Tendrils by Old Man of the Woods

Tendrils is a collection of devotionals, written at a yearning distance from their beloveds. It’s the recognition of the vines that bind us to all we adore, at times only felt once they become taut, begin to quiver, reverberate, fray, snap, curl. And the realization that there will always be more, weeds crawling through cracks, for those who stay hungry.

Recorded while an artist in residence with Culterim Gallery at a lakeside former sanatorium in Biesenthal, Germany, the album itself is preserved in amber. Any attempt to interfere once leaving erased some essential essence of the estate’s eerie serenity, forcing Elliott to choose peeling walls over perfection. Each room dense with memory, a century-old space intended for healing in isolation, for walks around the lake that Elliott too circled endlessly each day, pen in hand, one’s left to wonder whose tendrils she really writes of, or if we’re all entwined.

Vesperal vocals echo from cracked windows and walls, coating the consumptive cathedral, forming an organic organ. Oozing oscillations transform studio into swamp. Damp footsteps haunt the halls, sometimes pacing, sometimes with purpose, demanding to be let in. Whispered truths lay waiting for whoever needs to hear them. With Old Man of the Woods, there’s always a breeze, a blush, an invitation to sway and engage, if you choose to accept.

ambient avantpop project of seattle-based artist miranda elliott.

the alchemy of shit into sustenance. named after a dark scruffy mushroom that survives by the same creed.

“blurs the line between the personal and the natural world, conjuring a vivid and sometimes eerie soundscape as damp and rich as the woodland floor” -various small flames

oldmanofthewoods.rocks