WovenHand
Ten Stones

Ten are the stones, like the commandments. Our visionary preacher David Eugene Edwards throws his frontier art in our faces, a music that emits a poetic breath of rare intensity. Surreal fumes of the darkest night expand into the belly of rural America. Folk that meets the murkiest and most distressing side of rock.

From the beginnings with the unforgettable 16 Horsepower to the current Woven Hand project, this obsessed crooner has determinedly followed his experimental path, defying every commercial logic. His music is like a perceptual adventure, an exploration of the soul's microcosm, where sounds and emotions converge into a single escape route. I could have examined any work from this artist’s discography, given the absolute quality of each one, but I chose this “Ten Stones.” Why did I do it? Probably because of its greater stylistic variety. Or maybe because it is less cerebral than previous works, more energetic and electric. Or perhaps just because it comes closer to my musical taste and so much reminds me of the genuineness of the masterpiece that was “Secret South.” In any case, all the characteristic ingredients of Woven Hand are present: the rediscovery of music and instruments of popular tradition, the ghosts of the 1980s dark wave, the mists of feedback contrasting with a modern aggressiveness, all sublimated by his hallucinated poetry halfway between Nick Cave and Tom Waits.

In this album, Eugene exalts his rock soul, which takes shape in the adrenaline-fueled distortions of “The Beautiful Axe” and “Not One Stone”, which stand out among the most successful tracks. However, there are also more acoustic moments, among introspective ballads (“Cohawkin Road”) and languid arpeggios (“Horsetail”). The electric blues of “White Knuckle Grip” raises psychedelic dust that merges into the shamanic chants of the mystical “Kingdom of Ice”. There is also room for a crazy yet successful cover of “Quiet Nights Of Quiet Stars”, by Carlos Antonio Jobim, a bossanova that reeks of sulfur. Few sun rays manage to penetrate the meshes of this work, making it a not easy listen, slow to assimilate, probably not for all seasons. Music that sets no boundaries nor seeks a destination, but insidiously and irresistibly settles within each of us, like nicotine. But it is the most profound and inspired thing I have found in modern songwriting.

Ten are the stones, like the commandments. But the songs are eleven. Eugene tricked me again this time.