Few make music quite like Phil Elverum.
A musician whose words and textures conjure vast, terrestrial imagery, his work has long felt singular and magical. After making shambolic lo-fi wonderings as The Microphones, he nonchalantly switched his moniker to Mount Eerie, releasing avant-garde records that existed in a venn diagram of singer-songwriter, drone, shoegaze and black metal. His recent records have been devastating meditations on grief, seeing him as open and stark as any musician can ever get. He's one of modern music's greatest minds.
Elverum is obsessed with the inner, unknown meanings of things -- the magic of words that exists separate from anything that could explain them. So when he named a Microphones record Mount Eerie, and then a song Mount Eerie, and then renamed the whole project Mount Eerie, it was clear that the phrase held some secret, fantastical myths in place for him. The music of this era has been no different: it asks rhetorical questions like "How?" and clouds them in environmental metaphor, Elverum's shambolic guitar arrangements creating a feeling of displacement and exploration. His more textured records, such as the avant-garde masterpiece 'Sauna' and the black metal homage Ocean Roar, continue to suggest something bigger and even more alive than him. Recently, the tragedy in Elverum's life has led him to make A Crow Looked At Me (our Album Of The Year in 2017) and Now Only, his plainest and most real-life musical depictions.