To be honest; the genre of witch house music is a new one to me and I’m sure most of you are equally virginal. However, If you were to assume that this is a genre of music that is exclusively produced in spooky Amityville horror style basements, you’d definitely be barking up the right tree. Big names in the witch house genre include aptly named bands such as ‘Salem’ and ‘oOoOO’, and after this being our introduction we’ll be burning anyone at the stake who isn’t a fellow witch head.
Producer ‘The Cvltist’ creates an eerie atmosphere, using a plethora of haunting synth sounds such as church organs, distant moans and cries, as well as a syncopated cyber wolf howl sound reminiscent of that freaky breathing from Friday 13th. The track has an 80’s horror/sci-fi feel to it that also brings to mind movie soundtracks like Halloween, The Thing, and Blade Runner.
Throughout the track there are moments where the ethereal hands of the ghostly soundscape reach out and caress you. You are drawn deeper and deeper into the music as it builds. It starts out with a bare bones of the sonic apocalyptic landscape that slowly becomes the juddering skeleton of the track. There is a real force behind the bass which makes itself at home in the cavity of your chest and then begins a sultry and seductive dance there.
Singer Audrey Maud Haïgan tells Yack that this song serves as a tribute to a close friend who sadly passed away. True to its genre and inspiration the vocals feel like a spell being recited or a conversation with someone on the other side; culminating with a creepy vocal effect that sounds like a possessed Halloween doll, a familiar sound for any Halloween-o-phile. The call and answer that makes up the majority of the song and which it takes its title from; becomes hypnotic through its repetition and allows the bed of sound underneath to work wiggling its way down your ear canal.
Lyrically the song mirrors the sound that it has built. A brooding and shadowy examination of death and the conversation we might have with those that have past. It’s a bittersweet but ultimately strong proclamation of facing the ever after with realistic expectations and due respect. Lines like “I kissed oblivion, no fear” punch but as mentioned it’s the haunting choral “we don’t say goodbye” that sticks with you.
This song has all the makings of a cult classic, a cyber-satanic cult, but still;
I’ve tried listening to this song on the bus, in the bath, at my desk, and I can honestly say the best way to experience this song is standing in the corner of a poorly lit room facing the wall, waiting for your turn…
Words by Jason Bowles & Matt Miles