Everyone has a “story”. Why is that? What compels us to tidy up the mess that is life and shoehorn into a narrative? Furthermore, how much of it all is even true? On Mythomania, their sixth album, Susurrus Station explores our almost obsessive impulse to spin yarns, searching for meaning in myth and memory.
The rural Washington-based duo’s 8-song album is a collage of classical counterpoint motifs, rugged beats, postmodern Harry Partch-spirited experimentations, Ennio Morricone guitars, samba batucada grooves, and resonant, reflective lyrics.
“Mythomania is partly inspired by our need to tell stories,” says singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Jason Breeden. But also how the impulse goes awry. “It feels like it’s wired into us; something essential to the persistence that keeps us going in the face of the inestimable void.”
Sonic adventurousness and formal musical training course through the music of Susurrus Station. Breeden, who studied photography, film, and painting at the San Francisco Art Institute, is joined by Swedish singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Sara Dyberg, a graduate of the Malungsfolkhögskola performing arts school in Dalarna. Dyberg emerged from Stockholm’s vibrant jazz scene. Early on, Breeden and Dyberg bonded over a shared interest in rebetiko, Taraf de Haïdouks, Stina Nordenstam, Dirty Three, and batucada.
The band’s name—Susurrus (an onomatopoeic word meaning whispering or rustling) and Station (a nod to the numbing ubiquity of the term)—isn’t directly tied to its sound or lyrics, but hints at the abstract intellectualism found in its music. “I’m inspired by music that makes me think. But I like when things work on different levels,” Dyberg says.
Susurrus Station got its start playing acoustic shows in Sweden in the fertile jazz scene where it had something of a fluid, revolving door membership. These days the band is more defined as a duo with both parties writing music, playing instruments, producing, but Breeden writes the bulk of the lyrics.
The duo’s early recordings emphasized organic instrumentation, but eventually Susurrus Station expanded into a soundscape-driven aesthetic, incorporating field recordings and vintage gear. Mythomania was painstakingly crafted using samplers, programmed drums, and a range of instruments, including electric guitar, violin, keyboards, and traditional drums. Also contributing to Mythomania are Paul Burnum, an obscure-electronics connoisseur and beatmaker; jazz composer and multi-instrumentalist Cory Gray (Old Unconscious); German video artist Astrid Menze; and singer Dan Bejar (Destroyer).
The programmed drums on Mythomania presented challenges with fluid tempo changes, which nudged the duo toward a greater emphasis on melody. “I was surprised about how optimistic and poppy sounding the album came out,” Dyberg says. The accessibility extends to the lyrics, as Breeden peeled back some of the abstruseness of the past. “I didn’t want knee-jerk reactions, I wanted to connect,” he says.
The single, Meshes of the Afterlife, presents a richly-detailed musical mosaic with darting counterpoint melodies, breathy male vocals, taut and incessant beats, chiming guitars, and ambient noise that sounds like it was recorded backwards. Sculpted in their studio, Dyberg meticulously programmed each note of the winding arpeggios and built rhythmic textures using found sounds, including one made by striking a large metal wine tank.
Its title references Maya Deren’s 1943 surrealist short film, Meshes of the Afternoon. The connection is intentionally vague. “I thought it could be amusing to pick up in a way where the movie left off. If it was getting late then, it's surely getting later now,” Breeden says. Despite its weighty theme, “Meshes of the Afterlife” embraces levity. He continues: “With all the heaviness of the world right now, we had fun making something more whimsical, or more prone to folly.” The song’s accompanying video is an artfully-shot visual short full of lush landscapes, oversized masks, and an ensemble cast of dancers.