My band Vazum‘s new album Vampyre Villa has a variety of moods and styles which people have picked up on. It floats between deathrock, shoegaze, goth, and post-punk which is why we call ourselves a deathgaze band. We’re interested in combining the rawness of deathrock with the depth of shoegaze.
Yes, I’ve done it, just about. Okay, it’s been closer to a year and a half, a couple of those albums were EP’s, one was a single, etc., but I’ve done it, just about. Five more releases, and I’ll have recorded as much music as The Beatles.
We are the goth rockers, Black Angel, from Los Angeles (even though I hail from 80’s England) and have just released an extended version of our debut album “The Widow.” Initially released in October 2019, some may think this is a little quick for an extended version. But while the first version was awesome, something wasn’t quite right.
It was mastered for the “headphone and streaming” generation, and it just didn’t have the bollocks it needed for a Goth/Post-punk album – not the ones I grew up listening to. I should have gone with my gut, I shouldn’t have catered to this popular way of mastering songs, should have stuck to my guns. So now I’m doing it again. And I couldn’t just re-release it, so we thought let’s just make it longer and more impressive, so fans have a reason to want it.
We’ve returned after almost three years. With an album that drives us back to the origins, to that EP (“The first moon”) from where everything had started. Italian in its provenance but with an original British twist, “The first Moon” earned us the reputation of champions of a “new New Wave”.
So it’s basically an album all about the struggles
that I have experienced in my life so far,
represented as an audio-stageplay.
It’s divided into six acts and various actors,
that show the story from different perspectives,
with an original and an alternate timeline.
The Sun looked like a prison break. I woke up in a suburb of Seattle and stared drowsily out of a stranger’s bedroom window. My wife was talking to an admirer of hers around the scattered ashes of a campfire from the night before. There was a mysterious text message from an unknown number on the blue screen of a broken iPhone. It was clear that the veils to what folks call the spirit world were perceptibly thin. Little hints of future memory flickered with mischievous honesty through the cracked wallpaper in the shadows of the room.