A fragment of celestial shrapnel: White Lodge does indeed "lodge" itself deep into the mind, restoring with it the body, and being of general benefit to one's overall constitution. Or, perhaps, it's just the little lobotomy you have always dreamed of. This 10" EP reveals a band capable of great magick and prodigious evolution. WL has become adept at marrying atmosphere to song structure without surrendering to a belabored posture, and this even beyond the debut magnum opus. There has been found a solid footing where each sound, each note, is perfectly placed and paced. Beginnings are given to pregnant, breathing intros, allowing the music to develop and resonate before the fully formed imagoes emerge, which ARE songs, but also tone poems. While not sounding at all like them, WL's methodology is something akin to My Bloody Valentine on "Loveless," where pieces are sewn together, each ending making a subtle statement towards the birth of the next; textures taking equal place next to structure. The EP continues WL's exploration of quiet cosmics, both evoking psych-folk of old and more modern elements, like the gentler psychedelic moments found in Cindytalk (when growling through the hush, buzzing in the rushes) or Karl Blake seduced Sol Invictus (tiptoe, through the bassline). Because of timing and tone Red House Painters is a close cousin in many respects except that WL frames its songs with a greater emphasis towards experimentalism and certainly occupies a more ghostly plane. Repeated listenings virtually leave traces of ectoplasm on the speakers. Dustin Gilbert's voice is a patient and subdued instrument, confident and softly percussive and, by and by, very compelling. A beautiful and mysterious riddle of a release which, if unraveled, may well be a key to Heaven.

Like a palpable ghostly presence that phases in and out vision; at once translucent and illusory; simultaneously rattling silverware, sending chills through the flesh. That strange unseen grip in the hand; that vaporous and unexplained cloud of breath in the middle of the hallway. A great billowy poltergeist, Whitelodge is a musical revelation. The Lodge skirt borderlands between the mysticism of seething "post rock" and the dark textures of latter day "apocalyptic folk," managing in the end to sovereign a musical nation of their own. Somber musical expressions exude surprisingly powerful punch and often carve modest stones into towering columns of sound which, while not actually loud ,seem to IMPLY loud. Constructed somewhat like a This Mortal Coil record, the quietly crafted combination of acoustic guitars, electric piano, bass and electronics effuse scents of Sol Invictus ("Against The Modern World"), Gastr Del Sol, Sea And Cake, Insides, late late period Swans, Roseclouds era Death In June with a little "Another Green World" style Eno plastering the cracks...but none of these really captures the true essence of the Lodge what is White. Where apocalyptic folk often drowns in its own cheesiness, Whitelodge rise above and avoid trying to force any sort of posturing or false celticisms into their music. Whispered vocals reincarnate a host of spirits from Red House Painters to Coil, driving the compositions home by inference rather than the obvious. This music is unbelievably tangeable in its etherealness. A deep beauty resides within and repeated listens open endless blossoms. This album is also guilty of having at least a couple downright infectious tracks that are so brilliantly cooked as to be virtual tonal crack. The Grand Poobah beckons: become one with the Whitelodge!

A collection of works imagined by Dustin Gilbert and Stephen Ringenberg (with Derek Groves on "songs from 'lazender the archived'". Recorded at Soundring between December 2002 and January 2003. Order the CDR directly from the Lodge.