Think of October for much of the country: the trees have changed to autumn shades and grey, hazy skies have become the norm. (Maybe with global warming, that's what it looks like in February for some of you.) I always find this setting soothing, especially if you can escape one early morning to an isolated stretch of Oregon road bordered by towering pines. The further you drive down that slow, winding road, the more you lose your hearing. The world soundproofs itself against your thoughts and spirals in reverberated guitars and a haunting voice from another plain.
Sarah O'Shura owns that voice through eight tracks of this mesmerizingly lush voice/guitar duo release. What has been spun sticks to you, finds a hole in your exterior and fills the void within you. With The Battle Of Land And Sea, I felt like past horrors were coming back for my body. As awkward and fearful as that could be, Sarah's vocals calm and shine light on beautiful objects even in battle.
But this is a look at a the battle’s aftermath. Rising from the frosty earth, under those towering pines are grey bodies, steam rising from warm wounds for mile after mile. However, this stretch of slow, winding road ends abruptly as pavement gives way to the darkly rolling swells of the North Pacific. Floating over the crests is a lone maiden ghost who can recant the battle of land and sea, if only you'll listen.
