Somewhere in upstate New York, amid a great expanse of black dirt onion fields, stands a small, unassuming warehouse. Here, dubious tales are spun in hushed tones. The locals whisper of organized crime syndicates, or alien machinery, or occult rituals. The more sensible residents chalk it up to the wild parties of some entitled rich kid. The most sensible don’t say anything at all.
We like it this way.
The truth is, inspiration springs from unpredictable sources. Sometimes writing a mind-melding polymeter means getting your hands dirty. Sometimes that ethereal lead requires a goat blood sacrifice to the Great Old Ones. Sometimes a rural warehouse is the perfect cover for a metal band dabbling in extraterrestrial technology. There’s a cost to creating great music, and The Earth and I is eager to pay its dues.