ZapTown

The Seven Fields of Aphelion branches out from the roots of Black Moth Super Rainbow. A key member of that group, Periphery (Graveface) is not so much a side project as it is an exposure of personal identity. The album shines from within containing musical moments caught in time and stretched out beyond the conceptual landscape, giving us lush electronic sounds is yellowed by vintage synthesizers and ghostly piano. The sound is a guide through the thought forms of The Seven Fields Of Aphelion’s looping textures and tones. She tells us of how it all came together.

What made you want to deviate from Black Moth Super Rainbow and construct the type of sound that you hear in Seven Fields of Aphelion? What did you personally get out of this album?

It’s kind of the other way around. I was writing this kind of music before I joined up with Black Moth Super Rainbow. BMSR has always been Tobacco’s creation, and the rest of us mostly just help to bring those songs to life in a live setting. So this album is a true representation of my sound, rather than a deviation from it. Some of these songs were started as long as five years ago and I’ve always kept them to myself. After awhile, I felt like they were cluttering up my mind – like I couldn’t move forward and work on new stuff until I let these go. So putting this album out there was really a way to help clean out my head and move on.

How did the idea for Seven Fields and the album begin? What brought you to this place?

I’ve played the piano since I was a very young, but it never occurred to me that I could write music. I just never thought that was something I would be able to do. So I never really gave it a try until I was in college and I had to write a song for a grade. I found a state of mind that worked – locked myself in a dark room with a piano – and essentially forgot about myself until something else was able to get through. After that first song, I just never stopped. I have notebooks upon notebooks of songs and I finally felt like I had to let some of them go to make room for more.

On “Periphery,” you use vintage equipment to build the structure to the songs within. Can you tell me what were some of your favorite things about using this equipment and how it got the sounds you wanted?

I let the sound drive the songwriting. If I’m not into the sound completely, I won’t be able to come up with anything. There’s something very raw and unpredictable about the sound of an analog synth – almost as if it’s alive and breathing and has its own will. And I love those moments where the instrument falters – the tuning wobbles – and you have no control over it.

You are a photographer, as well. What attracts you to still images, and how did it affect making this album?

I prefer to shoot on film, rather than digitally, and I really enjoy not being able to see the result until it’s too late to change it. It’s another exercise in the knowledge of not knowing – becoming invisible – I have to give up control and let the subject speak for itself. So I think the process of writing music and taking photos is a very similar thing for me. Leaving certain aspects to chance because I know that I do not know best.

What is it about Pittsburgh that keeps you motivated and inspired to create the music that you create?

I am obsessed with maps and getting lost and finding those little hidden places that I never knew about. Pittsburgh has the craziest roads – they really make no sense at all – there’s no grid system here and so many of the roads just twist around or end suddenly. There’s so many hills that have great views and creepy stretches of industry along the river. I just never run out of places to explore here. And for some reason, finding these places is always a spark for me.

I know you have to have an image in your head of where the song will take you, but how do you want your vision to translate to the listener (and not to say that I want you to answer how the listener should perceive your music) and in what context does that relationship transcend, which to me seems like a satisfyingly personal feeling?

It’s strange…I really don’t have a vision or idea in mind when I sit down to write. A lot of people probably start with a melody in mind or some sort of vision, but I don’t work that way. I try to let the instrument speak for itself. For me, it’s more like translating something rather than coming up with an idea or writing a song for the sake of writing a song. So if a listener can listen in a similar way – rather than coming to it with all of these ideas of how they want it to sound or how they think it should sound – then I think it would be more meaningful for them. I’m not attempting to write a certain style of music or attempting to please a certain audience, so it would be ideal if someone can hear it as it is, rather than listen with an agenda or over-analyze it. Because that’s not how I do it.

With the titles to a lot of your songs (“Wildflower Wood,” “Lake Feet,” “Starlight Aquatic,” for example), you concentrate on an environment. Even with “Michigan Icarus” you deal with the nature of the natural setting and the modern world within the video you created and the album cover. How do the two blend, and what is the purpose for your focus on these types of elements?

(I can’t take credit for the name ‘Lake Feet’ – that song is a BMSR cover.)

I think those types of places are my favorite to discover – the places that are left to decay. The places we push to the periphery and choose not to focus on, even when they’re in clear view. I have a recurring dream of this abandoned factory tucked in a valley and in this dream, I know the terrain so well. I have the whole map memorized. There’s a mountain lion that lives there in the tall grasses and there are trees growing out of the broken windows. I’m always looking for this place – and sometimes finding this place – in my waking life.

When you are working on a song, how does that idea become a song for you? What’s the process involved? How much experimentation is involved until you get the right textures that please you?

I have to clear my mind completely and almost become invisible. I have to shut off that constant voice inside and just become silent so that I can listen. I feel like if I try to dictate exactly how things should be, then I’m limiting the possibilities of what could be… That I’m shutting something out. I want to be transparent instead, to let the light in.

What makes you keep doing what you do? How does the idea of “discovery” play into the creation of your songs?

I guess it’s not a decision to do this – it’s just something I do whether anyone is listening (or looking) or not. When I don’t feel moved to write, I simply don’t. So I’m not sure exactly what drives me, and I’m certainly not always driven. But as long as I can wrap my head in silence, I think I’ll be able to hear.

Is this a project you want to continue and expand on?

I will be continuing, but I can’t promise that I’ll always be sharing it publicly. I’ll be writing more, but I really don’t want deadlines and planning and that sort of stuff to get in the way. I’ll have to see when it’s time whether I’ll let the songs go or keep them close. I’m not really sure that it’s entirely up to me…