, he had done the animated video for “Wit's End” a couple of years ago, and he sent me a message saying hey, me and a crew member, and some gear are coincidentally going to be in Portland for a few days, we’re between projects, and we have time off that we want to fill, do you want to make a music video for like, a reasonable budget? And I was like, Shit, yeah! So I made some phone calls and figured out the budget and how we were going to do it. And then I needed a concept and a story kind of quickly, and I had a rough idea but I didn't know if it could fill 10 minutes and be interesting, so that's when I called Emma because she has made a few music videos that are really, really awesome. And this is more like her world that I'm just not as familiar with, I actually never really saw myself making a live action music video for this project. So she helped me make sure it was cool and interesting. She spent a session or two with me brainstorming and organising a shot list and that kind of stuff. And then I developed that more with Zev, and then we all met up outside of Salem, Oregon, and she was only able to come for a few hours of the first day to make sure that it was achieving what we had talked about, and to meet the dudes.

The song is about staying in the present moment and not being distracted, keeping coming back to the task of making the fire, trying not to be distracted by really surreal stuff, so there’s this tension in there between the real and the surreal, you know, fiction, and fantasy and real life. It sounded perfect, so we jumped at doing that treatment.

How did the prompt generation part of creation work? It’s a hot subject at the moment.

That part is still a mystery to me, because I was not involved in that whatsoever. But they did such a beautiful job of putting it into the video, and having it look like it's blended, you know, with, I mean, there's one section that’s purely animated, but for the most part, it's blended with the live action shots. And it just looks so cool.

Given the success that you've had working out of your home studio for a number of albums now, has it led to any kind of wild experiments in creation, anything unexpected or distinctly un-Mizmor?

You know, the one thing that I've added to my process over the last couple of years that's kind of un-Mizmor is using tape machines here and there, which is something I got from my friend and collaborator Andrew Black, because he makes ambient music and almost everything he does has tape in it of some form. After we made our collab together, I realised how wonderful something like an acoustic guitar sounds when it's on a shitty micro cassette and sounds all wobbly and blown out and unlike it's coming out of a radio in terms of like the EQ. So that kind of changed my approach because I do a fair amount of acoustic or clean guitar, sparse sections, peppered in throughout the songs. And it's kind of nice sometimes to be like yeah, that's sounds a little boring, I guess what if it sounded a little old and fucked up and not just like a regular guitar? So that in combination with having produced a couple of other artists’ albums, kind of put me into this headspace of asking myself is that done? Is that interesting enough? Sometimes that takes going too far, and then pulling it back. That's too crazy and indulgent. You know, let's find the limit, and then we dial it back. But I think it took collaborating with other artists and occupying a producer engineer role for a couple other projects to change how I approached my own music, and not just be like I wrote the songs, I recorded them and now it's done. Now I can put on this other hat and ask a few other questions in search of different tones, and not call it done right away because we got the performance, which at first felt un-Mizmor-ish because I had typically said you press record, you get the take and that's it, like true cult raw black metal - If you try too hard, then it's too polished. It's all in the evolution I suppose.

There’s still some time before release, what do you want people to have in mind when they hear the album?

I guess I'm not necessarily nervous about the reception. But to me, it's very different. And I hope people like it. I suppose whether they do or don't, it doesn't matter in a sense, it's too late, the record’s done. You know, when you do something different, you just hope that people are along for the ride with you as an artist, and they'll go with you where you go. Without too much kicking and screaming.

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Prosaic is out now via Profound Lore Records, and can be purchased here.