Zun, Burial Sunrise: Postcards from Oblivion
For the desert rock converted, Zun‘s Burial Sunrise is nothing short of bliss. To those for whom the names Gary Arce, John Garcia, Sera Timms, Mario Lalli, Harper Hug, Robby Krieger and Bill Stinson resonate, the project’s debut release (out through Small Stone as of March 25) should be a landmark of the genre. Not just because it brings together powerhouse forces like the tone of Arce‘s guitar, as heard in desert progenitors Yawning Man as well as The Sort of Quartet, Ten East, Dark Tooth Encounter, Yawning Sons and so on, and the voices of Garcia (Kyuss, Vista Chino, Hermano, Unida, Slo Burn) and Timms (Ides of Gemini, Black Mare, Black Math Horseman), but because of the ultra-fluid but still cohesive vibe it manages to create across its six-track/37-minute span, rich in atmosphere even as it alternates vocalists, swaps drummers between Hug (who also plays synth and recorded the album at Thunder Underground in Palm Springs, California) and Stinson (also of Yawning Man), brings in Lalli for bass on one cut, sees Krieger (guitarist for The Doors who seems to have found a niche for himself of late contributing to Thunder Underground productions; see also John Garcia‘s 2014 self-titled solo outing, Brant Bjork‘s recently-recorded Bunny Racket project and War Drum‘s impending LP) sit in on electric sitar, and features deft turns of mood and sensibility.
What ties it all together, the core of Zun, is Gary Arce‘s guitar. It is the epicenter from which these explorations spread out, and the long-underappreciated instrumentalist is in top form leading the way through these songs. Methods will be familiar to fans of Yawning Man, and his tone is recognizable from the opening lines of leadoff track “Nothing Farther” onward, but in the company he’s keeping this time out, in how he complements himself handling most of the bass duties throughout, and in the inherent structure the vocals bring to the songs, Burial Sunrise proves to be some of his finest recorded output to-date. In some ways, it feels like a spiritual successor to Yawning Sons‘ 2009 outing, Ceremony to the Sunset (review here; vinyl review here), but its purposes are more linear, and its stylistic crux is more singular. It is quintessential desert psychedelia. Perhaps the purest execution thereof that I’ve ever heard.
That would not be the case without Garcia‘s trademark croon, and it is the croon rather than the tight-gut, belt-it-out method employed sometimes over faster songs, but perhaps even more essential to the overall affect of these tracks is Timms, whose voice is an instrument no less ethereal than Arce‘s guitar. On the stomping “Into the Wasteland,” side B’s sliding leadoff “Come Through the Water,” and the suitably ritualized closer “Solar Incantation,” she commands the swirl that seems at moments to be encompassing her voice, and never fails to bolster the bright-toned atmosphere of the songs on which she appears. No stranger to experimentalism through her work the last several years in Ides of Gemini and her Black Mare solo-project, she feels entirely at home in the open structures even of “Solar Incantation,” to which it seems like even putting a verse would prove a challenge for any singer, her echoing chants, repetitions and layering duly effective and adventurous.
Of course, that’s not to take anything away from Garcia‘s own performance. He is tasked with opening Burial Sunrise on “Nothing Farther,” and he does so righteously, his and Timms‘ first tracks — “Nothing Farther” and “Into the Wasteland,” respectively — comprising a postcard from the desert and essential opening statements that establish the album’s mood, engrossing sonic span, and overarching mission. Both cuts are about the desert at their heart, and unified by Arce‘s guitar, they offer two of the album’s most resonant, colorful impressions. To go with its gentle fade-in and harmonized chorus, “Nothing Farther” brings Krieger‘s guest spot in its midsection, and the somewhat longer “Into the Wasteland” begins with a wash of guitar noise as it establishes its bassline and more rhythmic push, as well as the most immediate hook on offer throughout. For Arce‘s part, he makes his mark later in “Into the Wasteland,” carrying the track’s instrumental finish patiently and smoothly with rising, echoing notes that seem in conversation with the prior vocals but ultimately cut short before the dialogue comes full circle. It’s a song that could just as easily have gone forever, or so it seems. Closing out the first half of the tracklisting, “All for Nothing” once more brings Garcia forward over a somewhat brooding bassline and guitar swirl, establishing a verse and chorus and then departing from them to spend its final two minutes exploring the the spaciousness of its own creation, a few more subdued lines from Garcia tying the jam together and making it all the more hypnotic.
A somewhat longer side B pushes even further into psychedelic expanse, reversing the paradigm of Burial Sunrise‘s first half and featuring Timms on two songs with Garcia‘s final cut in between. “Come Through the Water” rings out notes and voice echoes a like, but has a subtle rhythmic push underlying that comes to the fore when its chorus — as much as it is a chorus — takes off. But it is immediately more patient in its execution, and sat next to “Nothing Farther” or even “Into the Wasteland,” it’s a showcase for just how far Zun‘s journey has ranged and with what efficiency it has conjured this serene, immersive vibe. To call “All that You Say I Am” more grounded seems unfair, but it does present more of a chorus in its eight-minute run — the longest included here — after its initial guitar line gives way to prominent bass and drums while crafting a wash of bright tone behind Garcia‘s effects-laden voice. The hook is a welcome anchor for the second half of the record, and it arrives twice, even further emphasizing the sense of structure Garcia brings to the proceedings, but as it trips out after the song’s midpoint, the signal into something else is clear.
Zun shift into an instrumental jam — guitar, keys/synth, drums and bass — that not only gives Arce a foundation for some highlight lead work delivered in his signature, improvised-sounding style, but holds to the strong rhythm previously established. That push continues until just about the end of the track, cutting out to let the guitar have the last word, and the seven-minute “Solar Incantation” rounds out with a third, stately performance from Timms, strong percussive mindset and sparse guitar lines working along a seeming build but never quite bursting forth in the manner even of “Come Through the Water,” the intent instead being to create this tension and weave beyond it as the song plays out, lines of slide guitar, effects swirl and steady drumming carrying through between Timms‘ verses, which get more obscure as they go, like dreams fading from a conscious mind. Arce drops out momentarily after five minutes in as “Solar Incantation” enters its final outward march, building a last wash before a quiet, peaceful fade eases the way to silence. It’s not so much an ending as a letting go.
Either way, it’s a fitting end to such an understated triumph. Burial Sunrise is flat-out beautiful and unflinching in that. The pairing of Timms and Garcia on vocals assures variety of theme and performance, and the instrumental material they top is a vast soundscape made all the more vital for their dwelling in it. As I said at the outset, for the converted, this first of hopefully a series of Zun offerings is an affirmation of aesthetic validity, not just for who is involved, but also for how. For those outside that sphere, I can’t help but wonder if it will carry the same meaning, but whether or not a given listener has heard these players’ past work, what they create together throughout Burial Sunrise is undeniable in its affecting pastoralism and consonant warmth. Recommended.
Zun, “Into the Wasteland” official video
Zun, “Nothing Farther” official video
Zun preorder at Small Stone Records
Tags: Burial Sunrise, California, Small Stone Records, Zun, Zun Burial Sunrise
