Take the rest, (believe I've) had my fill
Take it down to where the boys are laying still
Can't figure where to go
Can't say just how much it shows
But I can say that surely if I stay
That you would only bear the worst
The awful brunt of what the others might say
And wouldn't that bear quite a thirst
Can't figure what's to become
When it's hard enough to say just what we done
So if I don't see you before you see them
Do give my best to those giving friends
And tell them 'Memphis'
Though I am down the road a little ways
The world is loud. The wind blows hard. We need songs for shelter, and Raymond Raposa can build a shelter from almost anything: the sun-bleached bones of a drum track and a couple spare organ chords; a carpet of creeping synth arpeggios, a scaffolding of multi-tracked harmonies, a few scraps of alto sax to prop up the whole structure. Decimation Blues, Raposa’s sixth release as Castanets, marks a decade of scavenger architecture.
In 2004, Raposa gave us a Cathedral to live in, a Gothic, cavernous first album echoing with the souls of lost prophets and wayward lovers. The arrival of Castanets was sudden and strange, like finding Notre Dame in the middle of a desert, like walking into a dusty clapboard dive in the steel and glass heart of the city. From the start, the reductive, ready-to-hand terms—“freak folk,” “new Americana”—fit Castanets uncomfortably. Raposa’s sensibilities were not nostalgic or curatorial but private, allusive, and avant-leaning.
First Light’s Freeze (2005) and In the Vines (2007) further developed the fractured approach of Cathedral. Raposa has known his share of rootlessness. His songs continuously evoke travel, but long for a still center. That duality is also in Raposa’s voice—think of the deadpan baritone of Leonard Cohen shot through with the high yawp of Buck Owens.
City of Refuge (2008) found Raposa recording alone for three weeks in a motel in a desert town in Nevada, crafting Fahey-like guitar miniatures and stripping his songwriting down to struts and beams. “I’m going to run,” Raposa sings again and again, “I’m going to run to the city of refuge,” but sees the shimmering mirage ever receding into the distance. Texas Rose, the Thaw, and the Beasts (2009) opened things back up, returning to the larger confines of Cathedral. With 2012 came an intriguing excursion: Raymond Byron and the White Freighter’s Little Death Shaker, a collaborative, full-band album that saw Raposa unfurling some loose, late-night energy, covering a surf number, and expanding his aesthetic in every direction.
Which brings us to the new Castanets record, Decimation Blues, the music of a man who’s learned to live and build among the wreckage—twelve seemingly offhand, secretly meticulous tracks that we can hunker down in. “Still always good to be alone in someone else’s home,” Raposa sings. He’ll lend us his place, or teach us how to fix up our own. Come in out of the rain, put your shoes by the fire. The walls might shake, the wind might howl, but you’ll be safe here a while.
We need songs for shelter, and Raymond Raposa can build a shelter from almost anything: the sun-bleached bones of a drum
track and a couple spare organ chords; a carpet of creeping synth arpeggios, a scaffolding of multi-tracked harmonies, a few scraps of alto sax to prop up the whole structure. Decimation Blues, Raposa’s sixth release as Castanets, marks a decade of scavenger architecture....more
supported by 6 fans who also own “Decimation Blues”
I love this album although I wish it never existed. The loss of someone you hold dear is difficult and through this album Phil describes things that are horrifying and heartbreaking. There are certain lines within this album that I cant help but break down whenever I hear them. Nobody should have to experience such a great loss, or the feelings that come along with it. But as the album states multiple times, "death is real". deathtozepeda