article and photos by Omar Kasrawi
And as if to set the stage for [Chelsea Wolfe]’s crushing sound, was Wovenhand. If Wolfe was casting spells to bring forth the darkness, Wovenhand’s David Eugene Edwards was tapping into the audiences’ spiritual side. His brand of gothic Americana sounds like tales passed down from generation to generation. The spoken tradition of transference is not enough though. This tale needs roaring guitars and driving percussion. And the only setting fit is a dusty copper butte with nothing else in any direction. A couple of Afghans to sit on. A burning blue flame of a sky. And staring down at you with his arms crossed is Edwards. The arms uncross and in his hand is a chrome old-school microphone wrapped in a red-bandana. And then he begins to preach.
