Threadjacks Unravel by Sparsely

Threadjacks Unravel is what happens when you spend too much time listening to the constant hum of old machines. We’ve always maintained this music truly comes from the factory walls themselves, from the Weave, where every last spool of thread supposedly holds a bit of someone’s story. This album, well, it’s about these Threadjacks, small spirits, almost like kids, who just show up in the forgotten corners of Mill 47. They’re the ones who might pull a loose thread here, tangle a bobbin there, not to actually break things, but to simply stir things up. It’s their particular way of reminding everyone, including the workers still caught in the Loom Keeper’s endless cycle, that there’s always a sliver of room for a bit of joy, even defiance, under all that scrutiny.

We started exploring these characters, the Threadjacks, thinking about how subtle acts of mischief could spark something bigger. It felt like a natural extension of what we do, channeling industrial memory, but this time, finding the laughter in it. Musically, we pushed the limits of our ‘thread-timing’ method further than before, letting different layers, recorded at varying speeds, knit together into these polyrhythmic patterns. You hear it from the first whispers in “Mill 47 Awakening,” where the Threadjacks begin their subtle invitations. Then, things escalate. “Sabotage Lullaby” shows how a tangled line can actually connect people, turning a malfunction into something tender. We used bowed dulcimer there, alongside the actual sound of fabric tearing, then reforming.

As the story unwinds, so does the music. “Gossamer Conspiracy” is all about shared secrets, with Senna Warp’s voice weaving in and out, almost like hushed conversations you’re not meant to hear, built on our ‘gossamer vocal technique.’ It leads to “Midnight Textile Rave,” which was a challenge. How do you turn the oppressive rhythm of a factory into a dance track without losing its soul? We took actual textile machinery, processed it with granular synthesis, made looms into drum machines. It’s meant to feel like pure release, that moment when a factory floor becomes a place of celebration. Then the Loom Keeper, ancient and weary, watches in “Loom Keeper’s Vigil,” her wisdom echoing through sustained harmonium and old machine sounds, knowing what might come next.

And it does. “Thread Punishment” is the sharp edge of it, supervisors with their scissors, trying to cut the Threadjacks out. The rhythm of cutting fabric became the percussion for that track, creating a tension that’s pretty visceral. But these spirits, they’re resilient. “Woven Resilience” is our attempt to show how something beautiful, something permanent, can emerge from that struggle. We used what we call ‘weaving vocals’ here, literally knitting Senna’s voice together in layers based on textile patterns. It’s our way of saying that art, even born from pressure, can strengthen the very fabric of memory. Finally, “Morning Mill Meditation” settles things, a quiet contemplation as the first shift starts, showing that creativity and defiance leave their mark, making even industrial prisons a little more bearable.

This album isn’t just a collection of songs; it’s a living part of the Weave, a chronicle of finding lightness in the heavy churn of life. We wanted to create something that resonates with people who feel caught in their own routines, showing how small acts of rebellion can build community and preserve something vital. It’s our most ambitious work yet, an effort to turn forgotten industrial sounds into something that sparks joy, challenges the expected, and perhaps, weaves its way into the larger tapestry of drone folk and experimental music, offering something genuinely new. We've even hidden some ‘weaver’s messages’ in the album art, for those who care to look closer. It’s all about the threads that connect us, the ones that refuse to unravel.

We started recording in my grandmother's empty farmhouse after finding her old reel-to-reel in the attic. Our vocals float over stretched-out folk melodies that breathe like prairie grass. Sometimes a song lasts three minutes, sometimes fifteen.