Their Own Forsakers
A slow-burn fusion of industrial blues and atmospheric post-rock at 85 bpm. Features a deep, weathered, commanding male vocalist with a wide dynamic range. The soundscape is built on a foundation of gritty, heavy drum machines and a subterranean bassline. Verses are sparse with reverb-drenched clean guitars, building into explosive, wall-of-sound choruses with layers of distorted, melodic guitars and crashing cymbals. The overall mood is vast, determined, and gritty, moving from intimate, confessional whispers to huge, cathartic instrumental peaks.
Their Own Forsakers
A slow-burn fusion of industrial blues and atmospheric post-rock at 85 bpm. Features a deep, weathered, commanding male vocalist with a wide dynamic range. The soundscape is built on a foundation of gritty, heavy drum machines and a subterranean bassline. Verses are sparse with reverb-drenched clean guitars, building into explosive, wall-of-sound choruses with layers of distorted, melodic guitars and crashing cymbals. The overall mood is vast, determined, and gritty, moving from intimate, confessional whispers to huge, cathartic instrumental peaks.
Lyrics
intro
tempo: slow, 85 bpm
dynamics: pianissimo to fortissimo to silence
intensity: low → building → high → mid → building → high → peak catharsis → collapse → resolve
music: distant, feedback-drenched guitar melody over a slow, heavy industrial drum machine beat. A gritty, subterranean bassline enters halfway through, wide stereo field
verse
vocal-style: deep, confessional, world-weary, close-mic'd
music: bass and drum machine continue, reverb-heavy clean guitar arpeggios are added, creating a sparse, cavernous sound
I put my progeny to sleep
This quiet mooring is a lie
For promises I have to keep
The salt will etch into the grain
Beneath a placid, vacant sky
A hardening against the strain
pre-chorus
vocal-style: becomes more strained, rising slightly in pitch and intensity
music: drums build with subtle cymbal swells, a distorted rhythm guitar is layered deep in the mix, a low hum of feedback grows
build
The easy warmth, a pretty fraud
Let the cold current set my heading
A comfort I cannot afford
To the approaching weather wedding
chorus
vocal-style: powerful, chest-thumping, commanding, layered with a subtle harmony
music: explosive full-band entrance. Wall-of-sound distorted guitars, crashing cymbals, the drum machine replaced or layered with huge, live-sounding drums
I give my back to the placid deep
To make my issue strong and lean
Let them learn fury in their sleep
A harder promise I must keep
A tutelage more sharp and keen
verse
vocal-style: returns to a weathered, confessional tone
music: dynamic drop. The core industrial groove remains, but heavy guitars recede to atmospheric, clean tones
An accidental fortune came
I see its sleek and smiling face
This unexpected, gentle flame
But I am ready for the hurt
I push it from this waiting place
Go settle somewhere in the dirt
pre-chorus
vocal-style: more urgent and anxious than the first
music: build is faster and more intense, distorted guitars swell more obviously
build
The easy warmth, a pretty fraud
Let the cold current set my heading
A comfort I cannot afford
To the approaching weather wedding
chorus
vocal-style: almost a shout, projectile, full-throated and passionate
music: even larger than the first chorus, with additional layers of melodic feedback and pounding floor toms. A sense of overwhelming power
I give my back to the placid deep
To make my issue strong and lean
Let them learn fury in their sleep
A harder promise I must keep
A tutelage more sharp and keen
bridge
music: sudden dynamic shift. All instruments drop out except for a deep, subterranean bass drone and a single, repeating, delay-soaked guitar note
vocal-style: begins as an intimate, arid whisper, then rises to a strained, declarative tone on the final line
That which is cherished must be sent out
To stand against the grinding breakers
To grapple with a final bout
True growers are their own forsakers
guitar solo
music: an explosive post-rock instrumental. A cathartic, melodic solo played on a heavily distorted guitar with immense delay and reverb. The drums are thunderous and complex. The bass holds down a monolithic root. A complete wall-of-sound crescendo that builds to a feedback-laden peak and then cuts off abruptly
outro
music: sudden silence, followed by the sound of coastal wind and the faint, single note of guitar feedback from the solo, which slowly fades out over 15 seconds
vocal-style: spoken, weary, bone-dry
The squall picks up its low complaint
I stand prepared for what is sent
And wait