XOR - Moss and Mud

A Closer Listen

We’ve been following the rebuilding efforts of Asheville, North Carolina, home of Burial Beer / VISUALS Wine, since the devastation of Hurricane Helene on September 28.  The Ritual of Senses series will be returning on February 7, but in the meantime, Asheville’s XOR (now capitalized), who brought us last summer’s May the Forest Outlive Us, is releasing the multi-media Moss and Mud on Bannik Knob Editions.  The release, a single track, is accompanied by an 80-page zine of Appalachian photography and memoir from Mica Rutkowski, tracing her love of nature from its early beginnings through the hurricane and early aftermath.  Moss and Mud was originally “written for the Ambient Farm Stroll portion of Swannatopia’s How Do We Mark the Flood? installation at Warren Wilson farm, part of a larger exhibition, Deer Freaks and Decoys, with the Black Mountain College Museum,” focused on the impact of the hurricane.

The zine is a treasure, filled with charm and love, not only for nature and place, but for cats and dogs and XOR (Matthew Boman), whom Mica (spoiler alert!) marries on page 46.  There is so much specific beauty chronicled in the indigenous flora and fauna that the knowledge of the ecosystem becomes a bulwark against the upcoming disaster.  “We had always been told that the Mountains would protect us from hurricanes,” writes Rutkowski, “and it was easy to believe.”  And then the disaster hits: homes gone, lives lost, a community forever changed.  After reading about nature in the early part of the zine, the grief section is a (necessary) gut punch. The essay is a testament to community, fragility and hope; this first-hand, real-time scene report is invaluable, an historical document with enduring value.

In the context of the disaster, it’s easy to project images upon the music of Moss and Mud, which was originally performed live as Rutkowski read portions of her essay.  Played patiently, the banjo is a warm presence, a consolation in a time of loss.  As the modular synth begins to surge forth – even if this were not the original intent – one pictures rising waters, the slow awareness that the mountains will not offer the promised protection.  The composition grows denser as it progresses, reverberations arriving in waves.  At 3:27, the banjo momentarily disappears, leaving a plunging stomach moment; will it ever come back?  Will life – normal, messy, irritating, wondrous life – return?  Thankfully it does.  As brighter chords arrive, they suggest the return of the sun and the cessation of the wind.

Asheville, Black Mountain and surrounding areas are in the process of rebuilding.  This multi-media release is a testament of their resilience.  (Richard Allen)