Bloodwood Reclaim by Didgeridrone

This album, *Bloodwood Reclaim*, isn't just a collection of tracks; it's a journey deep into the red dirt heart of our country, a place where the living desert breathes alongside the ghosts of rusted steel. We've spent years out there, five of us, learning from the whispers of the land and the ancient thrum of amplified didgeridoo, figuring out how to make those same trance states hit you like a tonne of rock when layered with our guitars. It’s about that liminal space, the Bloodwood Nexus, where ancestral spirits still clash with the spectral hum of abandoned mining machinery. This isn't just music; it's a confrontation, a deep dive into what's been lost and what's being reclaimed.

You’ll feel it from the very start. We open with the creaking of old machinery, the wind through dead sites, a desolate beauty that just pulls you in. That initial uneasy drone isn't just sound; it's the raw fear, the ancient call of country echoing through those scarred lands. We spent a long time out in those mine shafts, recording a twelve-minute didgeridoo passage with nothing but the natural reverb. No overdubs. It was like the earth itself was breathing, slowly awakening, transforming numbness into a fierce awareness.

Then, as we move through it, the energy shifts. We, the frequency shepherds, unite in the Bloodwood Nexus, letting those searing didgeridoo lines crash against walls of downtuned guitar. It's aggressive, yeah, but it's also got this anthemic quality you don't always find in drone metal. It's that fight, that moment when fear transforms into defiance, when the land starts taking back what’s hers. We even laid down tracks in old grain silos to capture that massive, confronting reverb. Think about nature's own architecture, like those colossal termite cathedrals we found, broadcasting otherworldly transmissions – we tried to capture that patience, that slow, powerful work of rebuilding within the sound.

As the journey twists and turns, there's a crackling intensity when rusted metal seems to come alive, twisted into new forms of resistance. We used multiple oil drum kits, playing patterns that felt like both mining equipment and ceremony at the same time, turning tools of oppression into instruments of liberation. The album’s really about transformation, you know? About that alchemy. It builds to this peak where all five of us, each maintaining our spectral territory, weave together these healing frequencies with crushing, ceremonial weight. That’s the core of it, the collective strength, the harmonized drones calling out to the ancestral spirits who shaped this land and still linger in every red ochre vein.

This isn’t just something to listen to; it’s meant to be experienced. We encourage people to lie down, just let the sound wash over them. It’s a sonic exorcism in places, confronting those restless spirits of extraction. But ultimately, it’s about healing the wounds left by industrial extraction, a declaration of cultural continuity. It’s about carrying our heritage forward, drawing strength from what's always been here. You emerge from *Bloodwood Reclaim* not just shaken, but emboldened, connected to something deep and enduring, your own roots reaching into ancestral soil.

Five outcasts from Australia's red dirt country channel ancestral frequencies through amps and oil drum altars. We blend crushing metal with ancient didgeridoo ritual.