18-minute improvisation, recorded in an old synagogue. a journey through a vivid sonic landscape of acoustic guitar, lap steel, voices, electronics, and percussion, layered into subtle and shimmering textures.

 

Photo: Sara Katz

 

Based in Western Massachusetts, miners explores traditional folk music from the United States as a platform for improvisation and sonic experimentation. Led by multi-instrumentalist Jesse Olsen Bay, the shifting group often includes Myk Freedman (lap steel), Lindsey Stormo (voice, maul), and Rafe Wolman (violin), and Jason Ditzian (reeds).

 
 

Live at Montague Common Hall, May 6 2023 - Complete set

 
 

“Down in the River to Pray” - trad. Appalachian spiritual - live at 10 Forward, Greenfield, MA 19 March 2023

 
 

“The Riddle”, a traditional 15th century English folk song. Recorded live at Community Yoga, Greenfield, MA.

Windchimes, cattle. Human migration of the 26th century. Mystic poets as Gods who cast nets so wide, spacetime sings along because of course - folk songs have souls too. Each soul song casts a net - from marrow to moon -to draw shapes in our dreams as we long to build maps. Permission granted from their tender globes, as we do our best to follow their lead.

I’ll walk upstream my dry creek bed, you walk down yours and we'll meet in the shade of this here Cedar - to light a little fire, to warm our faith letters and burn them to brighten, to mourn - to call it all home.

Tap your foot, little boy, call me father this time around and I’ll do my best to let you go - in this love unbreakable. But when you lose me, Willie, dear boy of water - I’ll find you in the fish and I’ll sit at the river bottom til you sing my name again - touch my hand again - beat this drum again. I’m here, son. I’ve always been here, always I’ll be. Backwards and upside down, no matter the space, time knows this bond. No need to believe.

Storms on the ocean, if I prove false to thee, the heavens will cease to be. A single sprout, only roots know. Say it over, give me your hand and turn off that TV. There’s a sway in these hips, move over in the truck. Hum a little ditty cause you know if we just keep playin it’ll all make sense eventually.

1649 was a number, a long line drawn in the sand, of ramble alone, weary and wet, dreaming of rain. Lightning bugs sing a chorus through their light show, I know how to breathe in between their singing. They can teach anything, liquid.

Key centers gone wild like the ways of the bear. Cozy here, sing along if you have no idea what is happening - all are welcome in the barn, you hear me? The story with no end, the story with no end, the story with no

(Words by Lindsey Stormo)