Mount Moriah
by Mount Moriah
Holidays for Quince Records
THE NEW self-titled album from North Carolina’s Mount Moriah announces in its instrumental introduction on the first track, “Only Way Out,” that its roots are planted firmly in the red clay of the American South. The rich guitar and yearning pedal steel begin to conjure a sense of wide-open spaces before Heather McEntire sings a word. When she does, be prepared: “We learned how our bodies worked, soft and familiar/ But you couldn’t shake the fear of something so similar.” It’s already clear that we’re not on traditional ground, but exactly how far from home is unsure. “You’ll return to him ’cause he reminds you of your father/ and it helps you fall asleep at night and brings you comfort/ I can’t seem to throw away the letters or the pictures/ for some kind of truth or proof that all of this really happened.” If those lyrics in a country setting bring on some cognitive dissonance, take a deep breath now; this song is not a fluke but one part of a stunning, cohesive whole.
McEntire and guitarist Jenks Miller performed in punk and metal bands respectively before collaborating on a pop project under the name Un Deux Trois. Both had intentionally steered their talents away from the Southern gospel music they grew up with, then opted to face down tradition and make it their own. The duo worked with several musicians from other North Carolina bands to fill out the sound on these songs, and the effects they get can recall REM, The Band, Wilco, and, at odd moments, PJ Harvey when she’s mining the American blues catalog. McEntire’s voice at its most restrained can convey a world of sorrow suffused with desire, but she can also call forth a wail that raises goose bumps. Amy Ray (of Indigo Girls) has described her as “the god child of Dolly Parton, Bjork, Sinéad, and someone I can’t put my finger on.” Maybe this is why one website came to classify this album by genre as simply “other.” The album’s last three songs form a triptych of sorts. “The Reckoning” is so catchy that it’s easy to get lost in the music and miss the words, which detail a young woman’s coming out to a mother bound by religious tradition. By the time the last verse rolls around (“Mama, dry your eyes/ Forget about the fire/ Look how my face smiles and shines/ Can you learn to know your child?”), a listener could be forgiven for holding a lighter skyward. The moment is anthem-like and tender in equal measure. “We Don’t Need That Much” is a sparsely arranged love song that sounds at first hearing like a homesteader’s anthem. Assume both halves of that “we” are female, though, and the lines “We’ll use our hands for work and love/ Oh, the blessing that will come” also packs a little double-entendre. Finally, “Hail, Lightning” is a song stripped to its bare essence: Miller’s guitar work is a marvel of restraint, and McEntire works both extremes of her vocal range with precision. The song describes a reconciliation between lovers after arguments and lies have taken their toll. Even as the storm outside rages on, she pleads, “Let us feel, let us heal, let us grow”—a powerful sentiment, embracing hope for renewal amid that devastation. Mount Moriah’s three-song EP The Letting Go and this self-titled LP are both available from Holidays For Quince records, a label run by McEntire and Miller. The band has been touring and should be on the road again this year. It’s rare to encounter artists working in a style so steeped in history yet creating something that feels truly of the moment, an exhilarating thing to experience. Heather Seggel, a writer living in Ukiah, California, still wonders what Billy Joe McAllister was throwing off the Tallahatchie Bridge.
