Monolithic Undertow: In Search of Sonic Oblivion

"An inspired and intuitive navigation of the drone continuum . . . with a compass firmly set to new and enlightening psychedelic truths," as Beck aptly puts it.

Monolithic Undertow embarks on an unconventional journey across musical, religious, and subcultural landscapes. It traces a lineage from ancient traditions to the modern underground, exploring archaeoacoustics, resonant feedback, chest-rattling sub-bass, avant-garde eccentricity, sound as weaponry, and fervent spiritualism.

From its Neolithic origins to boisterous medieval troubadours, Sufi mystics to Indian raga masters, the book encompasses cone-shattering dubwise bass, Hawkwind's Ladbroke Grove scene to the outer reaches of Faust and Ash Ra Temple. It delves into the hash-fuelled haze of The Theatre of Eternal Music, the cough syrup-infused reverse hardcore of Melvins, the seedy VHS hinterland of Electric Wizard, the ritualistic amp worship of Earth and Sunn O))), and countless points in between. Monolithic Undertow explores the profound power of the drone – an audio vessel capable of evoking both womb-like warmth and cavernous dread.

In 1977, Sniffin' Glue magazine captured the musical zeitgeist with their infamous 'this is a chord; this is another; now form a band' illustration. The drone, however, requires neither chord nor band. Through its infinite adaptability and accessibility, it represents the ultimate folk music: a potent audio tool for personal liberation. Immersion in hypnotic and repetitive sounds allows us to transcend ourselves, whether through chant, a 120dB sonic assault from Sunn O))), standing in front of the sound system as Jah Shaka drops a fresh dub, or achieving full headphone immersion with Hawkwind. These experiences are akin to an audio portal – a sonic TARDIS to silence the ceaseless hum and fizz of the inner voice. The drone exists outside of us, yet paradoxically, within us all; it's an aural expression of a universal hum that we can only fleetingly channel.