Haunted House’s new record, Blue Ghost Blues, is an exploration. Harrowing guitars—provided by Loren Connors and Andrew Burnes—and Suzanne Langille’s poignant vocals circle around the persistent rhythms of Neel Murgai’s daf, a large hand drum often used in Middle Eastern and Central Asian music.
Returning from a ten-year hiatus, Haunted House perform together as if they were never apart. The record breathes in and out like a living thing, a remarkable feat given the experimental and improvised nature of the work. Fitting to the name of both the album and the band, the piece as a whole feels like some sort of exotic, spiritual ritual. The repetitive rhythms bring to mind a meditative mantra—the blues’ version of a chanted Om. On the other hand, the vocals give the work the effect of being seated in the middle of a séance. You are not an observer in this séance; you are in the middle of it, waiting for communication with spirits.
Musically, the record at times feels almost too cluttered to the point of disservice to its emotive noise. However, Blue Ghost Blues carefully avoids this trapping by utilizing the whole spectrum of dynamic range. The whole record pushes and pulls against itself from loud to soft. There are two clear halves on this record, the first half being far louder than the second. “Millie’s Not Afraid” and the title track comprise the first half and establish the character and entity of the piece, while the final three songs offer a counterpoint against this entity. The first two songs are built on thunderous grooves that take several minutes each to develop, and the intensity only briefly subsides until the listener is plunged back into a windstorm of distortion and feedback. The final three tracks, on the other hand, feature open textures and more exploratory passages. Yes, these last songs have very loud moments, but they are overall more dynamic.
The standout of the record is definitely the title track. “Blue Ghost Blues” is a cover of a Lonnie Johnson song, though it retains little resemblance to the original. The song starts quietly and over the first six minutes increases dramatically in intensity and complexity. The drumming goes from simple and persistent to massive fills that are pure chaotic energy, and this drumming is the foundation that pushes the song forward. Loren Connor’s tremolo’d feedback comes in in waves and surges back and forth against the persistent 2/4 of the song, constantly fighting against the rhythm of the drums and the other guitar. Imbedded in this whirling chaos is Suzanne Langille’s haunted singing. She takes the lyrics of the original and personifies the terror they express. In its finale “Blue Ghost Blues” seems almost peaceful—either the haunting ghost has finally left, or the haunted occupant is dead, his fears realized.
This record is difficult to review and even more difficult to give a rating. That said I’m reluctantly giving it a 3.5/5. Moments of this record display sheer brilliance, while other times the music drags on in redundance. Those moments of brilliance mostly outshine the duller moments, though not enough to make the record live up to its possibilities. Perhaps it’s a casualty of the hiatus.
Links: Pre-order physical, download digital
Cheers,
The Flying Dutchman
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