by Jute Gyte

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An insistent sadness in the texture of things Dusk, silence, iron chill Loneliness in the bones The sharpness of lengthening shadows The grotesque transition from day to night The fear and dread of you All the beasts of the earth And all the birds of the air Every creature that moves along the ground All the fish of the sea They are given into your hands Reasons are echoes, Make no difference
Alone on the riverbank The water cool and clean and swift Black waters and rapid current A tenuous communion I cannot name I have to believe that pain is the teacher Unable to envision even the barest physical certainties of the death of myself or those close to me Living with constant pain Sharp and thin like a needle The haze of the forest in early November An echo from the ageless hills The quiet country of the past where weeping is hushed and marches are ended An apparition in the woodlands at dusk Touching in thin rooms at dawn's low light Imprisoned in the subjectivity of my memory What else can there be? Drunkenness and some vague lonely nostalgia for something dead long before my birth I have to believe that pain is the teacher
The pathless woods The lonely shore The roar of the deep sea The occulted screeching of owls in winter The roaring of lions The howling of wolves The hopelessness at the heart of lust The light that hangs above the fields The church not made with hands Lost portions of eternity Too great for the eye of man or his moribund gods All gone in a flash The fear and dread of you Look at it Look it straight in the face Look at it and without doing anything, suffer inexpressibly Suddenly life has no meaning
Enemy battleships lost in the fog Firing blindly into the endless deep The clouds are burning Another great disappointment The infantile longing for death unveiled Consciousness is nature's nightmare History is our own And from it we awaken one last time Rotten grain spilling from our bodies Dying without even once having loved something more than ourselves The inalienable right of a billion eternally-newborn kings The suicidal pleasure of the human alone Stranded in the solipsist's temple Ours is the heritage of free men Free of all power and meaning Free of everything at last
A darkness on the edge of town A flame burning through the forest Wandering beyond limits Clambering out on the precipice We cannot return What we have lost we cannot regain It cannot be made right again And so we are Wandering the world of ash Waiting for the end of the end Dust is our food Clay is our meat Like water hurled from crag To crag, down into endless uncertainty, I now give you everything


Following the style of “Young Eagle” - frequent shifting between unusual meters, multiple freely polyphonic leads – with Verstiegenheit I feel I finally acquired a stable foundation on which to build, which explains how I wrote this album in three months as compared to the years consumed in creating its predecessors. The long progression that opens “The Light That Hangs Above the Fields” was inspired by the descending sequence of seventh chords in the central portion of Neil Young's “A Man Needs a Maid”.

The title “Verstiegenheit” is from Wallace's Infinite Jest; Wallace apparently got it from Bloom's The Anxiety of Influence where its root meaning is identified as “wandering beyond limits”. Wandering beyond limits, via overconsumption and evangelical lust for religious apocalypse, into ecological collapse and secular apocalypse is, as with Young Eagle, the core lyrical theme of the album. Major lyrical influences on the album were Infinite Jest, McCarthy's The Road, DeLillo's White Noise and Jan Swafford's superb biography of Brahms. The final lyrics are from Hӧlderlin, as used in Brahm's Schicksalslied; The final track's subtitle “Late Idyll” refers to Brahms's deceptively serene second symphony.

"Trust me, you've not heard anything quite like this before, and such strange hypnosis provides one of the compelling reasons that Jute Gyte deserves further examination aloft the saturated spectrum of underground darkness... Verstiegenheit might require several exposures before it seeps into the listener's skin, but as usual, Kalmbach is not interested in accessibility, nor the cheap rewards of the easier road. This is impressive, important music, but it flits across the depths of the surreal and secret. It's not coming to you. You're going to have to chase it." -


released May 7, 2011


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