In this interview, Bog Witch dives deep into the haunting creation of Seasick, exploring ghostly tales, oceanic grief, unique instrumentation, and the healing power of myth, landscape, and music.
1.
"Seasick" is such a vivid, atmospheric piece—almost like a séance at
sea. What sparked the idea for this haunting oceanic ritual?
The song
started as an idea about an angry ghost.
A woman drowned by her lover. I
intended it to be a revenge story about a haunting. But the meaning of the story evolved for me
over time.
2. You
use some incredibly unique instrumentation on this track—ukulele, autoharp,
washboard, even whale sounds and a musical saw. Can you talk about your
approach to sound design and what each of those elements represents in the
story?
It was a
process of trial and error to achieve the sound. The song was written on ukulele. I wrote it during the global pandemic. I had been playing it off and on for a couple
of years before deciding to record it. This is often my process. Many of my songs evolve out of years of
playing and tweaking.
I abandoned
the tracks I initially put down for it and started over from scratch several
times. I just didn’t like what I had but
I could not yet “hear” how to make it work.
One
afternoon, I grabbed my washboard and brush and started brushing on the
washboard to the click. I liked how that
sounded, so I added the thimbles. The uke went down nicely after this. Then I found a spooky synth pad. The pad really wove it all together. The direction of it really opened-up to me
then.
I used my
autoharp just to add some drama and some punctuation at key points in the
lyric. Then I added bass, kick and snare
just to build it a little. One drawback
to the song is that it lacks dynamics.
So, I tried to build things into the mix to counter that.
I happened
upon the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s collection of sea
sounds one afternoon as I was considering what to do next. The site has an archive of audio recordings
made of sounds in the ocean during the 1990’s.
These recordings can be downloaded for free. I also found other whale voicings on a web
site. I pulled these sounds in and
automated them some to weave in/out of the soundscape.
The musical
saw was the last element. I debated for
a few weeks regarding what instrument to add to the existing soundscape. I considered violin, cello, and electric
guitar. Eventually, I came to the idea
of musical saw.
3. The
song feels like it lives at the intersection of folklore and ecological grief.
How does myth-making help you process and communicate environmental
themes?
I tend to
write songs featuring animals and use what I refer to as a “filter” to examine
what it means to experience life. I have
written about the dogs left behind in the Chernobyl exclusion zone. I have
written about Islero, the fighting bull who killed one of Spain’s most infamous
bullfighters, the great Manolete. In my
mind, these songs examine themes of trauma and survival.
4.
You’ve described the sea witch as “half grief, half enchantment.” Do you see
her as a part of yourself—or something bigger than human?
I view her as an entity betrayed by man. Perhaps she was a woman murdered by her lover and died by his hands. The sea brought her back. It was her destiny to become the vengeful sea witch. Her domain, the sea, is being ravaged by plastic pollution. She’s also coming for him.
5. What
drew you to include real whale vocalizations and echolocation in Seasick? Was
there a particular moment in the studio where it all clicked into place?
Regarding
the whale vocalizations, particularly the echolocation sounds, I wanted to
“thicken” the percussion with an organic sound from the ocean, to make it sound
like an army of angry crabs are crawling on the ocean bottom toward revenge. The low moans of the humpbacks also gave
voice to the grief and anger as well. I
would say that adding each of these was a bit of a trial-and-error process. At a point in the production, I began to hear
the song telling me where it needed to go.
6. In
past works like “Girl in the Box” and “American Doll,” you confront gender
roles and societal expectations. Does Seasick continue that thread in a more
elemental or symbolic way?
I believe
it does. As I have evolved as a writer,
performer, producer, I have begun to see Bog Witch as a small disrupter. I have several songs that I intend to
eventually release that address the cost of war and cruelty. I’m still working on these songs and I’m
using the lessons that Seasick taught me.
7.
You’ve lived in many different parts of the U.S.—Montana, Oklahoma, the South.
How do landscapes, both literal and emotional, find their way into your music?
I just got
home from a trip to Montana. I think
it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. In my mind, the landscapes we reside in shape
the lives of the people who live within them. It would be hard for me to write
without including some aspect of this.
When in Montana most recently, I drove around listening to Hippie Death
Cult. Their music really enhanced the
landscape for me.
8.
You’ve released music under your own name, as Bog Witch, and with the Blackfoot
Daisy Band. What does the persona of Bog Witch allow you to explore that maybe
your other projects don’t?
It’s funny
because Bog Witch began as a joke about my hair. During the pandemic, like every other
musician, we were playing on live feeds almost daily. I viewed a video we had posted and made a
comment that my hair was terrible, commenting that I looked like a Bog
Witch. About 30 people replied that I
should write a song called Bog Witch. That resonated with me.
Bog Witch
became a garage rock project featuring songs about the lives of women. Now, I see this expanding into other realms,
but a witch will always be at the heart of it.
There are certainly elements of Bog Witch in the music I write for Blackfoot Daisy and under Wendy DuMond, but I see the band project as more mainstream Americana music. Also, the music I write under Wendy DuMond is much more personal to my own life experience.
9. The
production on Seasick feels both handcrafted and cinematic. What was the
process like working with Sid Hagan on mastering, and how hands-on are you with
the technical side?
Sid is an
old friend who runs a mastering studio in Virginia. He is also a musician and has released some
great music. He gets involved at the end
when I think the track is mixed down to the point that I hear what I need. Sometimes, he will send it back and tell me
to adjust things. We go through a process until we agree the track is where it
needs to be.
Regarding
the technical aspects, I tracked/recorded all the instruments, mixed them,
etc. I guess I would say I’m very
hands-on.
10. With
such a deep catalog of evocative songs, what continues to inspire you
creatively—and what
scares you, artistically speaking?
The world
around me continues to inspire me. One
project I’m about to start up has to do with house flies and how they depend on
humans to live. I have a recording of
the song now on my Soundcloud page, but I’m about to redo the entire thing
because since the time I originally worked it up, I began to hear what can make
it sound better.
I struggle
with depression and sometimes I feel paralyzed by the sad things I see
happening all around me in the world. My
greatest fear is that I will not be able to climb out of a flat spot/paralyzed
state if I allow myself to go there. In
many ways, my music is a form of therapy.
I hope to continue creating until I am no longer able.
11. If
the ocean could write you a letter after hearing Seasick, what do you imagine
it might say?
I have no idea, but I would hope that the ocean would consider me favorably for trying to facilitate a communication between itself and the humans who seem determined to destroy it.
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