“Well when I die don’t you bury me at all/ Just nail my bones up on
the wall/ Beneath these bones let these words be seen/ “This is the
bloody gears of a boppin’ machine.” Every time I hear Woven Bones, I think of the Cramps “Rockin’ Bones” and how the Austin trio manifests the sloppy, ghoulish promise of Lux Interior’s dementoid howl. Woven Bones are a mess, a fuzzed-out, monochord, pained mess. I love Woven Bones in the same way that I love Times New Viking and early Sebadoh and Nuclear Death, they represent absolute musical freedom and inclusion in an almost free jazz sense. It’s in being so caught up in the moment and the fever of creation that maybe you don’t give a damn about where the microphones are set and what kind of recorder you are using. It’s in the feral strut and tribal drum stutter, melting every song down to its trace elements. It’s in the sense of possibility inherent in their albums, like a clarion call to make your own fun. The promise of a new 7″ out on Hardly Art is almost enough to make this summer heat worth living through.

Listen to “I’ve Gotta Get.”

Filed under: Uncategorized