Smoke rising like a new born from Mother Earth’s mysterious womb. A cloud like Her face in the midst of trees striping Her features in the distance. Traveling at the speed of wind, twitching trees and brush and kin in Her wake of air. Melting Her feet into a sea of sand, feeling the washing of water upon Her being. Natural. Exposure of the triple vestigial. Creation for the sake of Her mentality. Earth’s mentality. Queen of existence. Mother Earth is the only Conjuror that bares witness to the “Cry of the Phoenix.”
Conjuror (a.k.a. Ian Adcock) been tirelessly trudging his keys throughout the kills of Madison, WI last year, mustering up the most natural and mirage riddled album entitled Black Velvet, Dead Flowers, conducted where he feels most sane: the wild. Four tracks dwelling on “medicinal” long-form drones shrouded in a robe of “black velvet,” adorning a thrown of rotted wood that fit perfectly on Golden Cloud Tapes. Shit is burning and out now on cassette!
• Conjuror: https://soundcloud.com/ianearbleed
• Golden Cloud Tapes: http://goldencloudtapes.storenvy.com
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