by David Lefkowitz (@gymshortsdave)
Born and raised in the South, flight-averse and having grown up in the age of Mapquest, New England is still something of a mystery to me. It’s a place people talk about enthusiastically, a place they’ve visited with their families. A few of them were born there — raised there, even, but to me, it might as well be Australia.
I have driven through New England exactly twice. Once on the way from Williamsburg, Virginia to Brunswick, Maine; the other on the way back. It was October of 2020, and my housemates had cooked up a scheme to drive to Maine, take our remote classes there, and enjoy the coastal scenery for a few days. One of our own was a Brunswick native, and it was on her parents’ couches we’d be crashing. There were four of us, packed into a blue, early-2010s Hyundai Sonata, rotating shifts driving the bus. Somehow, I wound up with the 1:30-5 AM shift. After a long night getting exactly zero sleep between Virginia and Southern Connecticut, I threw back a triple shot of espresso and took my turn behind the wheel as the last of my companions — the one I’d just relieved of his duties — slipped into sleep.
It was a long way on an empty highway, heading North through Western Mass on 495. There were no headlights in my mirrors, no brake lights up ahead. I think I was listening to Paul Simon. We passed Worcester, and I said “hey, look y’all, Worcester.” I pronounced it “war-chester” on purpose just to see if anyone was awake enough to correct me. Crickets.
***
Big Blood, a quartet that’s actually a duo that’s actually a trio, now, was founded in South Portland, Maine, in 2006. The Downeast four-piece is comprised of Caleb Mulkerin and Colleen Kinsella, “accompanied” by their alter-egos Rose Philistine and Asian Mae. Starting around the time she was 11, their daughter Quinnisa started cropping up on their records too. Big Blood have been called psychedelic folk, and freak folk, and other things like “avant-folk” and “gothic country.” Driven by Kinsella/Mae’s powerful, keening vocals and amorphous, hazy instrumentals, the Weird Road EP is the newest installment in a 16-year line of wonderfully wonky songcraft.
I don’t know how else to say it: Weird Road sounds the way driving north through Western Mass at 3:30 AM feels. Everything’s flying past in a shadowy blur so quickly it’s impossible to get a grip on any of it. It moves with a strange, impersonal propulsion, rocketing you headlights-first through an asphalt wasteland. Was that a deer on the side of the road, or some sort of New England cryptid? Is that music coming out of the stereo, or is it echoing out from the woods, a siren song from a tall, winged woman who pronounces “car keys” like “khakis?”
Weird Road moves with a purpose and gives the immediate impression that whatever’s going on has been happening for far longer than you’ve been paying attention. It begins in media res: “Weird Road pt. II.” Part I, if it exists at all, has never been released. We are joining Odysseus’ crew some time around year thirteen, and we must hold on through trials (“Siren’s Knell pt. IV”) and brief moments of peace (“Maybe It’s Alright”). At the end of things, it’s not really all that clear whether Oddyseus makes it home or not, but it seems like he’s found peace with it either way (“We Are Endless”). The EP fades to a close with a short loop, low enough it almost goes unnoticed. It’s a mantra, or a chant, or maybe a freak-out. It’s unclear whether the voice, repeating over and over under the disappearing last notes of the final song, is saying “get up” or “enough.” Either way, message received.
***
After eating away as much highway as I could in 3.5 hours without getting pulled over or hitting anything (deer, cryptids, or otherwise), I was relieved of my duties somewhere in New Hampshire. I had seen maybe ten other cars the whole time. At last, I slept.
get up/put on your shoes/get started
someone/will finish
I woke up around 6:30, just as the sun had finished coming up. We were crossing the border into Maine. The trees came in colors I didn’t even know existed. Long as we’d been at sea, the coastline was in sight. We could see the promised land, at least for now.