BLACK CABBAGE

On Boxing Day 1997, we holed up in the University of Guelph's campus theatre with producer Jeff Bird (Cowboy Junkies), engineer Chris Marks (Skydiggers), and assistant engineers the Clag Brothers (Victor Wolters and Black Cabbage sound engineer Jon Halliwell). The intense nine-day session was augmented by mood lighting, various stage props, and a tension inherent in any venue with no heat (the ducts made too much noise). Overdubs were completed at Bird's home studio, and most of the mixing was done at McClear Pathe (Rush, Loreena McKennitt) in Toronto by Jeff Wolpert. The process was complete with an ace mastering job by George Graves at the Lacquer Channel in Toronto (Rush, Loreena McKennitt... they were following us, we swear). 

Unlike most of the excellent albums to come out of Guelph lately, Deeper Down Below doesn't feature the wide array of guests that we intended to include. We ended up doing everything ourselves; a part of us feels pretty guilty about it, so we'll be happy to talk about our musical friends any chance we get. 

Deeper Down Below will be accompanied by an extensive publicity campaign targeting our traditional audience as well as mainstream radio, MuchMusic, and all the other high falutin' folk in the upper echelons of the Canadian music industry who can't afford to ignore this band. 

In our own words... 

Gravity. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl don't know how to communicate. Boy loses girl. Boy digs a hole in her front lawn. A song about the inertia of love. 

Bull. An enigmatic tale fragmented into three narratives about the survival of self-esteem  in one fat-ass nation. Or something like that. 

When I See You in the Rain. A cock-rock anthem for sensitive folk about admiration, pride,  and telling all those who bring you down to kindly go fuck themselves. 

Spill. A sprightly samba about internal strength and believing in 
yourself, before you turn  50 and find yourself wondering why you didn't spend your life dancing. 

Harvest. Yet another anthem about pride and burying the past underneath layers of assumed wisdom. 

If I Had Some. A heartfelt lament about the insatiable core of human nature and the futility of trying to write a song about it. 

Radio Maria. A tribute to the undercelebrated feminine force in world religions. Once upon a time, the man named Clinton who wanted to paint the White House black said that if we freed our mind, our ass would surely follow. We're still working on our ass. 

Deeper Down Below. Raga, mama, raga. 

Fake. Sweet Jesus, another anthem! Frankly, irony is such a bore; we just can't fake anymore. 

Doghouse. Driving back home after attempting to uproot your life, hurtling through the prairies gazing at miles of golden rod and a big blue sky.  Featuring the Sheila Gruner string sextet. 

La Bete. An East European fiddle tune with slide guitar sits atop a Bristol bass line before dropping into an abyss of Orbish space rock and snapping back into shape with a disco stomp. 

All the People. Caught in a whirlpool of regret, guilt, and unresolved emotional baggage?  Have we got the song for you... 

Wheels. A soaring, epic tale of familial loss laced with a melancholy melange of keyboards.

Tonight (the sea is rich from rain). A Walt Whitman lullaby of love, with the Wilson brothers singing harmony in the streets of Paris.