Dax Riggs doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who writes emails. In fact, listening to his music, you get the idea that the Louisiana-based musician might not even know what a computer is. And that’s not a bad thing—it’s just that there’s a sense of the primordial about his songs, a sense that they exist outside of the material world, a sense that they’ve always been here, waiting for eons before there was even a semblance of civilization, before humans had ever laid claim to this Earth, to take shape.
The first time they did—and got traction—was with Acid Bath, a band that was originally around between 1991 and 1997, and who got back together last year to plan some gigs that haven’t happened yet. There have been a couple of other projects (namely Agents of Oblivion and Deadboy & the Elephantmen), but for the past 20 years, Riggs has been focused on his solo material. Or rather, he released two solo albums (2007’s We Sing of Only Blood or Love and 2010’s Say Goodnight to the World) and then went quiet. Until now.
7 Songs for Spiders is his first record in 15 years, and it’s a stunning return, a sad and dirge-laden journey into a swamp-infested heart of darkness—something he refers to as a “Cajun hell.” Like everything else he’s made, it sounds as if it comes from beyond this realm (“prehistoric and funky” is how he describes the setting it came together within), music as feeling and feeling as music, made by someone who knows only how to do that, and certainly doesn’t have the time to type replies to email interview questions. So in a way, his responses, short and mysterious, are actually perfect, because they only increase the mystery of what’s already there.
And while deep, thoughtful answers would’ve helped shine a light on the depth and darkness and beauty of these seven songs, in this day and age, when information about everything is at the tips of our fingers, mystery is not only a rarity, it’s perhaps also a beautiful and powerful thing. See the full Q&A and stream 7 Songs for Spiders—out today via Riggs’ own label, Bright Shadow, and distributed by Fat Possum—below.
How much pressure did you feel when it came to recording this album after such a long period away?
No pressure, really, only love.
This is such a beautiful and bleak album—“Sunshine Felt the Darkness Smile,” “Blues for You Know Who,” and “Ain’t That Darkness” in particular straddle that line perfectly. How do you approach creating such beauty out of such darkness?
I think that’s how I see the world: like a horrible miracle.
The swamps of Louisiana and what you call “Cajun hell” seem to have played a huge role in the inspiration of these songs. Can you elaborate on why that place feels so special and inspiring for you?
It’s where nature is God, at the edge of the Earth. It has a weird kind of beauty: prehistoric and funky.
Who is the “who” in “Blues For You Know Who”?
The fallen, the rebellious. You tell me.
Acid Bath also announced their return last year. How are you feeling about those upcoming shows—and how do the two projects individually represent you?
My new stuff is spiritual for me, and Acid Bath is kind of like a huge weapon.
