Mark Anderson, Anthony Guerra

Gently lay your palm on the warmed belly of a flat stone, and skim your humming thoughts across the murmuring divide. The opposite shore is a shadowed encampment of slowly stirring shingle. Autumn effervesces and spreads in a calm blanket of diffused musk, looping around two shallow mouthfuls of sunshine. A stave is transcribed along the tilted stasis of shoreline - silence holds a seance in the clay and the river intones its folly in electric bursts, ingesting the fretted, lemony light, and unspooling in currents of slow memory. 

In autumn 2024, Anthony Guerra and Mark Anderson sat on the banks of the Tukituki Awa - flanked on one side by the sleepy Haumoana beachside township, and on the other the local landfill. Aided by the slow imbibing of a bottle of wine, they set about recording this album directly to tape.